Rescue Me (Butler Island) (4 page)

Randall nodded again. He’d gone through a similar stage
after his father left: acting out in class and talking back had been his M.O.
It wasn’t until the owner of the marina, Mr. Morgan, took him under his wing
that his behavior improved. “Listen, maybe I can help.”

“You don’t have to do that, Randall.”

“I know I don’t, but I want to. Let me take some of the
load from your shoulders. Please…”

Lana stared into Randall’s sincere eyes, amazed to find
that his face revealed no hint of pity—and for that, she was grateful. He had
no ulterior motives; he simply wanted to be a guiding force in her son’s life
and ease the burden she’d inherited after the accident. “Okay. I’d really
appreciate that.”

It wasn’t the first time someone had offered help. But it
was the first time she’d accepted it. Randall was practically family.

And family stuck together.

For the first time in months, she felt the heavy weight
she’d carried since Jimmy’s sudden passing ease a bit.

And for the first time in months the road ahead didn’t
seem quite as dark and scary.

Chapter 6

Sitting front row in the town’s small auditorium, Lana
patiently waited for the city commission meeting to begin. As Mayor Cliffburg’s
secretary, it was her responsibility to record the substance of each meeting
and ensure the mayor and commissioners didn’t stray from the proposed topics.

After corralling the town’s residents into their awaiting
seats, she reached for her digital recorder, allowing her to document the
meeting in its entirety. Tomorrow she’d transcribe the dialogue and load it
onto the town’s new website.

There was a time, not so long ago, when she’d feverishly
take notes, and then would spend the following day responding to calls from
residents that had been MIA. Now she didn’t have to. Typing the contents did
cost her time, yes, but spending her days without her handset practically glued
to her ear was a step in the right direction.

“Good evening, folks”, Mayor Cliffburg began. “Thank you
all for coming tonight. Let’s see… for the record, today’s date is November
twentieth, two-thousand twelve. And let the record reflect that Commissioner
Anthony and Commissioner Rhodes are both present.

“Okay, first topic on our agenda this evening is the old
theater. As you all will recall, the building was condemned last year after an
intentional fire caused the already debilitated brick building to partially
collapse. Funds have been allocated to…”

Lana tried to concentrate on the contents of the meeting,
but her mind kept drifting back to her earlier conversation with Chief Handler.
He’d suddenly appeared at her desk at city hall just before lunch today with a
thirty-two ounce container of Coca Cola, a pleasant smile, and a personal
invitation.

“Haven’t seen you in a while, honey. How’ve you been?”

Lonely
,
stressed-out
,
exhausted
.

Pick one.

“Pretty good, Chief—just really busy these days with work
and Connor.”
There
,
that sounded better
.

“Any plans for Thanksgiving?” He asked before slurping a
gulp of Cocoa Cola through his straw.

“Think Connor and I will head to my parents’.”

Although not because she expected a good meal. Everyone
within a twenty-mile radius knew her mother was an awful cook. In fact, she was
still amazed she hadn’t suffered permanent damage from ingesting her mother’s
odd creations over the years.

Really amazed.

But the fear of yet another repulsive meal hadn’t
deterred her from declining the invitation. Because, truthfully, she was more
terrified of spending the holiday alone than she was of her mother’s latest
surprise casserole.

“Good. Family’s important—
especially
on
Thanksgiving. Which is why I’m here… I know Jimmy’s no longer with us, but you
and Connor are still—and will always be—considered members of our fire
department family. We’d really like it if the two of you stopped by.”

Lana leaned back in her chair, resisting the urge to pick
at her newly-painted nails. “Thanks for the offer, Chief. But I’m just not
really sure if we should.” She hadn’t been to the fire station since before the
accident. Just thinking about being there sent an uncomfortable shiver down her
spine. “I just—”

Chief placed his palm in front of him, interrupting her
mid-sentence. “You don’t have to make a decision right now. This holiday season
will be difficult for all of us. I just thought it’d be nice if we all faced it
together. Think about it, all right?”

And that’s precisely what she’d been doing since he’d
marched his large derrière away from her desk earlier today. Lana acknowledged
Chief’s explanation made sense. But she just wasn’t convinced it was a good
idea.

For the first time since Jimmy’s death she was feeling a
trace of optimism. She now knew the overwhelming grief wouldn’t suffocate her
(she couldn’t say the same a month ago) and she was even hopeful that she was
emerging as a decent role model for Connor.

