Through the Fire

by Shawn Grady

  My knuckles were scabbed and my jaw clicked when I opened it. The washing of water brought a recollection of events. Like wiping dirt from a page, the story came clear.

  After the fight with Blake, I didn’t go home when shift was over in the morning. I had stalled in the station kitchen, drinking coffee and reading the paper and not really talking to anyone. The C-shift crew disappeared. And among the oncoming A-shift guys my stay outlasted the easily excused. Questions kept popping up like, “You working this morning?” or “What rig are you on today?” and “Did you get a full twenty-four hours of overtime?” So I slid the pole and slipped out the back while the A-shift crews held roll call in the dayroom.

  I had sat in the Cruiser with no destination in mind, but somehow my autopilot steered me to Patty’s, where I had to knock on the back door. He let me in and I helped him clean and prepare his few grilled and deep-fried menu items. He didn’t once ask why I was there, just swapped stories and shot the breeze and toasted a shot every hour on the hour.

  The rest is fuzzy, with progressive dimming, like details of a landscape that slip away with the dusk. I had retired to the backseat of my conscious mind, setting cruise control to navigate the rest of the evening. Little flicks of images and flashes of feeling appeared like power poles and billboards through slanted back windows. The world went dark until I opened my eyes to see a four-man engine company staring down at me.

  And there I was on this morning, drying from a shower. A-Shift leaving and B-Shift coming on. I called a cab to take me back to my car still sitting at Patty’s.

  I arrived at the bar parking lot and tipped the cabbie. It wasn’t until I sat behind the wheel that the sense of despair again ripped open. The pounding in my head receded and now felt like a thick mesh of cotton, and I wasn’t honestly sure that I could even be considered fully sober.

  I wasn’t going into Patty’s again. I inserted the tip of the key into the ignition.

  A rap on the door window startled me.

  Ben Sower looked in, smiling, hand raised with two knuckles protruding. I pulled the key out and rubbed my eyes.

  He knocked again.

  “All right, all right,” I said. “Hold on.” My voice was hoarse.

  I unlocked the door. He opened it.

  He gestured palm up for me to exit. I looked at him, knowing that he wasn’t asking. With no energy to argue, I swung my legs out and leaned my elbow on the steering wheel.

  “Come on, now,” he said. “All the way.”

  I exhaled and complied. When I made my feet, he snatched the keys from my fingers.

  “Hey.”

  “You won’t be needing these for a bit, son.”

  I glanced at the street and put my hands in my pockets. What did he want from me? I was tapped. I didn’t have anything more to give. He stood as a monument to my inability. I couldn’t measure up. Not to my father. Not for my fiancée. Not for Julianne.

  Could I even measure up as a fireman anymore? My focus fell to the faded white parking lot paint.

  He brought his head down to make eye contact. “Come for a ride with me.”

  Those unchanging eyes, rimmed with lines. I felt like a kid who’d been grounded, the outside world off-limits, my only avenue to accept my discipline. “Where are we going?”

  “Watch your leg there.” He ushered me away from the door and shut it. “Where you are going is exactly what we have to talk about.” He put a hand on my shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “You’re not in trouble, Aidan. Wipe that penitent look off your face. Come on. I want to take you somewhere you haven’t been in a very long time.”

  CHAPTER

  37

  T he moment I figured it out, I went from reluctant to agitated.

  Ben took the long way, finally puttering his old Ford pickup along the McCarran loop north of Rancho San Rafael Park. He kept me talking, reminiscing, even laughing a couple times at his ridiculous jokes. So when it snuck up on me and I realized what he was doing, I felt betrayed, foolish, and incensed all at once.

  “You can turn this truck around right now.”

  His expression projected a strange confidence. “It’s been half a decade, Aidan.”

  Gray clouds gathered over the hills. “Take me back.”

  “The only way for you is forward.”

  Everything in me wanted to strike the dash, to break a window. Skin stretched taut over my scabbed knuckles, white and purple in fists clenched tight. I was at a point where all options seemed spent.

