Part 16 (1/2)

My personal theory was that, under the influence of prescription medication and alcohol, Caputo had left food burning on the stove. After all, his mother had been in the process of bringing over part of a meal. I figured the dog had gotten into rat poison or eaten some tainted roadkill. The ammonium nitrate, which Caputo probably kept around for removing stumps, had been stored inside and premixed with the fuel oil, although I didn't recall seeing it yesterday when we were cleaning up. The fire set it off. My theory held water until Caputo's mother insisted Max had never blasted a stump in his life.

Oddly enough, a volunteer had parked his extended-cab pickup truck in front of my new Lexus, so that the Lexus received no damage whatsoever, while the volunteer's truck lost three windows, a tire, and most of the grille. I put my bunking clothes in the trunk and left my knee-high rubber boots on. My civilian shoes had disappeared along with everything else on Engine 1. Either that or they were in a tree with Caputo's head.

28. GOING TO THE BANK IN A DIAPER.

As I drove the four of us back into town, I couldn't help thinking about Charlie Drago's warning that we would be blown to smithereens. Had to be a coincidence. Charlie Drago was paranoid. Our explosion had been caused by Caputo, who'd been one of our resident nutcases ever since I was in the department. The only thing that bothered me was the dog. Caputo loved those dogs. He would never have hurt one of them, much less throw one into the blackberries. Even harder to believe that the mutt just happened to get into rat poison the day Caputo blew himself to h.e.l.l. That part bothered me. It bothered me a lot. Everything about the explosion bothered me.

Sure, fire departments handled explosions, along with fires, car wrecks, first-aid calls, broken water heaters, you name it, but the last time North Bend had faced an explosion had been . . . I couldn't even remember the last time. Probably never. Certainly never during my tenure. They weren't that common.

”You girls like to see your grandfather?” I said as we drove back to town.

Britney was sitting beside me, Allyson and Morgan in back. ”I'm hungry,” Britney said.

Allyson leaned forward and looked at me suspiciously. ”Which grampa?”

”Swope. Grandpa Swope. My father.”

”I thought he moved away.”

”He's living a few blocks from here. You want to see him?”

”Are you going to?”

”I thought I would.”

”I want to see Grampa,” Britney said. ”I want to see him!”

Allyson nodded. I didn't know how to prepare them. After the explosion I didn't have the mental energy to come up with anything.

”Grandpa's been experiencing poor health,” I said lamely.

”What's poor health?” Britney asked.

”Means he's sick,” Allyson said.

”He's in a nursing home,” I added. ”He won't be able to talk, but that doesn't mean he doesn't love you.”

”If he can't say it, how do we know he loves us?” Britney asked.

” 'Cause we're little girls,” Allyson said sarcastically. ”We're adorable. Everybody loves little girls.”

”He's always loved you,” I said. ”Nothing has come along to change that.”

My girls were were adorable and funny and smart and always buzzing with plans. I would miss watching them grow up. Thinking about it brought a wave of sorrow over me as powerful as anything I'd felt since Lorie left. It hit me like the shock wave back at the trailer. I came close to bursting into tears right there in the car. adorable and funny and smart and always buzzing with plans. I would miss watching them grow up. Thinking about it brought a wave of sorrow over me as powerful as anything I'd felt since Lorie left. It hit me like the shock wave back at the trailer. I came close to bursting into tears right there in the car.

We parked outside Alpine Estates, and as we got out, Britney said, ”I'm hungry.”

”We won't be long, sweetie.”

”But I'm hungry.”

”Quiet up, Brit,” Allyson said. ”I want to see Grandpa.”

”You don't mind, do you?” I asked Morgan.

”I'll wait out here if that's all right.” I tossed her the keys so she could listen to the radio.

”Try that Andy Williams CD,” Britney said. ”It's smooth.”

As I opened the door for them, I realized everything I felt toward my girls had been amplified a thousand times by the near miss up the hill. My health situation had already been having that effect, but the fire and explosion had magnified it even more. I wanted every minute to stretch into a week, found myself memorizing every move they made. It was as if I were seeing them for the first time, as if I'd been blind.

Or would be soon.

I'd been feeling it since I got home the night before, that my senses were sharpening. That I was saving up images and feelings to take with me into diaperland.

As we walked into the nursing home, I knew these were my last days with my daughters, my last hours to enjoy their innocence and spontaneity, their quick-witted banter. What hurt was that I couldn't give them all of my time, that I simply didn't dare stop searching for a cure, not while there was the least chance I might beat this monkey. I'd been deserted by Stephanie Riggs, trivialized and politicized by the committee, lied to by Jane's California Propulsion, outmaneuvered by Mayor Haston, and essentially left to face this alone.

Moving to North Bend after the death of his third wife, my father had been an immediate hit with the girls, two and four years old then. They'd adored him, and at this late date I could admit their adoration had bothered me. Grandpa had poured all the affection he'd never given me onto them, and they'd reveled in it.

It had been petty beyond reason to keep them from their grandfather, to withhold my own visits because of slights or things not done twenty-six years ago, to hold my mother's actions and his reaction to them against him for so long, as if it were somehow his fault she had left when I was eight. Oddly, now that I thought about it, both of us had been abandoned and left with small children. I knew my father was a decent man who wanted above all to do right. Or at least that's what he'd wanted when he had a will.

We found him in a wheelchair in the hallway outside his room, head lolled to one side.

Exuding the brutal honesty of the very young, Britney let out an ”Ugghh!” Her sister elbowed her and put her index finger to her lips. Both girls looked to me for signals.

I took a breath and said, ”It's a little like he's asleep. You would still love me if I was asleep, wouldn't you?”

”Oh, we love you, Grampa,” Britney said. ”Don't we, Allyson?”

”You sure that's Grandpa?”

Neither of them had gotten close, standing like tin soldiers with their feet together and their arms at their sides. A thoughtful nurse's aide who'd been eyeing us showed up with a box of crayons and some scratch paper. We all went into the room, the nurse's aide wheeling my father in behind us.

”He doing okay?” I asked.

She was a diminutive Asian woman, no more than ninety pounds, with long, l.u.s.trous black hair wrapped behind her head. ”He do jus' fine. I go every day a' four, but he do jus' fine. Every day. You from out of state?”

”No.”

”Have nice visit.” Smiling and nodding, she left the room.

”He ever talk?” Britney asked.

”No.”

”If I throw him a ball will he catch it?”

”Why don't you throw him a rock?” Allyson said. ”Don't be stupid. Of course he won't catch it. Look at him. Let's draw something. Like that stuff we mailed Mommy.”