“Corey, I love that you love to cook,” Jessica said, watching him at the stove stuffing green peppers with a spicy mixture of ground beef, rice, and onions. “For dinner we each get a couple of those, I hope?”
Corey nodded. “Yup. None of my job applications have amounted to anything, so I have plenty of time to cook for you guys.” He spread grated cheese over the tops of the peppers and shoved the pan into the hot oven.
Up until the accident Corey was in a hotshot crew, the most highly trained and experienced of the smokejumpers. Jessica had asked him what happened and he told her all the details. How two of his vertebrae were fractured.
“My crew was dispatched to a big blaze near Copper Mountain. I was the last one to jump. My damn parachute malfunctioned. A ponderosa pine broke my fall to the ground.” Corey sighed. “After that day I was never going to fight another fire.”
“Sounds like you’re damn lucky to be alive,” Jessica said.
Jessica, Jimmy, and Steve sat at the kitchen table drinking Millers and grabbing handfuls of chips while waiting for Corey’s peppers to come out of the oven.
At Steve’s feet Gracie and Jerard looked contented, yet alert to the sights and intoxicating smells in the kitchen.
“You could have invited Bick over for dinner,” Corey offered. “There’s plenty for everybody.”
“I don’t care to see him,” Steve said.
“Here he is in Boise where he doesn’t know anybody,” Jessica said, half-frowning, half-smiling. “You don’t feel even a little bit of sympathy?”
“No,” Steve said. “In fact, I’m still pissed off that he followed me out here.”
“Let’s see,” Jimmy said. “The last time—well, the only time—I saw Bick, he was flat on his ass in the grass.”
Steve took a swig of beer. “Jeez, that was a day I’d like to forget.”
“Quite a fire but thank god we put it out before it flashed,” Jimmy said. “Another minute and there would have been nothing left of that truck.”
Corey pulled a beer from the fridge and joined them at the table. “So, tell me about this guy Bick. What’s he like?”
“In all fairness, he’s actually not a bad guy,” Steve said. “When he’s in a good mood, he’s good company. He can spin a good story.”
Jessica nodded in agreement.
Steve took a swig of beer. “When he and I first met, he could poke fun at himself. But after we went into business together, he lost his sense of humor.”
“Yeah, I can vouch for that,” Jessica said. “He got all uptight and ornery, and paranoid about germs. Frankly, I don’t think he ever warmed up to me.”
Jimmy leaned over, smiling, and pinched her cheek. “How could anyone not warm up to you, Jess?”
“Jess, remember when I burned a whole batch of empanadas?” Steve asked. “Bick was furious.”
Jessica shrieked. “Like he’s never had a problem with fire!”
“No kidding!” Steve sneered.
“The peppers should be done in another twenty minutes,” Corey said.
“I can smell them already,” Jessica said, “and my mouth is watering.”
“Corey, since you asked, I’ll say one more thing about Bick. Then we can change the subject,” Steve said. “Like Jessica said, his personal mission was to wipe out every germ on the planet. It got to be extremely annoying.”
Corey raised his eyebrows. “Hmm. Sounds like a lost cause.”
Jimmy laughed. “You know what they say. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”
“Yeah.” Steve shook his head. “He would sanitize every frickin’ thing in sight. It got under my skin.”
“So to speak!” Jessica laughed.
The oven timer buzzed and Corey brought the pan to the table. “Help yourself. Don’t be shy.”
“So, where is Bick now?” Corey asked.
“Someplace in Boise,” Steve said. “He drove the food truck all the way from New York, if you can imagine that.”
Jessica piped up, “He had a short layover at the Idaho Potato Museum, right Stevie?”
“Yup,” Steve said. “I haven’t spoken with him for at least two weeks. Not since he came to pick up Oliver. I have no idea what he’s been up to.”
“Corey, you can make stuffed peppers for me any day of the week,” Jimmy said between bites. “These are awesome.”
“Ah thanks, brother,” Corey said.
The doorbell rang and Corey went to investigate. When he returned, he handed Steve a UPS package.
“This is odd,” Steve said. “I didn’t order anything.”
