Clay Bennett, 58, retired Forest Service hotshot turned one-man firewood delivery operator, never would have shown up to the volunteer fire department’s summer beer garden fundraiser if his old crew buddy Jimmie hadn’t banged on his front door at 6 p.m. holding two tickets and a threat to hide all his chainsaw sharpening files if he stayed home. Clay had spent the last 12 years avoiding large town gatherings, ever since his ex-wife Karen left him for an RV salesman mid-divorce, content to stick to his 10 acre plot of pine and blackberry bushes, only speaking to other humans when he dropped off cordwood or trimmed a dead oak for a neighbor. He leaned against a rough-hewn pine pole at the edge of the crowd, condensation from his IPA dripping down his calloused wrist, the tinny twang of the bluegrass band’s fiddle mixing with the smell of roasted peanuts and cut grass.
He spotted her when she walked away from the food truck, a paper plate of nachos in one hand, peach seltzer in the other, auburn hair tied back in a messy braid, freckles across her nose from spending weekends hiking the backcountry trails. He recognized her before she even smiled: Lila Marlow, Karen’s 16-years-younger half-sister, the only person at his 2001 wedding who’d laughed at his terrible groomsman speech instead of staring blankly. She’d been 19 then, working at a Seattle coffee shop, and he hadn’t seen her since, not even when Karen’s family sent Christmas cards he never opened. He tensed up immediately, already mentally drafting the half-hearted small talk he’d have to make, already bracing for the inevitable question about why he and Karen split. But she didn’t give him a chance to escape, walking straight over, her worn white sneakers kicking up bits of clover as she moved.
She held out her hand to shake, and when his knuckles brushed her wrist, he felt a jolt like he’d touched a live wire, flinching back like he’d been burned. She didn’t comment, just grinned, tilting her head to glance at the scar slashing across his left bicep, the one he’d gotten pulling a kid’s golden retriever out of a burning cabin during the 2017 Lolo Peak fire. “I heard you still run that firewood service,” she said, leaning in so he could hear her over the band, her shoulder less than two inches from his, close enough he could smell the pine soap she used and the faint sweetness of her seltzer. “The library’s reading nook fireplace hasn’t had a good stack in three years. I was going to call you next week.” Clay nodded, his throat dry, trying not to stare at the way the sunset hit her hair, trying to ignore the little voice in his head screaming that this was a terrible idea, that Karen would blow up his phone with nasty texts for months, that the town gossips would have a field day with the ex-husband dating the younger sister.
She teased him about hiding behind the barn at his wedding to chug a beer before the ceremony, a story he’d forgotten anyone knew, and he laughed, a real, loud one, the kind he hadn’t let out since before Karen left. She didn’t flinch when he talked about the rough fire season they were facing, the dry brush piling up in the national forest, the way half the volunteer crew was understaffed because so many guys were working private fire gigs out of state. She leaned in closer when he talked, her eyes locked on his, no polite darting away, no bored nods while she checked her phone, like she actually cared what he had to say. When she wiped a streak of nacho cheese off the corner of her mouth, her thumb brushed her lower lip, and he had to look away for half a second to catch his breath, torn between disgust at himself for even looking at his ex-wife’s sister and a warm, tight desire in his chest he’d thought had died 12 years prior.
She said the band was giving her a headache, nodded toward the trail leading down to the Clark Fork, and asked if he wanted to walk with her. He hesitated for 10 full seconds, glancing over at Jimmie, who was grinning and giving him a very unsubtle thumbs up from a nearby picnic table, then nodded. They walked the gravel trail in comfortable silence, her shoulder brushing his every three steps, neither of them moving away. When they reached the flat gray rock he’d brought Karen to dozens of times when they were first married, he felt a sharp twist of guilt, but Lila just kicked off her sneakers, dipped her feet in the cold rushing water, and sighed, tipping her head back to look at the pink and orange sunset painting the mountains. “I always thought you were too good for her,” she said quietly, turning to look at him, no hesitation in her eyes. “Karen always treated you like a trophy to show off to her friends, not a person. I’ve been asking everyone in town about you for three months, too scared to just call.”
She reached over, ran her index finger along the raised edge of his scar, her touch soft, not pitying, and asked if it still ached when the weather turned cold. He nodded, his throat too tight to speak for a second, then said it only flared up when he overworked himself hauling too much cordwood in one day. She leaned in then, kissing him soft at first, the taste of peach seltzer on her lips, and he didn’t pull away, lifting a calloused hand to cup the side of her face, the guilt melting away faster than snow in June. When they pulled apart, she grinned, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and said she’d been wanting to do that since she saw his photo on the fire department’s honor wall at the library two weeks prior.
They stayed by the river for another 40 minutes, talking about the library’s new after-school program for kids whose parents were working fire shifts all summer, about the blackberry patch on his property that would be ripe enough to can in two weeks, about how neither of them cared what the town gossips would say. When they walked back to the beer garden, the sun was almost fully below the horizon, and his old crew hooted and waved when they spotted them. He laced his fingers through hers, and didn’t let go even when he spotted Karen’s cousin standing by the food truck, staring at them with her mouth hanging open.