She never wanted to go back. Never wanted to revisit the
place in her mind where she felt hopeless, helpless. Alone. That deep, dark,
bottomless trench she’d tumbled into six months earlier; a wild free fall that
left her lost and scared. Never again.

Never. Again.

“Lana… Lana?”

Lana quickly snapped her head toward the front of the
room where the mayor and city commissioners sat, staring at her. “Yes, sir?”

“How’s the budget lookin’ for our New Year’s Eve fireworks
display?”

Quickly, she thumbed through her notes until she found
the information she was looking for. “Actually we came in under budget this
year, sir. I found a wholesale supplier willing to give us a substantial
discount if we agreed to purchase our Independence Day fireworks from them, as
well.”

“Lovely”, Mayor Cliffburg uttered, smiling. “Isn’t Ms.
Lana, here, lovely?” he gestured with his palm as he addressed the small crowd.
Nods of affirmation rippled across the auditorium, looking like a sea of
bobbleheads.

Suddenly embarrassed by the mayor’s public praise, she
tucked her hair behind her ear and uttered a tiny, “Thank you.” Mayor Cliffburg
had always rubbed Jimmy the wrong way, suggesting he was a bit too friendly to
his female employees—
especially
Lana. It’d never really bothered her
much until recently. Now that she no longer had a husband, Mayor Cliffburg’s
subtle flirtatious mannerisms now seemed… not-so-subtle.

But she was a big girl. And if she could handle the loss
of her beloved husband, surely she could handle a forty-something, sex-starved,
smooth-talking politician.

Surely.

The meeting continued, and as soon as the focus was
diverted away from her lovely self, she thought about Chief Handler’s offer.

Would visiting the fire station trigger those dark
feelings again? She didn’t know. This was a big decision. One she’d debate over
and over in her mind in the upcoming days; the consequences far too heavy to
contemplate right here, right now.

“I still can’t believe you haven’t sold this thing yet”,
Randall uttered as his palm swept over the seasoned 1983 Boston Whaler Outrage.

Mr. Morgan tossed his rag over his shoulder and scratched
the back of his head. “Yeah, well… I gave you my word, son. I knew you’d come
back. And when you did, you’d still want her.”

Randall could see through the wear on the finish to the
bones of the vessel. It had potential; just needed a new layer of fresh gel
coat, a little bit of TLC, and she’d look good as new. “She’s a beauty.”

“Yep. Needs some work, though.”

Randall shrugged. The boat ran like a dream, its flaws
merely cosmetic. “I’ve got nothing but time.” And time spent transforming the
boat that held so many pleasant memories from his childhood would aid in
camouflaging the nightmares that plagued him daily.

This wasn’t the first time this vessel had rescued his
sanity. After his father left, Mr. Morgan had assumed the role of father
figure, allowing him to help out at the marina. The man had passed along his
love of the water, of boats, and had offered him something his father had never
bothered to give: his undivided attention. Guess it was safe to say the boat
held sentimental value.

And he was relying on the old Boston Whaler to save him
once again.

Mr. Morgan reached into his front pocket, handing Randall
a set of keys. “She’s all yours. Can’t wait to see her refurbished back to her
prime.”

Neither could Randall. Question was: what would be his
next distraction after his latest project was complete?

“So what are you gonna do?” Olivia asked as she poured
Italian dressing over her chef salad.

Lana shrugged, slowly stirring her chili as if the
explanation to all her unanswered questions were hidden beneath the thick
layers of minced onion and melted cheese. “Don’t know yet.”

It’d been a couple weeks since she’d seen Olivia. She’d
been away, photographing the aftermath of a school shooting that’d taken place
early last week in a rural town in Northern Idaho. As a freelance photographer
specializing in documenting tragedies, Olivia fled the confines of Butler
Island on a regular basis. She often compared living in the small island
community to living on an ant farm, where every step taken, every word spoken
was carefully observed by curious onlookers.

Funny how Lana used to be one of those meddling types.
Now that she resided inside a glass house, she understood how intrusive the
analytical observations could be.

Olivia stabbed a piece of iceberg lettuce with her fork
and sighed. “Okay, let’s put our heads together and list the pros and cons,
shall we?” She waited for Lana’s nod of approval, and then continued. “If you
attend, what’s your biggest fear?”

Lana glanced at her son beside her. “Chew with your mouth
closed, Connor”, she reminded him, knowing her correction had less to do with
his table manners and more to do with stalling.

