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I’m going to need to have another damn shower when I’m done.
Jules and Izzy showed up this morning, telling me Ma wants a few things she left in her car as well as her phone she thinks may have lost in Dana’s. I voiced my doubt anything would’ve been left unscathed in that heat, but my sisters insisted I try, which is why I’m up here, digging through melted crap to find my mother’s fucking phone.
I wasn’t too keen leaving Dana with the girls—I’m sure they’re giving her the third degree as we speak—but I also wanted to swing by to see the state of her house, so I could prepare her for what she’ll be facing when she comes home later today or tomorrow.
The wildfire team is still present, keeping an eye on some smoldering areas so they can catch any flare-ups, but I was told the house was cleared and the road is accessible. A crew is supposed to show up sometime today to work on restoring the power, and I figure as soon as that’s up and running, Dana will want to come home.
My fingers close around the hard rectangular shape of, what I hope is, Ma’s phone wedged between the passenger seat and the center console. When I pull it out, it looks like it escaped pretty much undamaged, probably because where it had slipped protected it from direct heat. Everything else plastic or rubber in that car, as well as Dana’s, had deformed or melted, and the fabric on the seats had scorched.
Other than the phone, everything else was beyond salvage. Same for Dana’s hatchback. Luckily, she’d had her phone in her pocket when we walked out of here.
When I look around at the devastation even a relatively small wildfire like this can cause, I realize how lucky we were to escape any serious harm. Except, arguably, my mother, although that was more of a secondary effect of the fire.
In any event, she’ll hopefully be well enough to go home with my sisters sometime today, with her phone.
A layer of ashes and soot covers the porch when I walk up to Dana’s front door. I left it unlocked, in case the fire turned and crews needed to get in. I’m hoping at least the inside of her house stayed relatively clean, but I know the carbon dust is so fine, it’s airborne and can get in through the smallest cracks. Which is why I was told to wear this mask while up here, but once inside, I finally take it off.
It smells a little smoky, but the air doesn’t seem too bad. I’m sure if you went over the surfaces with a white glove, your fingers would come away black, but with the naked eye, I can’t really see much soot anywhere. To avoid dragging stuff through the house, I strip down to my skivvies and leave my dirty stuff in a pile on the doormat before hustling up the stairs, two steps at a time. It’s freezing cold in here.
Luckily the water is still warm—or maybe it just feels that way because the air is so damn cold—as I quickly rinse the worst of the grime off me. Then I grab some clothes from the bag I left in Dana’s bedroom, and fill it back up with some clean stuff for her to wear for the next day or two.
Heading back down, I grab an empty garbage bag from the laundry room to shove my dirty laundry into, collect Dana’s phone charger from the kitchen counter, and make sure all the doors and windows are secure before I head out with my stuff and lock the front door.
I’m barely back behind the wheel when a call comes in.
“Althof.”
“Rick, it’s Omar at Battaglia. We’ve been keeping an eye out, and I just saw you leave the house. I wanted to let you know, I can round up some of the guys and swing by in the morning to help with cleanup.”
It takes me a moment to come up with a response. I’m still getting used to the community spirit of small-town living. A knee-jerk reaction would be to pass on the offer—I’m not yet sure if we’ll even be here in the morning—but I’d likely be offending him if I did, so I keep my response simple.
“Appreciate the offer. I’ll let Dana know and we’ll get back to you.”
The next call comes in a few minutes later, after I drop off the mask I borrowed from the crew at their command post at the base of Quarry Road.
“Tomorrow, nine thirty at the station. Can you and Dana make that?” Mancuso dives right in.
“I’d have to check with her, see if she can get someone to handle the clinic.”
“Sooner we get this done, the better,” the agent adds.
“Yeah, I’ll let you know. By the way, what’s happening with Withers?”
“Awake but not talking. Dug up some interesting information on the guy though. Turns out Cody is the only child of one Carla Withers, who happens to be a housekeeper at the Big Cypress Creek Ranch outside of Jefferson, Texas.”
“Let me guess,” I volunteer. “The owner is Arlo Hudson?”
“Got it in one.”
“I’ll be damned.”
“Yeah, and I’ve gotta say, I’ve been looking at some older snapshots of Arlo, and it raises some interesting questions.”
I scoff a laugh. “Who’s your daddy? Pretty cliché.”
“The guy is not only married, he’s also got one of his daughters with two grandchildren living under the same roof.”