He put down his fork and tore open the cardboard box. Whatever was inside was wrapped in yellow paper with a white bow. Steve ripped away the paper, then stared at the contents: two identical t-shirts. He held them up and read aloud the caption that was printed across the front in fancy gold lettering: Mr. and Mr.
He turned the shirts over. The caption on the back read I’m With Him.
“What the hell is he thinking?” Steve scoffed in disbelief.
Jessica pointed to a note that was taped onto the discarded wrapping paper.
Steve read the note out loud: “Steve, I know you love t-shirts. These are for us to wear in case you change your mind. Love, Bick.”
Steve chucked the shirts back into the UPS box. “I don’t know what to say. The guy is delusional. He lives in a fantasy world.”
“Poor Bick,” Jessica said, bemused. “He is persistent. I’ll say that much.”
She withdrew one of the shirts to have a second look. “Destroyd might want these for their buy one-get one bin.”
With dinner over, everyone helped clear the table.
“Apparently, Bick is a guy who doesn’t give up easily,” Corey suggested. “I admire that.”
* * *
Bick was lucky to find a modest apartment to rent in Boise before the coldest part of winter set in. There was a small backyard for Oliver. The best feature was the driveway with enough space to park the truck. Bick had scrupulously finished restoring every square inch of the interior and exterior. Once the scene of a hot-as-hell fire, the food truck now gleamed like new.
One day, he texted Jessica that Mr. and Mr. was back in business.
“It’s no longer Mr. and Mr. on Wheels.This time, my food truck is not going anywhere.”
Bick’s new menu featured four kinds of meat loaf—grass-fed beef, bison, pork, and venison—plus all the usual sides. There were no empanadas on offer.
With his city-approved application framed and hanging in the spot formerly occupied by the hygiene manifesto, Bick reopened for business parked near the National Interagency Fire Center. It was the perfect location for people with big appetites who were training there.
During lunch hour one day, a burly smokejumper chatted with Bick about training while waiting for his order of the daily special: a stack of meatloaf—one slice of each kind—plus mashed potatoes smothered in gravy, and a large scoop of roasted red cabbage.
“Can you bench press your body weight?” he asked Bick.
“No. But, I would like to.” Bick was impressed by the fitness levels of his new customers. He enjoyed bantering with them.
“Did I mention that my meatloaf has three secret ingredients?”
“No. What are they?”
“They’re secret, so I can’t tell you,” Bick laughed. “Only my closest friends know. And at the moment, I don’t seem to have anybody that fits that description.”
“Oh, sorry to hear that.” The guy had polished off half his order while standing at the serving window. “Where’s the other mister of Mr. and Mr.?”
“He’s out of the picture. According to him, we weren’t compatible.”
Bick wiped off a smudge of BBQ ketchup from the serving counter.
“So anyway, if you love the meatloaf tell your fellow smokejumpers to stop by.”
“I’ll do that.”
“Thanks man, and good luck with your training jumps.”
* * *
Steve had started taking Gracie and Jerard to the Sunflower Senior Center twice a week for therapy visits. The papillons were not shy about seeking out those residents who doled out the best affectionate pats and hugs. Many of them were far from home and had few visitors.
Steve was proud of his little therapy team. He asked Shirlee, the director of the center, about a fundraising idea he had—a calendar with portrait photos of the residents.
“I would love to photograph any resident who wanted to participate,” Steve told her. “It would be perfect if we could get twelve residents to volunteer. Just enough for a calendar.”
“I assure you that will not be a problem!” Shirlee said with enthusiasm. “I love your idea. Bring your equipment next time and I will have your volunteers ready.”
“Thank you. That would be wonderful.” He gave Shirlee a hug. “With any luck, I can have the calendars ready in time for the center to sell for Christmas.”
During his next few visits to the center, Steve carefully photographed each of the twelve residents. Each portrait was a unique challenge. Some were reluctant to smile. Some were too shy to look directly at the camera. However, they all wanted their portraits to include Gracie and Jerard. With the right lighting and perspective, Steve captured twelve beautiful portraits that conveyed humor, love, and dignity.
