From the Ashes

I  shake the debris from the only picture frame to survive the fire. I’m staring at a photo of the four of us standing in front of a house no longer there. My home, my life--wiped out. I try not to let my daughters see the strain in my eyes.

It’s late morning and the sun has burned off most of the mist. The stench of scoured countryside is thick, and I doubt it’ll go away anytime soon. After being gone for most of a week, I’m home. The news calls it one of the worst wildfire disasters in Southern California history: thousands of acres burned and hundreds of homes lost. To think arson is to blame...

My seven-year-old, Lisa, sifts through the rubble while her younger sister, Kaylie, clings to my leg and watches. Both are wearing dust masks. Down the block, past the concrete barricades and yellow tape, a police officer sits in his car.

I’ve lived in Rancho Bernardo for the better part of a decade. We were lucky to survive the 2003 Cedar Fire intact. Four years later, Santa Ana winds blow the Witch Fire along the same route, and we aren’t so fortunate. My property sits at a bend in the road with an unobstructed canyon view. I loved watching the brush sweep up the hillside between the boulders. Now everything’s charred. Three homes on my side of the street are destroyed, but across the way and down the block, many structures stand undamaged. I shake my head, imagining the odds.

“Dad, look,” Lisa says, holding up a mug. “Mom’s.”

She cradles the cup, as if afraid it might get lost again. It’s Karen’s favorite mug. We picked it up three years ago on our way to my parents in San Francisco. Karen never missed a morning drinking her coffee from it--something about the weight of the ceramic, and how it nestled just right between her fingers. My wife is a particular person: one cup for coffee; one bowl for cereal; even a certain fork for salad. No one else gets to use them. But the kids love setting the table for Mommy.

My next door neighbor, Jan, stops searching through the ruin that was her kitchen. I see tears; an expression of deep grief mixed with What do I do now? I don’t know what to say to her. The custom home she and her husband built is gone. Jerry invested long weekends into his labor of love--three years worth. With their kids grown and moved out, this was to be their dream home, a place where they could retire. I can’t believe it was consumed in just a few minutes.

I think back to the night of the fires. My daughters and I almost didn’t make it out. One minute I was sleeping; the next, the phone was ringing. I could hear a groaning sound coming from the back of the house, and the smell of wood burning. We ended up at a high school-turned evacuation shelter. I thought I was hallucinating on the way there: air like lava; wind howling; embers shooting sideways; fire and sparks raining down on everything. I’d never seen anything like it. The girls kept quiet the entire drive. Once we got situated at the shelter, I called Karen.

“How could you fall asleep?”

“Jesus, Karen, I was watching the news and dozed off. The next thing I knew, it’s 1 AM.”

“If you hadn’t gotten the reverse 911 call--”

“I know.”

“Where are you going to stay?”

“Here,” I said.

“In a gym? What about your cousin’s?”

“Rob’s not coming back for two days. The hotels are booked. We’re fine here.”

“Isn’t there some credit left on the Discover Card?”

“No.”

Karen sighed. “How’s Kaylie’s asthma?”

“Okay,” I said. “I grabbed her inhaler.”

“What about her pills?”

“Those too. And the emergency bag we kept in the closet; and that scrapbook you were making.”

Silence.

“Hold on,” I said. Kaylie had her arms around my right leg. I bent down so we were eye level. “You want to talk to Mommy?”

Kaylie nodded. She then spoke softly into the phone. “Hi, Mommy. Where are you? Are you coming home?”

“I’m at Grandpa’s,” I heard my wife say. “You remember when I told you I had to take Grandpa to the doctor’s?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, I’m not finished yet. But as soon as do, I’ll be on the first plane home. Promise.”

“But I want you home now.”

“I know, baby, but I can’t.”

“Why not?”

I saw my daughter’s eyes become teary. My throat constricted. I hugged her close to console her. What I wanted to do was take the phone and scream at Karen; demand she get on a plane right now and fly home. Going to Oregon wasn’t about taking care of her father. But that was insignificant in light of what was happening now.

“Let me talk to Mommy,” I told Kaylie.

She quietly released the phone.

When I got on, I heard my wife crying. Uncontrollable sobs. It snuffed my anger; kept me from saying the terrible things I wanted to say.

“Karen?”

She cleared her throat. “Will you please tell Kaylie I’m sorry? I didn’t mean to--”

“I know.”

“And tell Lisa I love her and I’ll call later.”

“I will.”

 “Mark, I have to go. Don’t be mad. Please.”

I couldn’t respond. I disconnected. Then I turned to Kaylie.

“You know Mommy loves you, don’t you?”

The snap of wood brings me back to the present. Lisa is working her way to the rear of the house.

“Careful,” I say.

I run my thumb over the rim of Karen’s mug. There is soot on it. Part of me wants to hurl the cup. Instead, I gently place it next to the picture frame on a fallen timber. It’ll be a miracle if we recover anything else from the wreckage. The living room and bedrooms are indiscernible, beige walls and white molding replaced by gray and black. All the appliances are melted. I kick a twisted piece of metal. It’s the kitchen faucet. Somehow, the manufacturer’s stamp isn’t damaged. I laugh.

My cell phone vibrates; a text from Karen: landed…be there soon.

“Daddy,” Kaylie says, “I can’t find Suzie.”

“Keep looking, baby.” Damn, why didn’t I think to grab her doll on the way out? She never went anywhere without Suzie.

After a few minutes of hunting around, Kaylie asks, “Why did the fire come here?”

I squat and adjust her dust mask. “I don’t know, sweetie. Sometimes bad stuff happens to good people. The important thing to remember is that we are safe and healthy and have each other, right?”

“Right,” she says.

I pick her up. Jan is staring at us, smiling. She and Kaylie wave at each other and I feel normalcy restored. It’s a fleeting sensation, but I’ll gladly accept it for however long it lasts.

Just then, Karen pulls up to the curb and opens the door. Her hair is a mess and her blouse is wrinkled. Not typical Karen. The kids rush her before she can set foot out of the SUV. Lisa helps an excited Kaylie up. Mother and daughter exchange kisses. Lisa stands back and waits her turn. When Karen steps out, she bends down to hug Lisa and they hold each other and cry. I want to be a part of it; to engage myself emotionally again after having held back for so long. But I stay where I am. As soon as they let go, Karen freezes. Her gaze is fixed toward the crumbled bricks that make up the remainder of our chimney. She puts a hand over her mouth. Lisa stands quietly by her side while Kaylie chatters away about everything we’ve gone through the last few days.

I approach my wife slowly. I’m nervous. She turns my way. I see dried tear trails on her cheeks; pained eyes. When I reach her, I hesitate. My heart is pounding. I’m not sure what I should do. But Karen reaches out and wraps her arms around me. Lisa squeezes us together. My wife rests her head against my chest. I smell the familiar scent of her shampoo. The moment feels awkward. I’m stiff; detached. I don’t want to be. Karen’s embrace softens. I think she senses it. Kaylie grabs my jacket from behind and we let go.

“Daddy, Daddy!” she says, bouncing up and down.

I scoop her up. She reaches to the side with her arms stretched out. “Mommy too!”

“Okay, honey.” I lean over and Karen takes her from me.

THE END

©2008 Steve Pantazis. All rights reserved.