by Amie Denman
Laura narrowed her eyes at him. “I can take care of myself.”
“I’m sure you can. But when you’re here, I take care of you,” he said, his voice so low no one else could have heard it, especially with the sounds of Marshall grunting and scraping his way up the ladder and the spectators cheering him on. Laura felt a shiver run through her, despite the heat, as Tony’s intense blue eyes assessed her as if she were valuable to him. No one had made her feel important in a long time, and it was a powerful sensation.
“I watch out for you and everyone else on the department,” he said. “It’s my job.”
Laura glanced over and saw Diane giving her a concerned look. It probably seemed as if Tony was admonishing her, the way he stood close and spoke so only she could hear. Laura shot a smile at her new friend and turned on her heel to go into the station. Her boot gripped the ground and she wobbled, but she righted herself quickly and walked as smoothly as she could in the oversize clothes.
She went straight to the breakroom and opened the fridge. There was an entire case of bottled water, and she grabbed ten bottles, shoving them into the big square pockets of her turnout pants and holding four in her hands. When she got outside, she went around to everyone and handed out cold bottles. She got to Tony last and handed him a bottle from her pocket.
“You need to stay hydrated, too,” she said.
“After you.”
He waited until Laura had opened her bottle and taken a long drink before he did the same.
* * *
“IT’S HARD GOING back to work after a day off,” Nicole said as Laura shared counter space in the kitchen and spread peanut butter on her toast. “Even though I love my job at the art gallery.”
Laura leaned against the counter and took a bite of her toast. “I could barely make myself go to school last year. I had morning bus duty.”
“Whatever that is, it sounds awful.”
“It was my job to stand outside and watch kids get off the school buses.” She paused to sip her coffee. “It was okay in the early fall and late spring. But the six months in between made me loathe winter for the rest of my life.”
“They needed help getting off buses?” Nicole asked.
“I’m supposed to make sure they don’t smoke or fight in front of the building, but they never even looked at me,” Laura said. “They stepped off those buses as if they were walking through waist-deep mud. They don’t look left or right, don’t hear you when you try to sound chipper and wish them a good morning. They just haul their heavy backpacks full of everything but homework into the building.”
“So they don’t cause trouble?” Nicole said, smiling encouragingly. “Maybe that’s not such a bad duty.”
“Do you remember Indiana winters?”
“I’m trying to forget them,” Nicole said. “I love Mom and Dad, but they’re going to have to come here if they want to see me during the winter months. I’m done with snow.”
“Great. You left me behind to fill their lonely evenings and weekends,” Laura said.
Nicole’s expression sobered and she put a hand on Laura’s arm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think of it like that. And you don’t have to babysit them. You have a right to your own life.”
It would have been the perfect time to tell her sister why she felt so guilty about Adam’s death, but Laura couldn’t make herself. She hadn’t admitted to anyone that she had been the one to tell Adam about the firefighting job, and maybe there was no point in it. She couldn’t bring Adam back.
“Anyway,” Laura said, trying to lighten her tone, “those winter mornings make summer days on the beach look even brighter. And I have plenty of summer left.”
Nicole sucked in her lower lip, a sign that she had something on her mind.
“What?” Laura asked.
“Just wondering about your...uh...volunteering at the fire station.”
“Wondering how it’s going or wondering if I’m going to keep going?” Laura asked.
“Both.”
“It’s going great, and I’m going to another class tonight. This one’s on hydraulics and the science behind water movement.”
“That doesn’t sound too dangerous,” Nicole commented.
“Having a good water supply is a key element in fighting fires.”
Nicole blew out a breath and stirred sugar into her coffee. “I’ve heard about that from Kevin, although he usually keeps the shop talk to a minimum. I think he’s afraid to tell me everything about his job for fear I’ll be a runaway bride and go marry a nice safe man who owns his own carpet cleaning service.”
“If that’s what he thinks, he hasn’t figured out how strong you are,” Laura said.
“No one knows how strong they are until they have to be,” Nicole said. “It would be nice if we could get through life without having to answer that question.”
Laura swallowed, unsure how to respond. As the months passed and added up to two years since their younger brother had died, they had spoken of him less and less. Their parents hadn’t moved very far beyond the initial pain and shock. Laura had blamed it on their static situation. Same home, same cars, same jobs, same bench in the entryway where Adam had always left his shoes in the way. Nicole had physically moved away, and emotionally opened her heart in the bravest way possible. Could Laura do the same? Spending the summer in Cape Pursuit and facing her brother’s death in the most direct manner possible was her way of finding out.
Laura hugged her sister. “I’m going to test my strength by riding my bike to work. If anyone asks, I’m planning to pretend it was uphill at least one way.”
“You’ll get home before dark?”
“Long before. I only work until early afternoon, and then I plan to come home and read up to get ready for my class tonight.”
“You don’t have to be the best student in the class,” Nicole said, laughing.
“Yes, I do.”