“These portraits are exquisite,” Shirlee declared when Steve brought the proofs to show everyone. Some of the residents teared up when they saw their photos.
“Many of our other residents have told me they want to be in a calendar,” Shirlee told Steve. “Or something. Maybe some greeting cards. They all love to send and receive cards.”
“Well, let me think of some ideas,” Steve said, smiling. “I know Gracie and Jerard will be game!”
* * *
Jessica got a text from Bick one morning when she happened to be practicing on Jimmy’s sore muscles as he lay on the massage table set up in the middle of the living room. Corey sat on the sofa, waiting his turn for a massage.
Jessica stopped to read the text. “Bick asked if I’m interested in a part-time job in the food truck. I’m gonna have to tell him thanks, but no thanks. Because … been there, done that. Besides, I’m too busy.”
“He must be filling lunch orders like a house on fire,” Jimmy said, chuckling.
Jessica groaned. “Bad choice of words, Jimmy. Let’s not mention Bick and fire in the same sentence.”
“If Bick needs an extra pair of hands, I’d be happy to help him,” Corey offered.
Jimmy and Jessica both noticed that Corey seemed to carry a heaviness—like the 115 pounds of gear he used to haul over rough terrain. But the weight he carried now came from within.
“My job prospects are not looking great,” Corey said. “Thank god, I don’t have a family to support. Basically, I’m used up. I really don’t have much to look forward to.”
“Corey has only ever been a smokejumper,” Jimmy had said to Jessica in private. “I get why he feels down. I worry about him.”
Jessica rubbed arnica oil on her palms and kneaded Jimmy’s back and shoulders.
“Corey, I’ll be ready for you in about 5 minutes,” she said. “Later, why don’t the three of us go over to see Bick at the truck. Corey, you can meet Bick and if it feels right, you can offer to help him out.
“And besides, I have something to return to him,” Jessica said.
“Great idea, Jess,” Jimmy said. “Should we see if Steve wants to come along?”
“No,” Jessica shook her head. “Anyway, he’s off somewhere with his camera and the dogs.”
* * *
When Jessica, Jimmy, and Corey approached the truck, Bick was serving a long line of smokejumpers. “He does look kind of stressed,” Jessica said. “But happier than the last time I saw him. That’s for sure.”
Jimmy was amazed that he was looking at the same truck which, the last time he saw it, was a blackened hulk smoldering in lower Manhattan. “Wow.”
When Bick noticed Jessica standing near the serving window, he called out with a broad smile, “Hey! Jessica! Hi! I hope you’ve come to help me feed this hungry crowd of smokejumpers.”
“Well I can’t, Bick. But I’ve brought a friend here who might be able to help you out. This is Corey. He’s very skilled in the kitchen.”
Bick and Corey shook hands, and Corey spent the next half-hour trying out as a server to Mr. and Mr. customers.
“Bick, before I go, I have something of yours to return,” Jessica said. She handed over his charred, fire-deformed red cell phone. “Keep it or toss it. It’s up to you whether you want to be reminded of that day.”
EPILOGUE
Corey arrived early for his first day on the job at Mr. and Mr. Bick handed him an apron and Corey hit the ground running. He personally knew just about every customer who came to the window.
“I have a feeling we’re going to be a great team, Corey,” Bick said, grinning.
At noon, Steve showed up at the serving window by surprise. “So, how’s it going, guys?” he asked.
“Well, he hasn’t fired me yet,” Corey laughed.
“He’s doing great,” Bick called out. “Hey. It’s good to see you, man.”
“Yeah,” Steve said. “You too, Bick.” He ordered a slice of the daily special: bison meatloaf with extra ketchup.
“Bring Oliver over to the house sometime,” Steve said. “Gracie and Jerard miss him.”
Corey handed Steve his order through the window.
“Bick said it’s on the house.”
“Thank you, Bick.”
Steve started walking away, then stopped and turned to look at Corey wiping down the serving counter.
“Good luck to you, Corey. Someday, have Bick tell you about his grandmother and her topless swimsuit. It’s a hoot.”
The End
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