Heather had graduated to Mrs. Hawthorn’s assistant in the years that had passed. Peter, too, was becoming a help, picking up stray pins and doing other jobs a six-year-old could do. Many of the customers adored him.
One question many new customers asked, before seeing his mother, was where he got his scars. Once, after the last customer had left and Heather was closing the store for Mrs. Hawthorn, Peter tugged on his mother’s sleeve and asked, “Mom, why do we have so many lines on us?”
Heather sighed, sat down, and sat Peter on her lap. Looking into his smoky gray eyes, she answered, “Because, Peter, we were in an accident when you were younger, and we got hurt badly. These scars are for me to remember it by.”
Peter swung his legs, staring out the shop window. “Was it a car accident?”
Heather started to answer negatively, but then changed her mind. “Yes, it was.”
Suddenly, beyond the closed sign, appeared a harried-looking woman, checking her watch and silently cursing at the darkened store. Heather hurried to open the door for her, hoping she wouldn’t take long. The woman thanked her and bustled inside. She looked up at Heather’s face and dropped her bags on the floor. “Heather,” she gasped.
“Dianne. It’s been a long time.”
“Too long. I can’t believe we haven’t spoken since... Well, since...”
“The accident?” Peter chimed in. Dianne looked down at him and covered her mouth to stifle a sob. The boy cocked his head to the side, staring at this strange woman, and then turned and ran to the back.
“That’s Peter,” Heather gestured. “He was the boy in the house. I adopted him. Court orders.”
“Oh, Heather, I—” Dianne broke down and Heather moved to comfort her. She pulled out a chair from behind the front desk and poured some tea into a cup for herself and Dianne.
She finished crying and wiped her eyes, giving a small smile of thanks for the tea. “I’ve thought about you every day, when I go to the fire house.”
“I need to tell you something.”
“No, I need to tell you something. I can’t take the guilt any more. Every time I get on that truck or look at the faces of the kids I talk to, I remember it like I’m staring at that house again.”
“Dianne.” Heather held up her hand to silence her old friend. “You’re doing what you can. But I need to talk to you about Charles.”
The older woman blinked. “How do you know Charles?”
“He’s my brother.”
Dianne stared into the bottom of her cup for a few seconds. “I think... I think I may have known that. Inside, I mean.” She took a sip. “It makes sense, really. The way he’d really stare at me, whenever he’d ask about any fires. He was always the one to bring up the subject, too. Lately he’s been... Well, I was planning to break it off with him sometime soon.”
“He wouldn’t have let you. He’s too invested in making you suffer for leaving me. He wouldn’t listen to anything I said.”
“I did leave you. I should have stayed back there with you, taken what was coming to me. I shouldn’t have run!”
“Don’t talk like that! You can’t change the past, and besides, look what you’ve done since then.”
“I am looking.”
The two woman were silent.
“I’m thinking of moving, far away. Maybe I’ll talk to a plastic surgeon.”
Dianne let out a small, cynical laugh. “I was thinking of quitting. Getting a job where I don’t feel like a hypocrite.”
Peter came out of the back room. His mother didn’t know he had heard most of what was said. Granted, he didn’t understand most of it, but he had heard it. Dianne smoothed out his black hair. “You’ve grown up well. Not that I helped with any of it.” He squirmed under her hand. “I’ve got to run.” She stood and picked up her bags, and headed through the door to the street. Heather never asked her what she came for in the first place.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
Heather happened to be walking downtown with Peter in tow when someone in the town hall chanced upon a flame. That person, whoever he was, decided to shout at the top of his lungs instead of call the fire station. Heather responded to this cry by picking up a startled Peter and running across the street, cutting off two angry motorists. She sat down with him on a bench across from the building, frightened but still morbidly attracted to the burning edifice.
A calmer person had by then called the station, drawing both fire engines and police cars. However, the cars in front of the building were still jammed from Heather’s frenzied bolt, retarding the emergency vehicles. When they finally arrived, the fire had consumed most of the top floor. There was a large crowd of evacuees standing around Heather and Peter. The firefighters unrolled the hoses and were busy spraying water on all the visible flame. A few had entered but returned soon, alone.
Heather spotted a smaller gear-clad figure and ran over to Dianne’s side dragging Peter behind her. A blue figure emerged from the crowd of cops to one side and stood watching the two woman. Before they noticed him, a man broke free from two cops at the police line and ran to the firefighters shouting, “My daughter! She’s still in there!”
Dianne spun around. “Are you sure, sir? She’s not out here anywhere?”
“No! I’ve looked everywhere; she’s still in there!”
Dianne set her jaw. “I’m going in.”
Charles stepped forward and grabbed her arm. “Don’t do it, Dianne. It’s too dangerous. Let someone else go.”
She pushed Charles aside and stooped to the same height as Peter. She held him at arms length, then hugged him tightly. “No. For five years I’ve lived knowing I could have helped this boy and instead I ran. Look at her!” She pointed to Heather’s face. “I could have stopped that, but I ran! I ran to save myself. I’m not going to do that again!” She broke free and ran into the burning building, despite shouts from the other firefighters.
The father was sitting on the ground, head in his hands, rocking back and forth. Charles stood with his hands on his hips, staring hard into the building. Heather blinked back tears and didn’t bother to turn Peter’s eyes away from the flames.
It seemed like an eternity before the figure emerged from the smoke. Dianne carried a young girl, unconscious, and put her in the arms of a waiting medic. The father jumped up and ran over to her, getting in the way of the medics. Heather and Charles both were at Dianne’s side when she collapsed into their arms.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
The newscast that night listed the lone casualty of the Town Hall Blaze, as they were calling it. “Firefighter Dianne Parson, 25, died of smoke inhalation and an infected second-degree burn late Tuesday night, after saving five-year-old Meredith Wilkins from the fire. Miraculously, the girl regained consciousness only minutes after being carried out by Parson.
“Strangely enough, Parson uttered an odd epitaph for herself before entering the building. Officer Charles Price offers this explanation:”
The picture cut to Heather’s brother. “Dianne admitted to a case of arson which she played a principal part in five years ago, where two people were injured—”
Heather turned off the television and patted the head of the sleeping child on her lap. Dianne had, in her own mind, atoned for abandoning Peter. Charles, though, was determined that her memory would not rest in peace.
Heather knew her brother too well. The lines in his face had grown deeper in the past twenty-four hours. Despite his hatred for Dianne, one can only spend so much time with a person without growing some kind of dependency. She knew it would only be a matter of time before he realized the gap she had left. There would be no way for him to fill it now.
She carried Peter, who was getting heavier by the day, to his bed. As she tucked him in, she traced the path of the scar down his arm. Catching her face in the mirror, she traced its own mark, prominent as the day she received it, down the length of her cheek.
What do you think?
Subject line "Scars Don't Heal"