“Well…?”

Satisfied that Connor was busy concentrating on devouring
his
grilled cheese sandwich like a gentleman, Lana steeled herself with a deep
breath. “My biggest fear is… taking two-steps back. I can’t go back, Liv. I
can’t allow myself to fall apart again.”

“And the best thing?”

“I don’t know. I guess the best possible scenario would
be closure. Aside from Jimmy’s grave, it’s the one place I’ve deliberately
avoided since the accident.”

“Okay, now we’re gettin’ somewhere”, Olivia uttered as
she pointed her fork at Lana. “As the reigning expert in loss, I can assure you
that how you’ll feel upon arrival will most likely fall somewhere between your
worst and best case scenarios.”

“Do you think I’m completely overreacting?”

“Absolutely not—in fact, I think your hesitancy is
completely normal.”

“You do?” she questioned, releasing an anxious breath she
hadn’t been aware she was holding. “I’m not crazy.”

“You’re not crazy”, Olivia reiterated. She reached for
her sweet tea and took a sip before stealing one of Connor’s French fries.
“Listen, grieving is… a process. A journey. Sure, you might make a few wrong
turns along the way—might find yourself lost a time or two—but you have to keep
goin’. You can’t give up on your destination.”

“And what am I supposed to do if I do find myself lost,
huh? How do I find my way back?”

Olivia plucked a slice of garlic bread from the bread
basket and swept the crunchy fare along her near empty bowl. “Simple: you just
stop and ask for directions.”

Chapter 7

Having had her fill of her mother’s all-in-one turkey
dinner casserole, Lana made a spur-of-the-moment decision to accept Chief
Handler’s invitation. After crossing the Mainland Bridge, she took a left onto
First Street, and then a right onto Palm Drive until she came upon the hidden
entrance to the fire station.

Spending Thanksgiving with family in Apalachicola today
had chased away the loneliness nipping at her heels. In fact, she hadn’t shed a
tear all day. That, she was truly thankful for. She maneuvered her small sedan
between two mammoth-sized Ford trucks and shoved the gear into
PARK
.

Maybe she was high. Yeah, that had to be it. Because,
clearly, ingesting her mother’s latest casserole creation had affected her
ability to make intelligent decisions. She gripped the steering wheel firmly
with both hands while the engine idled, her mind teetering between taking the
next step in the grieving process and throwing her Corolla in reverse.

“Why are we just sittin’ here?” Connor asked from the
backseat. “Are we gonna get out?”

Averting her eyes to the rear view mirror, Lana studied
his innocent face. “Do you
want
to go inside?”

Connor shrugged his tiny shoulders. “Anything’s better
than eating Nana’s Jell-o salad.”

“Guess you have a point”, Lana sighed. “All right, let’s
do it.” After emerging from behind the wheel, she shoved her keys into her
front pocket and reached for Connor’s hand. Up ahead she could hear laughter
and lighthearted conversation echoing from the bay garage, taunting her with
memories of years past. With a fortifying breath she willed her feet to move
beneath the open bay door, willed her body to continue down the road to
recovery.

Cackles and idle dialogue ceased as the room became aware
of their presence, practically daring Lana to flee.
What had she been
thinking
?

Chief Handler placed his hands on his knees, rocking back
and forth several times until he gathered enough momentum to rise from his
chair. He walked several paces toward the front of the bay, enveloping Lana in
a welcoming hug. “Hi, honey, glad you made it.”

Lana smiled nervously. “Thanks, Chief.”

“My goodness, Connor, you sure are gettin’ big.”

“That’s ’cause I’m in kindergarten, now.”

“Kindergarten, eh? Wow!” Chief shoved his hands into his
front pockets and rocked back on his heels. “I remember when you were knee-high
to a grasshopper…”

Connor wrinkled his nose in confusion. “What the hell
does that mean?”

“Connor!” Lana chided.

“Sorry.” His eyes scanned the crowded garage, finally
landing on Randall’s. “Can I go say hi to Randall?”

“Of course.”

Chief placed his hand on the small of Lana’s back, and
with weak knees, Lana moved further into the bay, burrowing into the
inquisitive crowd.

You can do this
.
You can do this
…

She chanted the mantra over and over again, willing the
slogan to be true. For half an hour she immersed herself in hollow chat,
reciting the same answers to the same questions she’d been asked for months.

