She swallowed heavily—so he’d had much the same thoughts she’d had last night. “I am clean, Chris, I can assure you of that,” she said slowly. “But when I said you’d made me feel like a woman for the first time in years, I meant it. You’re the first man I’ve had sex with in close to four.”
“Fuck,” he muttered, dropping his head back onto the headrest with his eyes closed for a moment. “Guess that explains why you were so tight—not that I’m complaining, because it felt good. You felt good. But not having any protection whatsoever means that we could have a little you or me in about nine months.”
“Chris, honey,” Martie began, reaching over to take his left hand in her right. “You’re putting your cart before your horse. Try to wipe the thought from your mind, okay? Don’t work yourself into a knot worrying about something before you even have something to worry about.”
“Your logic is sound, my Vulcan friend,” Chris quipped, “but what if you’re pregnant?”
Martie sighed. “Then we discuss the concept of shared parenting. Look, I just ended a period a few days ago. Please don’t worry—one day at a time, remember?”
Five
Not once in all the years since he’d moved here had Chris dreaded coming home to Gracechurch. As soon as he’d seen that “Welcome to Gracechurch” sign on the outskirts of the city, his mind had flooded with memories of Calvin, all painful reminders that his friend and mentor was gone.
He’d felt tears sting his eyes and started to fight them, but then he remembered he’d already cried in front of Martie once. She’d already seen him at his weakest, so it didn’t matter if he let them go. Giving up on his façade of strength, the tears welled and spilled over, and when he sniffled Martie reached for his hand again. And then a pair of thin, shaky arms came around him from behind and he felt drops of wetness hit his shoulder as Kara rested her chin there.
“It’s okay kiddo,” he assured her weakly as he reached up and took one of her hands in his free one. “We’ll get through this.”
“Take me to Daddy’s house,” Kara said, and Chris turned to look at her.
“Are you sure you want to do that Kara?” he asked. “It’s gonna be really hard for you—”
“I want to go where my dad is still alive,” she said, her voice determined. “He’ll always be alive in that house, the house where he and Mama raised me.”
Calvin’s house was, indeed, the house where he had raised her with Irene until she was 12, and where Irene had lived alone with Kara another four years until a job opportunity with the marketing firm she worked for took her to Bozeman. Not wanting to uproot Kara two years before high school graduation, Irene had signed the house—which she had received as part of the divorce settlement—over to Calvin so that their daughter could remain in the home she’d lived in all her life.
It occurred to Chris then that the house, a 3-bedroom ranch style on two acres with a small fishing pond, probably belonged to Kara now. Calvin had no doubt left it to her in his will.
He pushed that thought away, not wanting to think about Calvin’s will or how his property would be distributed piecemeal to family members.
Instead he nodded and gave Martie the directions. When they arrived, she stayed in the car while he walked Kara up to the front door, where she fished in the pocket of her trousers for her keys. Her hand trembled when she went to insert it into the deadbolt and Chris took it from her, unlocking the door and pushing it open, then handed the keys back to her. Kara looked into the quiet stillness of her father’s house, then suddenly threw her arms around him, fresh sobs breaking out from her chest.
Chris held her tight and let her cry. Several minutes passed before Kara was able to settle herself and step away. “I’m sorry.”
“Kiddo, you got nothing to be sorry for,” he replied. “I miss your dad too. I’m still having trouble accepting that he’s gone.”
“Me too,” she said. “And I know I wanted to come here where I said he’d always be alive. I just didn’t think it would be so hard to actually walk through the door, knowing he never will again.”
“Gonna be the same for me at the fire station,” Chris told her, nodding his understanding. Then he looked through the open door again and back at Kara. “You want me to come in and stay with you a while?”
He could see in her eyes that she wanted to say yes, but Kara sniffled, squared her shoulders, and shook her head no. “I’m a big girl now, Uncle Chris. I can… I can do this. And I don’t mean to be insulting or anything ‘cause I know you were his friend and you loved him too, but I kinda want to be alone with my dad’s stuff. I want to be alone with him one last time before I have to grow up and admit that Daddy won’t be coming home.”