  Ben turned onto the narrow road leading into Our Lady of Sorrows Cemetery. A spade-tipped iron gate peaked at the center in an acorn shape. Hinges clung to stucco columns supporting weathered marble busts of smooth-faced saints with straight noses and pious visages despairing heavenward. He let the engine idle until a beep emanated and the gate opened in a slow arc.

  He turned off the ignition.

  I glanced at him. “What are you doing?”

  “I can only take you to the gate. You have to be the one to cross.”

  “Would you stop that?”

  “Stop what?”

  “Stop talking like . . . like you’re Obi-Wan Kenobi or something.”

  His cheeks drew up in a grin. “Well, my name is Ben.”

  “This isn’t a joke.”

  He stared at the dash clock, then shifted in his seat. “How many times have you been here since the funeral, Aidan?”

  I put my elbow on the door. He already knew the answer. I wasn’t going to let him do this. But words spilled from my lips before I could catch them. “I can’t. I haven’t.” My thumb crossed over the scar in my palm. “Not since that day.”

  “The day of the funeral?”

  “Yes.”

  Cars on the road sustained a subtle hum.

  “What haven’t you told me about that fire?”

  I shook my head. My cheeks burned.

  “I see it in your eyes, Aidan. You’ve been shouldering a burden that’s become too heavy. Whatever it is, bring it to light, let it breathe air.”

  Sorrow surged in my chest. I tightened my lips together.

  “It’s okay. You can say it.”

  A slow patter of raindrops hit the windshield.

  “It was my fault, Ben. If we’d had just a couple more minutes . . . I remember him standing in the parking lot, like this calm vortex in a cyclone.” A dull rumble traveled through the cloud cover.

  “I can see James that way,” Ben said. “Studying the fire.”

  “Always. I walked past him with a shoulder load of inch and three quarter, and he caught my eye.”

  “Did he say anything?”

  “Yeah. ‘Get in, get out, A-O.’ He looked concerned.”

  “What did you say?”

  Spike-shaped raindrops streaked the window. “I didn’t say anything. I remember meeting up with Waits, who was forcing a door with a Halligan bar. I think you guys were setting up the stick.”

  Ben nodded. “That’s right. On the other side.”

  “My dad was taking command until the BC got there. He had confidence in Waits and me to go on in. He trusted us. Trusted me.”

  “Do you think he was wrong to separate from you two?”

  The rain stained dark patches of marble on the statues. “No, I don’t blame him. I never have. He did what he thought was best. It wasn’t his fault.” The windshield fogged in the corners.

  “So, Waits forced the door . . .”

  “Yeah, Waits forced the door. Smoke rolls out, thick and dark and super hot. I follow my intuition and we start a long right-hand search along the wall toward the back of the building, stretching the hose line. Spats of fire break out above us, but it isn’t until we are about a third of the way in that we see a distant free-burning glow, like a white star. And the place keeps getting hotter. From, like, uncomfortably hot to almost unbearable.” A hollowness ached inside. “Every element in that building was fast approaching its flashpoint. I should have acknowledged that. Because nothing would b
e the same once it did.” I wiped my eyes with my arm. “He warned me in the beginning.” I strained to keep my voice level. “And I knew it.

  “I . . . knew . . . it.

  “I saw the outside brick walls, just like he did, the side-turned king rows and the cracking mortar between the blocks. I saw the screaming evidence of what was to come. But I wouldn’t abdicate.” I looked at the ceiling and took a deep breath. “I thought I could beat it. In my pride I mocked it.”

  I ran the back of my hand under my nose. “Waits shouts in my ear that we need to turn back. But I keep pushing on toward the glow. I think that if we can just get closer we can hit the seat and stop the spread. We can win it. We can knock it down. We get almost within striking distance, almost close enough to attack, and the low-pressure alarm sounds on my pack. Waits turns insistent. He grabs my shoulder strap and tells me we’re leaving. He’d felt a window along the wall a dozen yards back. We were going to bust it out and escape that way. No more arguing.”