It didn’t take long for Chief Handler’s wife, Debbie, to
corner her. She didn’t know whether to snatch Connor by the collar for a quick
getaway, or throw her arms around the woman.
Chatty Debbie
, as she was
often referred as, was a legend around these parts (mostly for her peculiar
conversation topics). But right now, Lana couldn’t be happier for a subject
change. Couldn’t be happier to standby and listen to one of Chatty Debbie’s
crazy stories, instead of convincing everyone she was okay.

“Well, don’t you look gorgeous!” Debbie announced as she
wrapped her arms around Lana.

“Thank you—”

“Love that nail polish you’re wearin’.”

Lana looked at her newly-painted purple polish. It was no
secret she had a bit of a nail polish fetish. Her collection included pigments
ranging from the lightest frosted silver to the opaqueness of pure black. She
still remembered how Jimmy would shake his head from side to side, and then
ask, “How many shades of pink polish does a woman need?”

“One for every occasion”, she’d always reply.

 “It’s called Diva of Geneva, by OPI. You’re more than
welcome to borrow it.”

“You know—I just might take you up on that offer. I have
a pedicure appointment on Monday. Barbara Dennison and I started goin’ to that
new salon that just opened next to Mainland Cottages…”

 Instinctively, Lana’s eyes sought the whereabouts of her
little boy, finding him sitting comfortably behind the wheel of the fire truck
on Randall’s lap.

“…It all started last summer. Barbara took off her polish
and her toe was yellow! I swear, it looked like she’d dipped her big toe into a
container of French’s mustard…”

It was difficult to pay attention—not because of the
unusual subject matter (lord knows the woman had no reservations when it came
to sharing personal information about herself or loved ones). No, it was
difficult because she was experiencing a strange bout of déjà vu.

“…It’s a good thing she has insurance; that ointment
would’ve cost seventy-three dollars!”

It was a strange phenomenon: everything was the same, yet
different all at the same time. Suddenly she began to feel that familiar twinge
swell inside her chest. It started as a dull pang, but quickly expanded,
snuffing her optimism, crushing her lungs with a force so strong she struggled
for breath.

“…Could’ve been worse, though; they could’ve amputated.
That actually happened to my Aunt Gerdy when I was a kid, bless her heart. She
had diabetes, you see, and her big toe became black and wrinkly. Anyhow, she
had it amputated. But that didn’t stop her from wearing her favorite flip
flops. She’d have to drag her left foot behind her in order to keep the darn
thing on.”

This was too much. Watching Connor hang on Randall’s
every word, pretending she wasn’t suffocating, was too much. She couldn’t do
this. She could no longer deceive the crowded room. “I’ll be sure to drop the
polish off to you this weekend. Excuse me, will you?”

 Lana stepped around Chatty Debbie, her eyes stinging
with unshed tears. She made it all the way to the kitchen before the first sob
escaped. She covered her mouth with the palm of her hand, but it was no use.
She couldn’t stop them.

What if she couldn’t make them stop
…?

“This switch turns on the lights. And this knob right
here turns on the sirens”, Randall added as he gestured toward the dash.

“Can we turn ’em on?”

“Don’t think so, buddy. They’re pretty loud and we might
scare some of the younger kids.”

Randall stole a glance at Lana, she was still held
captive by Chatty Debbie. He still couldn’t believe she was here. Olivia had
mentioned earlier Lana was thinking of stopping by, but he hadn’t believed
she’d actually show. He was in awe of her courage—lord knows he hadn’t shown
any six months ago when he’d squealed out of the Apalachicola Christian Church
parking lot. He’d left her and Connor to fend for themselves, allowing the
guilt he harbored to this day to gnaw at his conscience.

“Say cheese”, Olivia advised as she aimed her camera at
Connor and Randall, twisting the long lens for optimal focus.

“Cheeeese!”

Lowering her camera, Olivia examined the picture on the
small LCD screen. “Perfect! Let’s do a few more, okay? Connor, I want you to
grip the steering wheel like you’re driving.” Raising her camera once again,
she pointed the lens toward the driver’s seat. “Look straight ahead.”

“ ’Kay.”

Olivia pressed her finger down on the button, the rhythmic
click-click-clicking of the device slicing through the steady humdrum chatter
behind her. “Great job, kiddo! Your cute lil’ face was made for the camera.”

“That’s what my Nana always says.”

“Smart woman”, Olivia reiterated.

