The delicate aroma of bergamot wafted from the pot at Willow’s elbow. She inhaled the soothing scent of the Earl Grey tea gratefully as she worked the sticky sourdough under her fingers. One more turn, another punch, and the sticky mass stretched perfectly, the strands of the dough ready to rest before going in the oven to receive that golden, crunchy crust. She split the dough with her paddle and dropped the loaves into their awaiting baskets.
Rinsing the remnants of dough from her fingers, she leaned against the counter and watched the darkening sky outside, contentment bubbling up inside her as she surveyed her cozy world inside The Loveless Bakery. She’d put so much work into this little shop, endured so much heartache to be here. And now she was determined to enjoy every second of it, from the early morning bakes and the hectic catering orders to the quiet afternoons like this one.
To her, life couldn’t get any better than punching down sourdough on a rainy day.
Dottie bustled in, and the older woman’s face puckered in anguish. Her hands twisted together as she gasped incoherently. Willow quickly flipped tea towels over her rising loaves as Dottie stammered, already knowing some calamitous exclamation would follow.
“Was . . . Was . . .” Dottie couldn’t complete the word. Willow untied her apron and reached for the closed sign on the front door. “Wasabi!”
Dottie’s cat had gotten into mischief again. Willow flipped the sign then turned to Dottie, rubbing the lady’s arms. “What trouble has Wasabi gotten herself into now?”
“She’s stuck!” Dottie finally burst out. “My baby’s stuck, and she’s going to drown!”
That was a new one. Willow opened the front door, the bells jingling overhead, and ushered Dottie out. “Show me.”
Dottie scooted across the street and down just a few yards, stopping next to a patch of construction. Bricks from the ongoing street repair lay piled to one side, and the sidewalk was badly cracked and buckled where heavy machinery had run over it. In the midst of this, a storm drain cover lay twisted up to one side, the culvert underneath partially collapsed.
With a stabbing motion, Dottie pointed down the drain. “She ran under there, and I haven’t been able to call her back up and . . .”
One glance at the sky told Willow there was no time to wait. Bending her knees, she heaved the drain cover out of the way. At the bottom, Wasabi sat up on the top of the drain tunnel looking perturbed. “Here, kitty, kitty!” With a little mew, the cat danced up onto her hind legs, but the distance looked too great for her to jump.
Sighing, Willow swung her feet over. There was just enough room for her to fit. “Oh, do be careful, dear!” Dottie implored.
With a nod, she slid into the drain, dangling from her fingertips before dropping down. The fall was farther than it looked. She landed awkwardly, her foot catching the edge of the drain tunnel and
twisting. It stung, but with Wasabi looking panicked, she dove for the cat, scooping her up in her arms and crooning soothingly to her before she could bolt down the sewer.
On her good foot, she stepped up onto the drain tunnel and just barely managed to lift Wasabi up to a straining Dottie. “Oh, thank you!” Dottie retreated from the edge and Willow heard her lecturing the cat. “We will never do that again, will we? Scaring Mama like that . . .” Her voice faded, and Willow shook her head.
Her ankle throbbed, reminding her that now she had to get out of a very deep storm drain. She jumped, just barely catching the edge with her fingertips. As she scrabbled with her feet trying to gain some grip to climb, her ankle buckled and gave out with a sharp stab. She landed with a thump, her back crashing into the concrete wall and cracking her head.
Rubbing her ringing skull, Willow blinked against the splitting headache now clouding her vision. As rain began to patter on her face, she realized she was in deep trouble. Deeper and stupider than when Mayor Patty convinced her to climb the old oak tree to hang those silly snowflake lights and got stuck. That had just been embarrassing.
This time . . . well, this time . . . she swallowed against the thought rising with the bile in her throat as she pulled her iPhone hastily out of her pocket. The little bar at the top showed only one tick of reception. A tiny stream of water began to trickle down the wall of the culvert as thunder cracked overhead.