Nodding again, he gathered her to him once more and embraced her tightly, then kissed her brow and let her go. Kara took a deep breath, then a hesitant step over the threshold. When she had stepped all the way inside, she turned, offering Chris a tear streaked, sad smile.
“Just remember that your grandparents will be here in a couple of hours, and your aunt in a day or so,” he told her quietly.
“I know. I’ll see you later,” Kara said, her voice soft and meek again.
Chris nodded and she pushed the door closed. He waited until he heard the click of the deadbolt being turned before turning around and walking back out to Martie.
“Is she going to be okay here by herself?” she asked softly as he pulled the passenger door shut.
He sighed. “Kara’s stronger than she looks,” he said. “It’s gonna be hard for her, but I think she needs to do this her way for now. Her grandparents will be here in a few hours.”
“And you—are you okay?” she asked, placing a hand on his shoulder.
Before he could formulate an answer, Chris’s cell phone rang. Cursing, he reached into his pocket for it, and seeing Bob Dresden’s name on the screen, he hit the Answer key and put the phone to his ear.
“Marshal Dresden. What can I do for you?”
“Are you back in Gracechurch yet, Lieutenant?” Dresden asked.
“As a matter of fact, yes. I’ve just dropped Karalyn Maynard at her father’s house,” he replied.
“How is Kara doing?”
“Broken up, sir, which is to be expected,” Chris said. “But Calvin’s house is where she wanted to be, because it’s where he raised her.”
“Guess I can understand that. God, I hope her mother can get her shit taken care of quick. I hate the thought of that little girl being alone.” Dresden paused, then cleared his throat before asking, “Are you going to work your shift tonight?”
Pain seized his chest, but Chris quickly tamped it down. “I see no reason not to, sir. Cal would want me and the other boys to keep on.”
“Yes he would,” the marshal told him. “Listen, Chris, the reason I asked if you were going to work today is because I need you to come into my office before start of shift. There’s something I need to talk to you about,” Dresden said then.
Chris felt himself frown. B-Shift started at noon, overlapping A-Shift’s last hour—and the clock on Martie’s dash said it was going on 11 a.m. “Uh, sure, Marshal. I guess I can do that, but I’d really like to change clothes first if that’s alright,” he said.
“Of course, Lieutenant,” Dresden conceded.
They said their goodbyes and hung up then, and for a moment all Chris could do was stare at the phone in his hand and frown.
“Chris? Is everything alright?”
“Uh, yeah. I think,” he replied to Martie’s query. “The city fire marshal wants to see me in his office at Old City Hall before I start my shift. I can’t… I can’t imagine what for though.”
“I don’t imagine it’s anything bad,” Martie said as she started the car again. “After all, having lost a fireman, how much worse could it get?”
Martie assured him she had no problem playing chauffer for a while—he needed her to take him home to change and then to Bob Dresden’s office, as his Explorer w
as still at the fire station. Chris had dressed hurriedly in his spare uniform, pulling on the navy trousers, short sleeved button-down shirt, a belt and his shoes in record time. He tried not to think of Martie sitting out in his living room as he changed, or how much he wanted to see her naked and trembling beneath him in his king-sized bed.
There would come a time that fantasy would come true, he assured himself. But for now, it was back to reality.
When they arrived at Old City Hall, Gracechurch’s original municipal building, Chris looked up at the aged stone edifice that was a combination courthouse and office building. The mayor and the city council were housed in a newer, more modern construct in New Town referred to as New City Hall, which also contained the city’s two criminal courtrooms and the criminal court judges’ offices. The Gracechurch Division of Police was housed next door in their own modern offices. But the hundred-year-old building he was walking up to with Martie at his side was still in use for family and civil court hearings, and it was where the Division of Fire offices were housed.
