Rescue Me (Butler Island) Read online

  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 diabe
tes, 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.”