Page 2 of Rescuing the Writer
I refocused on Melbourne, who was staring at his RV with the eyes of a wounded animal. I had the strange urge to hug him and assure him everything would be okay—a desire I’d better shove down hard. “Shouldn’t take too long,” I said.
“Thanks.” Melbourne sighed, running a shaky hand through his hair. “I can’t believe this is happening. I’ve had that thing for two years. Never had an issue with it.”
“When was the last time you had it serviced?”
He opened his mouth, then closed it again as he shuffled his feet. “Two years ago?”
Well, that would explain it. Not that I was telling him that. Besides, we had more practical problems to tackle. “You’re gonna need a place to stay until it’s fixed or you’ve found another mode of transportation.”
“Right.” Melbourne sighed. “Any suggestions for something in town?”
I shook my head. “You’re not gonna find anything. It’s summer break, so the town’s full of hikers and tourists. Everything is booked.”
Melbourne’s face fell. “Oh. And in surrounding towns?”
“I doubt you’ll get lucky there either. I can make some calls, but I’m not optimistic. Your best bet may be to travel back to Seattle.”
Melbourne shook his head almost immediately, his face scrunching as if the very idea left a sour taste in his mouth. “Nah, big cities and I…we don’t mix well. It’s the energy, you know? Too bustling, too loud, too many people. I can’t think there,” he explained, waving his hands as if to physically push away the thought.
“Ah.” I couldn’t fault him. You couldn’t pay me enough to live in a big city. I loved my little town with all its quirky inhabitants, where everyone knew each other’s business and beautiful nature surrounded us. It was home, and I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.
A familiar red truck came down the road, pulling my attention from Melbourne’s captivating presence. Ah, Calian had come himself. “That’s Calian Runyon,” I said to Melbourne. “He’s our fire chief.”
“The fire chief shows up for small stuff like this?”
I shrugged. “It’s a small town, so everyone other than Calian is a volunteer. He probably didn’t want to call anyone in.”
“Hey, Waylon,” Calian said after getting out. “Whatcha got for me?”
“Engine fire in the RV. I got it out, but we need it confirmed. This is the owner, Melbourne Ardiff.”
Calian shook his hand. “The author?”
“The one and only,” Melbourne said.
“Calian Runyon. Pleasure to meet you.”
Calian was new to Forestville, having only recently moved here, but he excelled at his job, and within five minutes, he’d confirmed the fire was out. “Looks like an electrical problem to me, but Walter’s should be able to tell you that,” he said to Melbourne. “I’ll make sure you get a copy of my report.”
“Thank you.”
Just as Calian left, the sound of a diesel engine rumbled down the road. A tow truck with Walter’s Auto Repair emblazoned on its side lumbered into view. Punctual as always.
“You best grab whatever you need from your RV,” I told Melbourne. “It’ll be harder to get access once it’s in the shop for repairs.”
He dashed inside.
Doreen, Gene’s daughter-in-law and the best mechanic in Washington state, climbed out and put on her gloves. “Hey, Waylon.”
“Hey, Doreen. Thanks for coming. It caught fire.” I gestured to the engine, the hood still open and everything covered with the foam from the fire extinguisher. “Calian cleared it.”
Doreen made a noncommittal sound, then pulled her bandanna over her nose and mouth and peeked under the hood. She poked twice, wiped some last remnants of the foam aside, then stepped back again.
“Might be able to save it, but some parts are melted and need to be replaced. Gonna take at least ten days, maybe more.”
Melbourne, who had just stepped out again, carrying a weekend bag and a backpack, exhaled sharply. He bit his lip as he glanced at his wrecked home. “Ten days, huh? That’s…that’s quite a setback.”
“Could be more. I’ll know once I’ve had a better look at it.”