She hit “1” on her speed dial and prayed.
***
The fire engine gleamed in the dim light of the garage. Ruffin checked off the last item of his inspection and tossed the clipboard to Thomas.
“You did a great job, man.”
Thomas smiled at him. “Does this mean I get out of meditation?” Behind him Jake laughed, clearly knowing the answer.
“Not a chance.” Ruffin grinned at him. There was one perk to being captain. If he wanted to make everyone suffer through meditation with him, he could do that. The men groaned, and Bo chuckled from where he leaned against the wall.
“Hey, meditation’s good for you. And I don’t care if you use the fifteen minutes for a nap. It’s your time––”
“As long as our butts are on the mat. Yeah, yeah,” Thomas groused, one side of his mouth quirked up in a smile. “Didn’t know I was signing up to learn how to be a yogi when I became a firefighter.”
Jake punched his arm and winked at Ruffin. The two men wandered off as Ruffin strolled over to Bo.
“How you doing, ole’ man?” He leaned against the wall. “Coming to check up on me?”
“Always.” Bo’s eyes twinkled. “Gotta check on my boys.” Ruffin knew Bo had a soft spot for the fire crew; his late son Hank had been one of the team. “You’re always on my mind. Had any trouble lately?”
Bo’s directness was refreshing to Ruffin. The straightforward concern he could manage. It was all the sideways pitying glances that got under his skin. “Been sleeping all right. No spells I haven’t been able to talk myself down from.”
With a knowing glance, Bo studied him. “Anything else?”
Grimacing, Ruffin nodded. “Nothing but the usual.” He would always see Mario’s face just before he went to sleep. But he was certain that was just a part of his life, and he could cope.
Bo patted his arm. “A’ight. I’ll quit prying now. You know you can always call me anytime if you need to.”
Ruffin nodded. “Appreciate it.” Friends surrounded him in Midnight Bluff, one of the few reasons he’d decided to return home after being discharged from the Marines. Despite a few bad memories here, the people of the town he could rely on.
A ring echoed in his pocket, and he glanced at the screen of his iPhone, Willow’s name glowing up at him. He frowned as he hit “Answer.” A burst of static crackled in his ear with only tiny bits of her voice coming through. The one word he did catch was “Help” before the line cut.
Unease growing in his stomach, he flipped to the Find My Friends app they’d installed. It looked like she was near the bakery. At least she hadn’t wandered into another pasture chasing a child’s
kite and been cornered by an angry bull. His blood pressure spiked at the memory, and he blinked away the image of his fist connecting with the bull’s soft nose as Willow pressed up against barbed wire behind him.
Bo nodded at him, his eyes fixed on his face. “Go check on her. Better safe than sorry.” Ruffin waved at Jake to take over, then jogged out of the fire station and down the street toward the bakery.
The sign on the front was flipped to “Closed.” Not unusual in and of itself after the morning rush if Willow needed to run an errand.
He slowed and breathed through his nose, trying to calm his hammering heart. He wouldn’t be any help if he was so worked up that he couldn’t find her. Hands shaking with adrenaline, he pulled out his phone again. It showed that he was standing practically on top of her. But the street was empty, the construction equipment abandoned with the oncoming storm.
“Willow!” he bellowed. He heard his name echo back to him, but it sounded odd––hollow––like it was coming from a cave. His mind skittered sideways, drawing up images of darkness and gunfire. He squeezed his eyes closed then opened them, focusing on the rain on his face, his feet on the ground.
A few yards away from him, he saw the storm drain, the cover off and to the side. His name echoed again, Willow’s voice shrill and alarmed as he now spotted rivulets of water flowing down the drain.
He broke into a sprint.
Peering
into the storm drain, his heart hammered in his throat. Willow stood awkwardly on one foot in the middle, arms pinched into her sides as water flowed down around her.
She looked up at him, eyes softening with relief. “Oh, thank God.”
