Fire: The Collapse Read online

Jack leaned on his shovel and ran the back of his hand across his brow, wiping off the accumulated sweat. He stole a glance at his wife Becka and waited in silence as she dumped a shovelful of dirt. “Something to drink?”

  She dropped her shovel with a thud. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  Jack groaned. His arms tingled, and his shoulders burned. He needed a glass of tea and a few minutes to relax if he had any hope of finishing the job today. Or maybe even a beer.

  “Okay. I’ll be back in a minute.” He sank his shovel into a mound of dirt and took off across the yard toward the front porch.

  The hole, seven feet long by six wide and a little over a foot deep at the moment, was intended for a koi pond, a surprise birthday present for their twin daughters, Maddie and Ellie. As usual, they didn’t have enough money to hire an excavator, so this had become yet one more in an endless procession of do-it-yourself projects.

  The idea had been born two weeks before on a routine trip to Home Depot. He was browsing the tool aisle when she called out to him. “Jack?”

  “Huh?” He held a shovel in each hand, trying to decide if the shiny stainless steel model warranted an extra twenty dollars.

  “I’ve got an idea,” she said, her voice full of mischief. Uh oh. He knew that tone. Trouble. He gave her his attention. “You know how the girls are into fish…”

  Jack nodded. The girls were in the midst of their first small pet phase. From bettas to goldfish to species he couldn’t even pronounce, the house looked like an aquarium, with tanks covering every horizontal surface. Becka’s idea consisted of a second shovel—stainless, he insisted—along with a large, black plastic pond insert and a cheap solar pump.

  He suppressed a groan. “Are you sure? What about winter? Won’t it freeze?”

  Becka rolled her eyes, took the shovel, and threw it in their cart.

  Half an hour later, they were on their way home with the tools in the bed of his pickup along with an eight-by-ten pond.

  He strolled into the kitchen, got two glasses from the cabinet over the sink, and then went to the refrigerator. A refreshing wave of chilled air washed over him when he opened the French doors. Damn.... He held them open and wedged his entire six-foot-two frame in as close as possible, savoring the coolness. He stayed in that position for a full minute, eyes half-closed, fantasizing about a mythical afternoon of leisure, a distant memory from the time before the girls. Finally satisfied, he took a half-full pitcher of iced tea from the top shelf and filled their glasses.

  On the way out, he grabbed two oatmeal cookies from a plate on the counter, stuffing one into his mouth and pinching the other between the fingers of his free hand. Pushing through the front door, he smiled. Becka was lying in the grass, her eyes closed, her legs dangling into the hole. Covered in dirt and grime, with her dirty-blonde hair plastered against her head, she looked at peace with herself, completely in her element. Her white cotton halter top, the torn one she always wore when working outside in the summer, clung to the curves of her body, leaving little to his imagination. He descended the stairs and crossed the yard with a lascivious grin, fantasizing about what he was going to do with her later in the evening after they put the girls down. That was, if he could stay awake after all this digging. Becka heard him approach and opened her eyes. He handed her a tea and the uneaten cookie.

  “Thanks.” She touched the cold drink to her cheek and smiled, glowing.

  He drained his own glass and let out a growling belch.

  “Excuse me,” he said, embarrassed.

  Becka giggled.

  Jack touched the still-cool glass to his cheek. “I should have brought the pitcher out. I’m still thirsty. “

  Becka sipped again and waved at the house with her free hand. Jack took off.