“There was a fire.” Louise sighed. “They say a parent started it. His wife left him and she got full custody of the kids. He wanted his family back, but he had some large emotional problems. He set the fire and thought he would swoop in and save his kids and prove something to them, or their mother. The school went up in flames and almost all the kids got out, except for Natalie. They couldn’t account for her. Matthew Bailey went once more after the rest had given up, and by the time he brought her out—” Louise stopped.
None of this was new information, and it didn’t explain what she’d seen. She was silent for a moment; then she asked, “How did the community react?”
“In grief, of course.” Louise picked up a piece of watermelon, then put it back on the plate without tasting it. “There were vigils in her honor, a plaque was put up at the school in her memory...” She frowned. “Last year, City Hall held a memorial day for the fire and collected donations to be given to a children’s charity in Natalie Martin’s name.”
“It sounds like they meant well,” Rachel said softly. “What about the family?”
“The mother was in the news at first, very tearful and heartbroken. She had other children to care for, though, and eventually the family asked for some privacy from the papers and local TV channels. Everyone respected that.”
Rachel pushed back her computer and sat in thoughtful silence for a moment. She could understand that desire to grieve alone, but something was missing in her mental picture of the tragedy.
“What about Matt?” she asked.
“What about him?”
“Was he ever mentioned in these tributes?”
“From time to time. He was the heroic firefighter who did his best.”
“A public memorial to his most crushing failure,” Rachel concluded.
Louise paused, then winced. “I don’t think anyone meant it that way.”
“No, of course not.” She smiled sadly. “No one knows how to do these things. Grief is awkward and ugly. Memorials and tributes help to clean it up a little.”
Her aunt nodded sympathetically. “You understand him, don’t you?”
Rachel glanced over in mild surprise. “I suppose I do, in a way.”
“Is he—” Louise looked to the side, then sighed. “Does the fire—”
The fire followed him, as did the memory of little Natalie, that much Rachel knew for a fact, but she also knew that he was too private to share that with just anyone. He shouldered his grief alone, and by some happenstance, he’d shared a small piece of it with her. She couldn’t betray his confidence.
“I don’t think it’s the sort of thing that a man just forgets,” Rachel replied. “But I couldn’t speak for him.”
“No, of course not,” Louise agreed.
Rachel clicked on a news photo of the previous year’s memorial on her computer. The mayor held a large check for a children’s hospital charity, given in Natalie Martin’s name. In the background, Matt Bailey stood rigid and professional. His uniform was crisp and the buttons gleamed. His hat sat perfectly straight across his forehead, and his expression was as blank as a palace guard’s, but something in his eyes gave her pause.
Agony. His eyes betrayed the emotions battling inside him, the emotions no one else noticed in that brief moment, captured by camera.
If it isn’t this job, it will be another one, she realized. He’s leaving this town one way or another.
And she couldn’t say that she blamed him.
* * *
Matt straightened his back and pushed the report across his desk. It had been a long morning of paperwork—prefire safety reports, employee fitness reviews and all the sundry running of a town fire department.
There was a tap on the door and Firefighter Johnson poked his head into the office.
“DC, we’re heading out to get some lunch. Interested?”
“I’m good,” Matt replied with a wave of his hand. “Thanks, though.”
“Oh, we came across this...” The man tossed an envelope onto Matt’s desk and Matt gave a distracted nod in thanks, shoving the envelope to the top of his inbox.
The door shut again, and Matt turned his attention back to the report. The words swam before his eyes and he rubbed his hands over his face. His arms and chest still burned from his morning workout—admittedly, a more intense workout than he normally did on a Monday morning. The weight room in the fire station always had at least one guy in it, lifting weights or running on the treadmill, but this morning Matt had had the machines to himself, which was just as well. He had a lot of frustration to purge from his system, and that kind of workout was most effective without an audience.
“What was I even thinking yesterday?” he muttered to himself.
He’d stayed away from church to avoid those awkward encounters like the one he’d had with Wendy Martin. He could deal with some discomfort, and he could recover from hard memories, but his biggest irritation was having Rachel front row center to see it all—that audience he so resented. It was more than that, though. Rachel was different. She wasn’t a firefighter whose respect he needed to retain. She was... He sighed.
Don’t go there, he reminded himself. No use starting something you can’t finish.
His desk phone rang, and Matt picked up the receiver, grateful for some distraction.
“Deputy Chief Bailey,” he said.
