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Show Go Love/213 that's not her intent at all. But she needs for him to know. She needs for him to register that road on fire. "Dad," she says, finally, "It was like watching the world end, earth's last night" On the television screen, a woman in a broad-rimmed hat has just landed a healthy rainbow. It lay doubled in a net held by an invisible hand, shining, fighting to spit out the hook. Like a freight train barreling down my heart, it dawns on me that I can't call Mama. Not in a million years, I'll never hear her voice again "No. We're okay. We're fine," Renee tells old her father. "I promise." The fire has burned the power lines from the dam's hydroelectric plant, so we eat our supper in the dark lodge restaurant where generators hum in the foyer and every last table is telling its own version of the Mustang fire story, the one that will become famous for years and years in these parts of Wyoming, Colorado and Utah. "A thing happend out there I'll never forget " "I'm forgetting already," another says, off to our left. "She's all on fire now. Just look." Firefighters are arriving by the truckload now, setting up a tent city on the four-acre lot where guides store covered dories. I've seen them before, the hotshots, flown in from the Apache Reservations in Arizona, a whole platoon from Rome, Georgia-they come from all over, lugging fire suits and axes and breathing masks and air tanks. Four-year old Lara, "Daddy? You said we could swim-swim." "Eat your corn," Renee says. She sloshes more red wine into a coffee mug and fills mine to |