  I leaned my elbows on my knees and placed my forehead in my hands. A whirlwind of images whipped through my mind—taking one last glance at the fire, watching it fan out its clawed tips and sharp horned crown.

  Ben intertwined his fingers. “You never heard James call you out on the radio?”

  “Mine got bumped to the wrong channel.”

  “And Waits?”

  “Dead battery. But we do what Waits says and find the window. We bail out and just walk away. A minute later the whole place blows.”

  He studied me and said, “I remember finishing our roof cuts and climbing back on the aerial. That back wall crashed in underneath us.”

  “I saw you. And I stood there in the parking lot, Ben. Smiling. I stood there.” Hot tears ran down. “And I thought, how indestructible we were. How the fire had tried but couldn’t beat us. I was defiant and proud, and absolutely clueless as to what I’d just lost.”

  “You had no way of knowing he went in for you.”

  “I should have known.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  “No.”

  “Because you can’t control everything.”

  I blinked through the blur.

  “This world is fallen, Aidan. Blessing and tragedy sprout side by side.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut.

  “Fighting for what is good and right isn’t wrong. But God is sovereign.”

  Tears overflowed.

  He placed a hand on my shoulder. “Jesus loves you immeasurably. Lay it at His feet and know that He is God.”

  My chest shook in heaving sobs. I buried my face in my hands. Ben prayed for blessing and comfort amid everything in my life that had been twisted and robbed.

  And I felt a warmth stir inside me. A timeless, familiar, and wonderful presence.

  And in my heart I yielded.

  You give and you take away.

  Blessed be your name.

  I fought the steady stream rolling down my cheeks. I sat up and breathed in. “Okay.” Ben squeezed my shoulder and smiled.

  I nodded. “Okay.”

  I stepped out of the car, the air fragrant and humid. Cloud cover blanketed the mountains, and the valley glowed with a translucent aura. The look and smell of things made new.

  I walked through the gate. I followed the path to my father’s grave. And there I knelt by the Celtic cross-shaped headstone that I’d only seen once before. A solitary inscription lay etched into its granite face: Greater love has no one than this, than to lay down one’s life for his friends.

  Every gangrenous guilt I had borne, every bitter root I had carried, my anger at myself, at Christine, at Blake, and at God and the seeming unfair life He’d created, I placed it all on the mantel of that rugged stone cross.

  And I heard a voice, inaudible but certain, still and small.

  Welcome home.

  CHAPTER

  38

  T he evening wrapped around the valley. A rare mist hovered, refracting streetlamp auras on my drive to the county hospital. With thoughts of Hartman, the lump returned to my gut. But I sensed a new strength with it. I offered a petition in faith for my brother.

  The front desk had a hard time finding him at first. He’d moved on from the ER, of course, but ICU didn’t have him. CCU hadn’t heard of him. No less than four phone calls were made before his bed was located in the back corner of a recovery floor.

  “Thanks,” I told the information desk lady. She waved, her other hand holding a romance paperback to which her attention had already returned.

  Save for an occasional tech, the wide hospital corridors were empty. The halls held the feel of a place that never sleeps, where someone is always moving, not caring if it’s night or day, under the same humming lights and past rolling gurneys, hearing touch-tone pages for doctor so-and-so to report to the OR for a code blue.

  I stood in the elevator next to a slight Filipino woman with an EKG machine.

  “Slow night?” I said.

  “Yes.” She nodded and smiled. “We’ll see.”

  The door dinged and opened. I stepped out. “Have a good night.”

  Low-lit hallways stretched in a T from the elevator lobby. I followed a sign posted with room numbers and arrows, stopping once to confer with a seated nurse before coming upon Hartman’s room.

  My breathing quickened. This was going to be harder than I’d thought.

  The door stood propped open with a curtain drawn around his bed, the flickering blue and white light of a television the only illumination, a muffled bed speaker producing sounds of a laugh track at predictable intervals.

  I stalled in the hallway. With the prospect of encountering Hartman’s wife and her doubtless disdain, I found my legs locked and my heart anxious for escape.

