The Fireman's Son

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  He was done with her.

  “I...have a son... Reese.”

  His hand suspended midair, the paper hanging there between them, he looked at her.

  “His name’s Elliott. He’s... During the day he’s... There were only two places in the country that offered the kind of nonresident counseling and education that he needs, and the other one is on the east coast. I’d have to recertify and...”

  She had a son. His hand dropped to his side. His Faye. The woman he’d thought would be the mother of his children...had a son.

  “He’s severely at risk, Reese. To move him now, after he’s started the program... To move him from Southern California, the only home he’s ever known... Please. Give me a second chance to show you that I have what it takes to be reliable. I’m good at my job. Really good. You’ve seen my credentials and performance reports. I won’t let you, your department or Santa Raquel down.”

  He heard the last part. Couldn’t focus on it.

  “Severely at risk,” he repeated. “What does that mean?”

  When she ran her tongue over her lips, he almost turned his back on her. If she thought she was going to play him with that old maneuver...

  Her kid probably wasn’t at risk at all...

  “He’s at The Lemonade Stand.”

  He froze. “The Lemonade Stand’s for victims of domestic violence,” he said.

  She nodded.

  She’d asked for a divorce. And the kid was with her.

  “Your ex hit your son?”

  She shook her head.

  Then who had? Surely not her. Faye might be a cheater but she was most definitely not someone who would strike out in anger. Ever. She’d had the most trusting, giving, generous, nurturing heart...

  “Who then?”

  “Me.” For the first time since she’d entered the room, her gaze dropped from his, falling to the floor.

  “You hit your son?” The world had gone from ridiculous to unrecognizable. Who was this woman? What had happened to drive her to do such a thing?

  She shook her head. Shuddered. And then looked up again, something new in her eyes as she looked at him. “No, Reese, my ex-husband hurt me, not our son.”

  Our son. That answered that then. She’d been married to her son’s father.

  “How old is he?” He’d never felt so...uncomfortable...in his life. “Your boy, I mean.”

  “Eight.”

  The word hit him hard, right in the gut.

  “You married the guy you dumped me for.” There was just no classy way to get that out there.

  She nodded.

  “And had his son.”

  She nodded a second time. Looking him straight in the eye.

  His disrespect for her lessened a little as he tried to figure out what to do with her. How to get rid of her.

  The man she’d married had hurt her, she’d said. He was trying his damnedest not to process that part.

  “Are you at The Lemonade Stand, too, then?” It was a resort-type place with more housing than most shelters, including cabins for families to live in alone. Or for a mother and one child to share with another mother and one child.

  But...Faye was working for him. She wasn’t a woman finding protection at a shelter...

  The realization hit at the same time she shook her head. “I did go to a shelter, briefly,” she told him. “But just until I could get some counseling. Get my bearings. I’m not in... Frank...there’s no danger there.”

  In spite of himself, Reese cared. If some bastard was going to be coming after Faye...

  “Frank didn’t...abuse me...in the traditional way,” she told him. “And he’s not angry that I left. He was glad I walked out and took Elliott with me.”

  “He wanted you to take his son?”

  Her eyes dropped again. “Frank had antiquated ideas about men and child rearing. He didn’t raise a hand to Elliott. He just ignored him.”

  Reese didn’t get it. Not any of it.

  Faye being here...her son not being abused but being at the Stand... Faye as a victim of domestic abuse.

  And then there was Reese, losing a wife he didn’t really love to a car accident that shouldn’t have happened. Finding out after his wife was dead that she’d been six weeks pregnant.

  Life wasn’t supposed to have turned out that way.

  But one thing was clear...he and Faye...their ship had sailed. He was sorry Frank Walker had turned out to be a bastard. Honestly sorry.

  But that didn’t change the fact that Faye had cheated on Reese. Cheated him out of the life—the family—she’d promised they’d have together.

  “Elliott wasn’t abused, physically, but he...heard...what was going on between his father and me,” Faye said, breaking the silence that was leading to him picking up the piece of paper on his desk. “He...my son...has issues. Ones that could ruin his life if we don’t get them under control. It’s believed that his best chance of success is to spend at least the next semester being homeschooled at the Stand, with specialized counseling, and see if we can break through his walls and help him work through things.”

  Issues. Specialized. Things. He could imagine. But he didn’t really understand.

  The vagueness left him unsettled.

  “You’re not a nurse.”

  She shook her head. “No, I’m not.”

  He knew that. He’d read her file.

  “But I’m a damned good EMT.” She’d grown more outspoken than he remembered her. Stronger.

  And yet, she’d always had the strength to move mountains. It had just been a quiet strength.

  “A single mother with a troubled son.” He shook his head. She’d given him the legitimate out he needed to get rid of her. “There’s no way you can be relied upon to work the kind of hours your position is meant to fill,” he said. “On call three nights a week. Twelve-hour shifts.”