Laura took her bicycle down from its hooks in her sister’s garage and pedaled down the street. It was early morning in Cape Pursuit, and most of the tourists were in their hotels sleeping off late-night dinners and drinks, and recovering from sunburns from the previous day. As she rode past the high-rise hotels facing the water and separated by parking lots and restaurants, she smelled eggs, bacon and coffee, and heard car doors slamming as a family stuffed their luggage into a minivan for a return trip home.
The last day of vacation and the long slow drive back to reality had always bummed Laura out when she was a kid. Lucky for her, she thought, she was spending an entire summer doing what felt like a vacation. She had free reign of her sister’s house. She had a fun job in the sunshine, a bike, a car and a new passion.
What she didn’t have was much pride in her decision-making over the past year or so. She’d wasted time feeling sorry for herself, even though it was her brother who had lost his life. She’d squandered her emotions on pointless dates with men as shallow as mud puddles. Worst of all, she hadn’t confided in her sister as much as she should have. She hadn’t told Nicole how seriously she was considering not going back to her second-floor classroom in the sixty-year-old building in Indianapolis.
She’d made friends with the mouse that lived in her classroom’s supply closet, accepted the fact that there was always a line at the copier when she was getting an assignment ready at the last minute, and learned to live with teenagers whose emotions were like driving in stop-and-go traffic. What she couldn’t accept was the fact that the kids didn’t want her help. Didn’t need her. Wouldn’t let her fix their problems for them, no matter how much she wanted to.
Adam had needed her. She was closest to him in age, and she had tutored him through his high school classes. Her parents knew how much Laura had helped her brother, and that was the reason her mother suggested she should become a teacher. Always looking to please her parents and earn her slice of their
approval as the middle child, Laura had seized on the idea and gotten her teaching degree.
She remembered Adam proudly telling her friends at graduation that he had been her inspiration. That was true. And now he was gone.
But she had a new purpose in life. If there were flames, she’d douse them. If someone was trapped in a car, she’d get them out. She wasn’t naive enough to think she’d save everyone, but the trying would feel more honorable, measurable, practical.
Laura pedaled her bike past boutiques that wouldn’t open for a few hours and miniature golf courses that wouldn’t pick up business until the afternoon. She heard a siren behind her and perked up her ears. It was growing closer, and it was accompanied by the roar of a powerful engine. She pulled over and parked her bike so she could stay out of the way and also watch the emergency vehicle go past.
It was the main attack pumper followed by the rescue truck and an ambulance. At least two men were visible in the front seats of each vehicle, and she could see they were wearing turnout gear. Laura admired the skill of driving a giant truck encumbered by boots and heavy clothes.
She had a rush of adrenaline and wished she could follow them, even though Tony had lectured them against that on the first night of class. He’d told them they couldn’t show up at emergency scenes until they were fully trained, and he’d shared stories of bystanders who had good intentions but bad results. Still, Laura knew where every tool was on the rescue truck after Sunday’s inspection. She could be helpful.
She also had a responsibility to her job at the beach where people counted on her to make their day fun and safe. So, she watched the first two trucks go past. When the ambulance got close, someone stuck his arm out the window and waved vigorously at her. She didn’t have time to see who it was, but she waved back, hoping whoever it was would notice her return wave in the side mirror.
A feeling of belonging swept over her as she stood for a moment and watched the rescue vehicles disappear down the long street of tourist attractions, lodgings and restaurants. After only a week of training for the Cape Pursuit Fire Department, she already felt as if she were part of something important that could change her life.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“JASON CALLED IN AGAIN,” the girl at the beach shack counter said as soon as Laura came through the back door.
“Sick?” Laura asked.
“Didn’t say,” Rebecca said. “Tell me again why you haven’t fired him.”
“Well, for starters, he hasn’t shown up for me to fire him. I hate doing that kind of thing over the phone.”
Rebecca laughed. “You’re not going to have much of a choice. And we don’t have a lifeguard for part of the beach for the afternoon shift.”
“We’ll cover it.”
“We were already down a person because Chelsea is on a college visit today. She’s visited fifteen colleges, I swear.”
“Sometimes it’s hard to find just the right one.” Laura reviewed the staffing calendar. “Jordan was going to help us out in here this afternoon, but I’ll run this place myself all day and send Jordan out to the guard chair.” She closed the calendar. “Problem solved.”
“The problem is solved if you don’t mind working a double,” Rebecca said. “I would stay over a little while and help you, but I have to be home to watch my little brother tonight. I promised my mom.”
“It’s okay. I think I can still make it to my fire training class on time, and I brought my books with me to study so I can go right from here to there.”
“I thought you were a teacher.”
“I am. But even teachers need to study.”
She had read through the entire first module of the training book, stopping frequently to put notes into a document. Out of habit, she always read nonfiction with pauses to summarize the text. She found herself thinking of guiding questions to help her remember important facts. She wrote summaries and bullet points at the end of each section and color-coded them on her computer screen. If there was going to be a test, she would be ready for it.