“How the he––” He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter.” Why had he not brought one of the other guys with him as backup? Lifting her out would be easier—but heavier drops hitting the back of his head forestalled a side trip for extra help.
Laying on his stomach, he reached down for her. “C’mon. Let’s get you out of here.” She grabbed his hands, and he did one of the toughest bicep curls of his life, tugging her up. Even as concrete dug into his arm, he watched her face screw up in pain as her feet braced against the walls of the culvert, trying to push herself up. But with the rain pounding down on them in earnest, he watched in amazement as the channel filled up with water even as her feet cleared the drain.
She lay panting on the sidewalk next to him, smeared in mud and leaves stuck in her hair. With a grunt, he heaved himself up and lifted her to her feet, catching her under her arms when she crumpled with a whimper. As the rain redoubled its efforts to drown them where they stood, he picked her up and toted her to the bakery, shoving the door open with his hip.
The air conditioning washed over him, setting his body trembling, and as he stumbled toward the counter, he could feel his shaky control start to unravel. Slumping down against the tiled front, Willow still in his arms, the shaking wracked his body.
A stream of curse words he’d have his crew scrubbing toilets for weeks flowed from his lips as he clutched her to him. Vaguely, he felt her hands stroking back and forth across his jaw, chest, back, soothing as she tried to get him to breathe, to look up and see where they were.
As suddenly as it came, the shaking vanished and he slid Willow to the floor and stood, rage flooding his limbs as he paced. He needed to get this anger out of his system before it got loose and took control of his limbs. His face heated and his jaw unhinged as he screamed at Willow, her face wrinkled in concern and hands knotted in her lap.
“How could you do something so freaking stupid, Willow? Do you know what could have happened? Why were you even down there? We’ve been over this a million times––Why didn’t you call me before doing something like that?”
He continued to scream as he paced faster and faster, one tiny part of his mind floating above him watching and trying to tell him to come back to himself and calm down. Willow rose and pressed against the counter, eyes large as she watched him stomp around. In this moment, he truly hated himself. This wasn’t him, was never him. Finally, his limbs felt heavy, sand running through his veins as the adrenaline wore off, and he slowed.
Shakily, Willow stood, leaning against the counter. Eyes down, she whispered, “I’m sorry.”
A balloon popped inside him, and he hugged her, sobbing. After a moment, he wiped his face on his soaked sleeve and cleared his voice. “I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have . . .”
* * *
Willow hugged Ruffin as he clung to her, his chest heaving. Her throat ached with tears, but she choked them back, knowing she needed to be strong for him right now.
His
words ping-ponged around in her head. They stung no matter how much she knew it wasn’t him, her tenderhearted best friend, saying them. He would never say such things to her in his right mind. She took a shaky breath and tried to remember what that first booklet had said, the one she kept in her nightstand, “Understanding PTSD: A Guide for Family and Friends.” This is not your fault. This is something that has happened to your loved one that they don’t always have control over . . . Its words helped her relax just a hair.
He pulled back from her, his eyes red, and she turned looking for something to make this situation she’d created better. Food. Food always made things at least feel better.
Hobbling behind the counter, Willow grabbed up some muffins she’d left cooling on a wire rack and the pot of Earl Grey, still warm to the touch. Ruffin paced again, but much slower and without the wild look in his eye. He clutched his dog tags, running them again and again along the chain around his neck.
Setting the plate of muffins on a table, Willow studied him as she sat. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen him go through an episode, but this was the first time he’d yelled at her, even with all the shenanigans she’d gotten into. When he was calmer, maybe in a few days, she would ask him what made today different. It would be good for his sake to know the trigger.
His eyes flicked over to her seated at the table, and he joined her, shoulders slumping as he peeled the paper off a blueberry muffin. His voice no more than a breath, he said, “I’m sorry.” She nodded. No more needed to be said. They would always be there for each other. But he took another breath and said around the bite in his mouth, ...
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