Officially, at any rate. The Chief of Fire Operations (who was in charge of fire services not only within the city but also the four surrounding townships) had elected to move into an office at New City Hall. Only the Fire Marshal and the Chief of Emergency Medical Services had chosen to remain in the old offices.
After passing through security, Chris led Martie toward the back of the building. They were greeted warmly by the receptionist and informed that “Marshal Dresden is expecting you, Lieutenant. He said to go on back.”
Chris nodded and headed for Dresden’s office, leading Martie down a short hallway before coming to a stop in front of a door with the marshal’s name and position on it in stenciled lettering. He raised his hand and knocked on the frosted glass, feeling somewhat nervous as to what this meeting was about.
“Come in.”
Opening the door, he stepped aside and let Martie precede him, then Chris entered and closed it behind him. Bob Dresden looked at him with one eyebrow raised.
“Marshal, this is Lt. Martine Liotta of the Montana Bureau of Fire Safety,” he said, introducing the two.
Martie stepped up to the desk and offered Dresden her hand, which he shook after standing. “We spoke on the phone yesterday—it’s nice to put a face to the name.”
“Forgive my intrusion, Marshal Dresden,” Martie said with an apologetic smile. “But after speaking with Lt. Paytah at the hospital yesterday, I learned that he and Miss Maynard were without transportation home. Given that I was planning to come to Gracechurch to speak with the rest of his crew and visit the scene, I offered them a ride so that the lieutenant wouldn’t have to spend money on a rental.”
“That was very kind of you, Lt. Liotta,” Dresden said.
“If you’d rather speak to Lt. Paytah alone, I’ll certainly understand. I can wait in the lobby,” she added.
“If Chris doesn’t mind, neither do I,” he replied, gesturing for the both of them to sit. “You’re sure to learn of this soon enough.”
Chris frowned as he sat in one of the visitors’ chairs. “What’s this about, Bob?”
Dresden cleared his throat as he returned to his seat. “Chris, this is really difficult for me. Calvin was one of my best friends. My wife and I introduced him to Irene. I’m Kara’s godfather, for goodness’ sake! It’s a matter of business that can’t be ignored, and yet I feel like I’m betraying the man’s memory.”
He sighed and reached down out of sight, and when he sat straight again the object he sat on the desk had the air rushing from Chris’s lungs, leaving him feeling as if he’d be punched in the gut.
It was a white, soot-covered firefighter’s helmet. Calvin’s helmet.
“Our illustrious Director of Public Safety is, apparently, a superstitious bastard,” Dresden said, bitterness evident in his voice. “He’s afraid that Calvin’s death has cast a pall over the opening of Firehouse 343. That it’s a sign of bad things to come or some such nonsense. With ‘all due respect to Captain Maynard’, I’ve been ordered to replace him before the day is over. Well, actually the CFO was given the order and he heaved it onto my shoulders.”
For a moment, all Chris could do was stare across the desk at Dresden, no doubt with a dumbfounded expression on his copper face.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” he asked at last, not bothering to censor his words so that the marshal would know how pissed he was.
“I’m afraid not,” the other man replied sourly. “Believe me, Chris, I’m no happier about this than you are. I called his office directly and made sure Brostack knew it, too.”
“The son of a bitch is lucky he keeps an office in New Town,” Chris muttered darkly. “Or I’d probably end up losing my job for knocking his fucking teeth down his throat. I mean, come on—Calvin’s been gone only a day, and he’s already replacing him as captain of the new firehouse? ‘All due respect’ my ass.”
“Another reason it’s a good thing you can’t do that, Lieutenant, is because then I’d have to conduct my search for Calvin’s replacement all over again.”
Chris had been about to say something else snide about Director Brostack—that is, until Dresden’s words sank in.
Blinking rapidly, he said instead, “Come again?”