  He understood her desperation. But surely even Faye knew that he couldn’t cover for her—even if he’d had a mind to.

  “I’ve got that all worked out.” She told him about her landlord, Suzie Preston, who worked at the Stand. She was in the library but only because she was retired. The woman had been a counselor at a domestic violence shelter for more than thirty years.

  Her eyes begged him. They knew him. Knew he wouldn’t turn her away.

  But he couldn’t have her here. Day after day. Even when she wasn’t on duty, he’d know that she’d be back.

  For a brief second, he considered quitting. Moving on.

  Except that he’d signed a contract. To renege on that for no good professional reason would be a permanent black mark on his record.

  In the end, he did what they both had known he would do.

  He nodded.

  He saw the tears that sprang to her eyes and swore silently.

  Out loud all he said was, “Stay out of my way, Faye. I mean that. You’ve got the job but as far as anyone knows, you and I do not and never have known each other.”

  She nodded, pursing her lips as though biting back a smile.

  “I mean it. No one here knows my past prior to Tabitha.” He wasn’t going to have people watching him.

  Wasn’t going to have gossip.

  And most certainly wasn’t going to have anyone getting the idea into their heads that Faye could somehow heal the gaping hurt caused by his wife’s death.

  She couldn’t.

  Because as ashamed as he was to admit it, it wasn’t his wife’s death that had caused the chasm within him.

  It was Faye’s cheating that had torn at his heart.

  And his unborn child’s death that had ripped it in half.

  “I understand,” Faye said now, reaching for the door handle. “I expected as much. Whic
h was why I expected you to call me before I came to work.”

  He would have dismissed her, but she’d already stepped out.

  And not a second too soon. He needed a drink. Maybe more than one. Didn’t matter that it was eight o’clock in the morning. He’d been up all night.

  Life had a strange way of dealing its cards. Faye was a cheater who had a child. He was a man who’d been cheated on, with a dead wife on his conscience—and a lost child because of it.

  Reaching for his keys, he thought of the beer in his fridge. Then he remembered the evidence bags locked in his trunk. He wasn’t going home to drink. He was going to LA.

  Maybe he’d spend the night there.

  Away from Faye and all of the memories she’d brought back into his world.

  Even the good ones were bad now, tainted because they hadn’t meant enough to her.

  Going out for UC’s homecoming had been more important to her than he’d been. Than their four years together had been.

  He’d gotten her message loud and clear.

  He wasn’t ever going to need to hear it again.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  HIS HAND SLID across her breast. Cradling it. So soft. So tender. As though it was precious to him.

  She shivered. Wondered if she was naked. If he was. In bed, but not sure how she’d gotten there, or even where “there” was, she snuggled closer to him, smelling the musky scent on his skin. Wanting to be closer yet. Finding warmth to soothe her coldness.

  His departure was imminent. Fear surrounded his leaving. He couldn’t go. She couldn’t stop him. She had to stop him. Couldn’t. Had to...

  Faye didn’t know where she was. Drenched, shaking, she stared into the darkness—recognized the small glow of light off to the right...

  “Mom?”

  Elliott!

  Shooting up, she reached for him. Remembered at the last minute not to touch. She could startle him awake.

  “You were crying.”

  He came closer. Sat on the side of her bed. Like most nights, she was in her own room. His gaze was focused.

  Touching her cheeks, she felt the wetness there. Knew he saw it.

  “I...was...dreaming,” she said. Her son was awake. She had to think. Shake off the torturous dream. Convince him that she was fine.

  That the years of him waking in the night to the sound of his mother’s tears were over.

  God, let them be over.

  He looked so young standing there...his eyes wide. Innocent. Concerned.

  “I’m sorry I woke you,” she said, taking his hand. Half expecting him to pull away. To see his blank expression reappear as he walled himself off from her.

  Instead, he moved closer, leaning toward her until her arms couldn’t help but circle around him and pull him to her. He didn’t resist.

  He was tired. She was, too. Tired of not being able to just make Elliott’s world right. Tired of being strong all alone.

  Tired of avoiding Reese the past couple of days as she settled into a job that she otherwise would have loved.

  Tired of all the regrets.

  So she took the rare gift he’d offered her. Sliding down in the bed, she settled her son against her, laid her head on her pillow and closed her eyes.

  Morning would come.

  And with it, her strength would return.

  * * *

  ON THURSDAY, REESE pulled into the station with an infusion of energy. He’d had a bit of a hit from the LA lab results—the print from a popular brand of running shoe, men’s size ten. Maybe not enough to pursue all the way to a suspect, but it was a start.

  And Faye Walker was off for the next four days.

  There’d been no other fires in the area since Sunday night. So while his crew had been kept unfortunately busy with a couple of car accidents, it had been a relatively slow week, without a lot of paperwork.