“Not when it comes to cookin’ stuff.”

Randall and Olivia howled with laughter. They’d heard the
epic tales about Mrs. Crawford’s culinary talent—or rather, the lack thereof.
He’d never had the privilege to taste her infamous casseroles, thank God. But
if they were half as bad as everyone claimed, he’d rather eat dirt than subject
himself to that kind of torture.

His eyes wandered over the crowd once again, the sight of
Lana’s fleeing back zigzagging through the crowd reminding him of a marble’s
jagged journey in a pinball machine. “Shit”, he mumbled softly.

Olivia followed his gaze, catching a glimpse of the back
of Lana’s black sweater as she hurried toward the solid metal door that led to
the interior of the fire station.

“Listen, Connor, why don’t you and Olivia get in line for
dessert. I hear Jenny made cookies ’n cream cupcakes.”

Pivoting in his lap, Connor’s brows drew together,
wrinkling his tiny forehead. “What about you?”

“I’ll meet you over there in a few minutes.”

“Okay!”

Carefully Randall lowered Connor down the side of the cab
until he was low enough for Olivia to reach. When his feet finally touched
concrete, Randall began his descent, landing with a heavy thud after hopping
from the bottom rung. “If I don’t make it back in time” ,he called over his
shoulder, “make sure to grab a cupcake for me, too!”

“We will!”

Randall pointed his work boots toward the door Lana had
disappeared behind minutes earlier, his even gait never wavering. It didn’t
appear as though anyone else had noticed her speedy departure. Good. Guess if it
had to happen, at least she’d held off until the crowd had become distracted by
the allure of the dessert table.

Tugging on the heavy metal door, he stepped over the
threshold, allowing the distant echoes of Lana’s sorrow to navigate him. The
clank of his boots hitting the linoleum floor should have announced his
arrival, but sadly she couldn’t hear them—not over the volume of her cries.

His feet came to a halt at the entrance to the kitchen,
and although he had a pretty good idea of what he was walking into, the picture
in his mind didn’t begin to prepare him for what he stumbled upon. Her petite
body trembled, her left hand braced along the countertop likely the only thing
keeping her upright. Her right hand was positioned over her mouth, most likely in
an attempt to muffle the shrill of her sobs.

It was a small peek into the pain she struggled to suppress
daily. A glimpse at the agony he’d created. Suddenly he felt like an imposter,
feeling as though he was spying, invading on what seemed like a very private
moment. Scrubbing his palm down his face, Randall decided to make his presence
known. “Lana…”

Startled, Lana spun around, eight trembling fingertips
frantically swiping at the moisture cascading down her face. “Where’s
C-Conner?”

“With Olivia. Getting dessert.” Her head bobbed up and
down several times before another wave of grief fought for release. She bit her
bottom lip, but she was far too weak to curb the cries from escaping again. Her
eyes clamped shut while her hand masked her mouth.

Listening to the sounds of a wailing woman wasn’t one of
his favorite pastimes—and he didn’t know of any man that would disagree—but
retracing his steps back to the crowded bay wasn’t an option, either. Stepping
forward, he opened his arms, offering security to her unanchored emotions.

He held her while her small frame quivered, supporting
her grieving body as she wept for the husband she missed and the father Connor
had lost. Weeping for the memories that’d surfaced of the years she’d spent
with Jimmy. And the many years ahead she’d endure alone.

Lana’s tears had soaked through the heavy cotton of his
navy department T-shirt, but he didn’t care. Offering his uniform as a
handkerchief was the least he could do. He waited until the volume of her sobs
softened, stroking her hair as he urged her to confide in him. “Talk to me.
What’s going on?”

Lana sniffed, her head still buried against Randall’s
solid shoulder. “I made a mi-mistake.”

“A mistake?”

Lana nodded, then raised her head. “I shouldn’t b-be
here. And Connor… What if he s-sees me?” Gripping the front of his shirt, she
focused her watery gaze on two gray eyes swirling with concern. “He c-can’t see
me like thi-this, Randall. I made myself a promise a-after Jimmy’s funeral that
I’d n-never let him see m-me like that again.”

“Look at me”, he commanded softly as he cupped the sides
of her face. “You’re going to take the back door to the parking lot and get in
your car. You’re going to drive home—”

“But, Connor will—”

“Connor will stay here with me. My shift ends in an hour.
When it’s over I’ll bring him home—”

“I c-can’t ask you to do that, Randall.”