Dresden smiled grimly. “Part of Calvin’s job as captain of 343 was to select his staff—that is, he was to hand-pick the twenty-four men and women who would staff the firehouse. Thus far he’d confirmed only two selections—Tonja Webber and you. You were to be his second in command. That makes you a natural choice to take his place.”
He was speechless in the face of this news, as Calvin hadn’t said a word about it. Chris had certainly hoped Cal would choose him as one of the twenty-four, and he’d been certain of Tonja’s placement on one of the shifts as well. But there were hundreds of applicants for those 24 slots, from firefighters working the city and township stations to men and women from other cities. Other states, even. He remembered then Cal mentioning that he’d actually reviewed apps from a handful of firefighters in New York, whose brethren they were honoring with the new firehouse.
“Chris?”
He started, having forgotten in his shock that Martie was even there. He turned at the sound of her voice to find her looking at him with a concerned expression.
“I… I’m stunned,” he said at last, turning back to the fire marshal. “Cal never said a word to me. And now you’re telling me that you want me to take his place?”
Dresden nodded. “A promotion to captain would accompany your position as station commander,” he said. Then his eyes fell on the helmet. “I can get the Chief of Operations to order you a new helmet, or you can take Calvin’s.”
“If I’m gonna do this, I want a new one,” Chris said resolutely. “Cal’s helmet should go to Kara, or it should be buried with him. Whatever she wants.”
The marshal nodded again. “Of course. I have Cal’s things from Gracechurch Memorial here—it’s how I came to have his helmet in the first place. Do you want to take them to her?”
“I can do that. Might as well, seeing as I’ll have to clean out his locker at the station when I get there.” Chris shook his head, then ran a hand through his hair and down his face. “Damn. I would never have wanted a promotion like this. I’d want it because I earned it.”
“Chris,” Martie spoke up again. “Pardon me if I’m speaking out of turn, but I daresay Marshal Dresden wouldn’t ask you to do this if he didn’t think you were the man for the job.”
Dresden nodded again. “She’s right. I’m offering this to you, for the most part, because you have the experience and training necessary to do the job. I am confident that you are up to the task. And I’m fairly certain Calvin thought the same thing, or he wouldn’t have named you his second.”
“Then that’s the only reason to do it,” Chris replied firmly. “For Calvin.”
After Dresden’s announcement, Martie asked him a few questions about his own role in the fir
e, what he had done that day leading up to his arrival and departure on the scene. She even asked him point-blank why he had left Chris in charge and gone to the hospital, when in fact it might have been more prudent to stay and coordinate the operation, given that there were firefighters from other houses there. Dresden had answered her with a simple, “Chris had it in hand. And Kara needed the support more.”
When they had finished their discussion, Chris reluctantly took the boxes of Calvin’s things, which contained all his firefighting gear. As there were two, Martie helped him carry them out to her car. Once the boxes were stowed in the cargo area, they got into the front and she started the engine, asking him quietly for directions to the city firehouse. Chris mumbled the directions—the fire station was only a few blocks away—and sat with his chin in his hand, his arm braced on the window frame, staring out at nothing.
“I don’t want it like this,” he said after a long moment of silence. “If I were going for a promotion to captain, I’d rather it had been because Calvin or one of the other captains had retired—not because Cal’s dead and the jackass public safety director is a fuckin’ ‘fraidy-cat.”
“It may not be the ideal way to get it,” Martie replied, “but you have it now, and what you do with it is up to you. I think the best way for you to honor your friend’s memory is to be the best captain you can be, using all the tools of the trade and advice that he gave you over the years.”
After a moment, he turned to her with a smile. “You know, I knew there was a reason I liked you. Keep it up with the sage advice and I’m gonna have to keep you around a while.”
“Well, I should certainly hope so,” she said lightly as she turned a corner. “I mean, it’s kinda hard to be friends if I’m not sticking around.”
“Certainly,” Chris said, and then his grin turned mischievous. “Of course, there are other reasons I want to keep you around, too. One of which you’re sitting on.”
Fire Born (Firehouse 343) Page 7