  That alone made for a happy day. He had a meeting with the city manager and a couple of inspections awaiting his attention as he also served as the city’s construction inspector. In departments as small as his, they couldn’t afford too many full-time employees. Part of the reason he’d been awarded the job of chief was because of his multiple qualifications.

  Three members of his crew were inside the station, wiping down a newly cleaned truck. Cyrus, the only paramedic left on his crew that he wanted to be around, was checking medical supplies. By nine o’clock, all of the equipment would be checked, as it was every day, seven days a week, and then, barring calls, the men would be in the fitness room, working out.

  He’d have liked to join them. If all went well, he’d make it for the afternoon session. Staying in shape was a huge part of their jobs. And a personal must for him.

  “You’ve got a phone call,” Doris, their receptionist, called, the receiver still in hand. “Holding on four.”

  His raised eyebrow was all the question he needed to ask. “I saw you pull in,” she said from her desk in the first office inside the door. “And I had a feeling you’d want to take it.”

  She’d piqued his curiosity.

  “Chief Bristow,” he said, the phone to his ear as he closed his office door.

  “I’m sorry to bug you, um, sir...Chief...”

  Reese pulled back and looked at the receiver. What kind of prank was Doris pulling, putting a kid through to him? Certain that his receptionist would have already determined there was no emergency, that she would never have put a kid on hold had there been one, that if there’d been one, the call would have come in through 9-1-1 and police dispatch, not the station’s number...

  “Who is this?” he asked, trying to figure out the joke. It wasn’t like his men to play around at work. When it came to fire safety, he was a pretty serious guy.

  But he’d already let one employee go that week—Chester Smith—the paramedic who’d been drinking while on call.

  “I can’t say,” the young voice told him. “At least... I gotta know what happens, first.”

  “Do you know who you’re talking to?” How well had Doris screened this call?

  “Yes, um, you just said. You’re Chief Bristow. It’s...who I asked for.”

  Sitting behind his desk, he glanced at the folders on top of it. His good mood rapidly dissipating, he thought about sending the call back out to his receptionist.

  He wasn’t all that great with kids. Didn’t spend any time around them, but didn’t particularly want to offend one, either. Joke or not.

  “What do you gotta know?” he asked, purposely using the kid’s vernacular. He assumed he was talking to a boy but wasn’t altogether sure.

  “If I...confess...do I gotta go to jail right away? Or do I get to explain to my mom?”

  He sat forward. And then stood. What in the hell were they dealing with here?

  It had to be a joke. But the boy didn’t sound like he was kidding.

  Which would make it the best kind of joke...

  “You sure you don’t need to be talking to the police?” he asked, to buy himself another second or two.

  “No, um, it’s you.”

  He nodded and adjusted his tie. He would put on working blues later after his meeting with the city manager.

  “I can’t answer your questions until I know what we’re talking about,” he said. And then, in case this was for real, added, “But if you’re under eighteen, then yes, you can talk to your mom. It’s the law. No one can question you without your mom or dad’s permission.”

  Maybe this was a test. Of what, he had no idea.

  Knew the thought was out there.

  “I don’t got a dad.”

  Or an English teacher, either, apparently.

  “But you’re under eighteen.”

  “I’m eight.”

&nb
sp; The same age as Faye’s son? Not that he’d remembered or anything.

  All week long, every thought had come back to her. If he ate something they’d shared in the past, he’d remember whether or not she’d liked it. After four years together, they’d eaten pretty much everything together, which meant every time he took a bite those past few days...

  He stood still, putting a hand in his pocket.

  “You going to tell me what you did?” Joke or no, this had to end.

  “I set a fire.”

  He glanced around the office as though the whole station had heard.

  Did Doris know? And if so, why in the hell hadn’t she given him a heads-up?

  “You did.”

  “Yes.”

  Was this his escalating fire threat? An eight-year-old in a size-ten tennis shoe?

  He shook his head. “How many of them?”

  “Just one.”

  Not his threat. At least not entirely.

  “Did you have help?”

  “Maybe.”

  They’d dismissed the idea that they were dealing with kids. Maybe too soon?

  “Where did you set the fire?” he asked, thinking of the various unsolved small-fire crime scenes.

  “In a trash can in the boys’ bathroom.”

  Reese ran a hand through his hair. “Not outside?” he asked.

  “No. Then it wouldn’t be contained.”

  He hadn’t heard an “um” in a couple of minutes. And the kid’s grammar had improved. Because he was more comfortable now in speaking with him?

  Or because he was repeating what he’d heard from someone else? Contained was an industry description.

  “Who told you it had to be contained?”

  “No one.”

  “How’d you know, then?”

  He had to find out the kid’s identity. Find out where he was. Send a crew out.

  Heading out of his office, he motioned for Doris to get him the caller ID as the childish voice answered his question.

  “My mom.”

  “You mother taught you a fire had to be contained?”

  “She didn’t exactly teach me. She just says stuff and I hear it.”

  “Who’s your mom?”

  The long silence gave him pause.