“I mean, I thought you were a teacher, so why are you taking fire training classes?” Rebecca said. “Don’t get me wrong, my Aunt Diane is glad you’re in the class, too, so she’s not the only girl. But she doesn’t have a full-time job like you do. Are you planning to quit being a teacher?”
Laura shrugged, not feeling like explaining herself to a girl ten years younger who would have to make up her own mind about things. It was drilled into the minds of educators. You can be friendly to teenagers, but you’re not their friend. You don’t unload on them. They unload their problems on you. “I like to improve my mind during the summer,” she said using a fake haughty voice and knowing it would kill any further questions.
“Uh,” Rebecca said. “That’s what all adults say.”
“They’re right.”
For the first day since she’d arrived in Cape Pursuit, Laura watched the clock on her job. She cheerfully rented beach equipment and went through the next week’s schedule to remove Jason and lessen the impact of his unreliability. She restocked the water and sports drinks for the lifeguards, swept the sand out of the beach hut and hauled a broken beach umbrella to the dumpster.
All she wanted to do was ride home, change into something appropriate for class, have a cold drink while reviewing the fire training manual and give herself plenty of time to drive to the station. As it was, she would barely make it. The beach shack and lifeguard stations closed at seven o’clock and signs would be posted for the rest of the evening, warning swimmers to enter the water only at their own risk.
Her class at the station started at 7:00 p.m.
“Nicole,” Laura said when her sister picked up the phone. “Huge favor.”
Nicole pulled into the city lot closest to the beach shack at 6:50 p.m. and didn’t even bother to park. Laura dove into the passenger seat and reached into the back for the clothes she’d asked her sister to bring.
“I closed the beach shack ten minutes early, but I don’t think anyone will care. The lifeguards can finalize the night closing without me.”
As her sister drove, Laura pulled a lightweight blue shirt over her head and removed the shirt she had on underneath. She wiggled out of her beach shorts and pulled on a pair of jeans without taking off her seat belt.
“Should I ask how you gained experience changing your clothes in the front seat of a moving car without exposing yourself?” Nicole asked.
“Cross-country practice. We did it on the bus all the time.”
“Good answer.” Nicole pulled up in front of the fire station.
“You’re the best,” Laura said. “I know you don’t love me joining the fire department, but thanks for coming through for me in an emergency. I think I have two minutes to spare.”
Nicole nodded toward the station where Tony stood outside, arms crossed over his chest. “Your instructor doesn’t look impressed, but he didn’t see the calisthenics you went through to get here on time.”
“I don’t know what he thinks of me,” Laura whispered. She slid out, opened the back door and grabbed her books off the seat.
Nicole put a hand on her sister’s arm and leaned close. “What do you think of him?”
The two sisters had shared a bedroom and plenty of secrets all their lives, and they’d become even closer since they’d lost Adam. But Laura didn’t know how to answer the question honestly. She spent a third of her time with Tony listening intently so she’d learn from him, a third of her time admiring him for his attitude, leadership and service, and the remaining third wondering what it would be like to run her fingers through his short blond hair and touch a kiss to his highly forbidden lips.
“To be determined,” Laura said.
“Wait,” Nicole said.
“What?”
“Your shirt’s on inside out.”
Laura looked down. “Rats
. But there’s nothing I can do about it now.”
“Just wow them with your intelligence and they won’t notice.”
Laura flashed a grin at her sister and shut the door. She composed her expression and steadied her breathing as she walked across the wide concrete apron that separated the station from the street.
“We need to talk about safety,” Tony said without any greeting at all.
“Nicole’s not a bad driver, although she did make a few rolling stops to get me here on time,” Laura said. “Isn’t class about to start? Shouldn’t we get inside?”
“I didn’t like what I saw this morning,” Tony said.
He waited, looking dour. It was the same treatment Laura had given students when she asked them to step into the hallway. She let them stew a moment and then asked them if they knew why she wanted to see them. Sometimes her tactic was met with begrudging silence, and sometimes they spilled their guts about infractions she hadn’t even known they committed.
“You’ll have to be more specific,” she said. “Was your breakfast undercooked? Maybe there was bird poop on your windshield?”
He didn’t crack a smile.
“Your reflection in the bathroom mirror frowned at you and made you feel uncomfortable?” she suggested. “I know how that might feel.”
“I saw you on your bike when I went by on the way to a fire.”
“That was you! Were you the one who waved at me?”
“No.”
“Okay,” Laura said. “So you saw me. I pulled over, just like I was supposed to.”
“I wish you would wear a helmet.”
“Is that what this is about?”
“Laura,” he said, putting a hand on her elbow. “Being in the fire service changes you. Things you wouldn’t have noticed stick out. Worries most people don’t have get you right in the heart. I can’t walk into a public place without looking for fire exits and counting sprinkler heads. I can’t see a carload of teenagers pass me without knowing what a wrong move on a rainy road can do.”