  “Aidan?”

  Julianne approached from the nurses’ station. “Hey, Julianne, what’re you doing here?”

  Her head cocked. “You don’t know?”

  I shook my head. “Know what?”

  “Laura is my sister.”

  I still didn’t get it.

  She pointed to the room. “Laura Hartman . . . Matt’s—”

  “Wife.” I put a hand on my forehead. “You’re Matt’s sister-in-law.”

  She glanced to the side. “Last time I checked.”

  “No wonder you . . . I can’t believe you even talk to me. I’m so sorry. I—”

  “No, don’t be. I just assumed you knew. But I’ve only been back for a few weeks. And Matt’s so new to the department, a lot of the guys have met him in here for the first time.” Someone coughed down the hall. “So, you came to see how he is?”

  I stuck my hands in my pockets. “I should have come earlier. I’ve been so self-focused.” I looked at the floor and then back at her. “I met with Ben today. I went to my dad’s grave.”

  Her eyes ran deep like the ocean.

  “I’ve come to a place.”

  I saw a lifetime in them.

  “And a confidence. Like a homecoming.”

  Her arms wrapped around my shoulders, hugging me tight. She pulled back and paused a breath away, letting her eyes meet mine. Her smile said more than a thousand words.

  She moved to the doorway and tapped on it with her fingernails. “Hello?” She brought the edge of the curtain aside. “Hey, Matty. How are you?”

  I heard Laura’s voice behind the curtain. “Here you go, baby. Here’s the pen.”

  Julianne glanced at me, then looked back and laughed.

  “Bill Cosby’s his new hero,” Laura said. “It’s all Jell-O pudding and reruns here, let me tell ya.”

  Julianne motioned for me to come closer. “Hey, I have someone here who really wants to see Matt.”

  “Oh, okay. I probably look like a mess.”

  Julianne waved a dismissive hand. “Laura, you’ve always looked better than me from the moment you wake up.” She pulled me to her side and pushed back the curtain.

  Laura stood from her chair. “Aidan.”

  I c
ould tell she was surprised. I didn’t know what to think, much less say. I smiled, feeling awkward. She walked up to me, expression stern like a railroad spike. Her eyes. Hazel. Deep and unnavigable. I looked away.

  And found myself in another embrace.

  Laura squeezed me tight. When she let go I caught my first glimpse of Matt, unshaven and gaunt in a pale blue gown. But his eyes were bright, alive and full of acceptance.

  I wished I could have taken his place. “Hey, Matt.”

  He mouthed the words Hey, Aidan before picking up a notepad and pen.

  Laura touched her throat. “His vocal cords got infected after the prolonged intubation. They say his voice should come back in the next few days. After the antibiotics kick in.”

  I patted his leg. “I can’t tell you how good it is to see you awake.” I shook my head. “You’re alive. Despite my best efforts.” I forced a grin, but the truth still stung.

  “Aidan,” Laura said, “I owe you an apology.”

  “You absolutely do not.”

  “No. Let me.” She took a deep breath. “I’ve felt so bad about how I must have made you feel. You were right there with him. You helped save his life. But I was so mad at you when I shouldn’t have been.”

  I wanted to interject and argue.

  She could see it and raised a hand. “You had as much right to see him as anyone. I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did. I really am sorry.”

  I looked from her to Matt. He nodded.

  I knew I didn’t deserve this. “Laura, believe me, I do not blame you one bit. I’m the one who’s here to ask for forgiveness. I took us in too far. I knew better. I went against orders. If I hadn’t been so arrogant and pigheaded, if I had let Matt do what the chief was asking us, then we’d both have been out in time. Him being here, right now . . .”

  It took me a second to continue.

  “I’m so glad you’re going to be all right, and I am so, so sorry for bringing this on you and your family.”

  Matt nodded, his eyes reddened and watery. He scribbled words on his notepad and held it up.

  You being here says all you need to. We were, and are, saved by grace.

  “It’s all right,” he mouthed. “It’s all right.”