“Hi, this is Abe Bernard. How are you?”
“Can’t complain.” Matt’s mind refocused and he pulled a hand through his hair. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m coming through Haggerston on Friday, and I was hoping to shadow you for a few hours and see you in action.”
“This is the observation that you emailed about, isn’t it?” Matt asked with a smile.
“Yes, sir, it is.” Mr. Bernard agreed. “We are very impressed with you. This will be the last stage before we make a decision.”
Matt leaned across his desk to check the calendar and inwardly groaned. He’d be addressing a day camp full of kids that day. He’d decided to do the presentation himself so that Rachel could give him some tips with a younger group, but it looked as though time had run out.
“I could probably shift my schedule around a bit—” Matt began.
“If you need to, but I won’t need any babysitting,” the other man said. “I’ll just be there to observe. I’ll need to see you in a managerial capacity, but before this process is done, I’ll also want to see how you are with community groups.”
“You might get both on Friday,” Matt admitted grudgingly. “I’m going to be addressing a kids’ day camp about fire safety.”
“Excellent,” Mr. Bernard crowed. “That would certainly speed things along for me. Do you have any questions at all?”
“I do,” Matt said. “How many candidates are there for this position?”
“Four, but I have to admit, you’re standing out from the group. You’ve got the experience, the recommendations and the education.”
“That’s good to hear,” Matt said, satisfaction flooding over him. Hopefully, his standing wouldn’t change after Mr. Bernard saw him with a school group.
“I’ll see you on Friday, Matt. Take care.”
As he hung up the phone, Matt nodded to himself. He’d worked hard toward a fire chief position for years. He was young, he knew. Most men put in a lot more time before they qualified for the position, but then he wasn’t most men.
Lord, I’ve been working toward this since the beginning, he prayed silently. I want this.
Matt turned back to the paperwork, but his eye moved to the envelope on the top of papers. He paused for a moment, then reached over and picked it up. He slid a finger under the flap to tear the seal and looked inside to find a single Polaroid picture. Before he pulled it out, he knew what it was—a
grainy photo of Matt sitting in one of the firehouse armchairs, a newborn in his arms. He looked awkward, the sleeping baby being the more comfortable of the two of them. With one hand he supported the infant’s diapered rump, and with the other he held an empty baby bottle aloft. Written in ballpoint pen across the bottom were the words Bailey’s Baby.
That was how everyone had referred to Christopher that night, and Matt recalled being mildly annoyed at the playful picture taking. Normally at that time of night they’d all be turned in for sleep in the bunks, but the hours stretched out in sleepless baby duties. All Christopher seemed to want to do was drink bottle after bottle and sleep in Matt’s arms.
Secretly, under the gruff exterior, Matt had been proud that the baby preferred him, and when he handed the sleeping infant to the social worker, he’d felt a pang of loss.
Without ever meaning to, he’d bonded with the kid.
“I forgot we took this,” he murmured to himself, running his thumb over the thick edge of the photo. He moved to put it down, but then he changed his mind and tucked it into his front shirt pocket.
Glancing at his watch, he logged out of his computer and grabbed his hat. He had an appointment for a prefire inspection at Doug’s Bakery. Doug wanted to renovate his kitchen, but he had to be sure he wouldn’t be breaking any fire codes in the process. Matt couldn’t really complain. Doug was not only the source of the best doughnuts in town; he was also Matt’s second cousin. Matt needed this distraction. Work was better than overthinking the things he couldn’t change.
* * *
Rachel scanned the bakery display case, filled with a mouthwatering array of chocolate-dipped cream puffs, sugar-powdered doughnuts and flaky turnovers. Just the aroma probably carried calories, and Rachel stared down at the options, attempting to exert some self-control. The sweet scent of baking wafted through the small shop. One whole wall was dedicated to a variety of freshly baked breads and bagels, and a platter of bread samples sat just out of her reach next to a little dish of butter. She eyed them hungrily.
“Can I help you, miss?” a teenage boy asked. He wore a white smock and a hair net—not a flattering look for the young man, but his smile was easy and his stance carefree.
“Yes, I’d like to order a birthday cake,” she replied, tearing her eyes from the cubes of rye bread and forcing herself back to the task at hand.
The young man pulled out a binder of cake options, and she flipped through glossy photos of everything from wedding cakes to cupcakes.
“I just need a simple sheet cake,” she said. “Like this.” She pointed to an example in the binder.
“Do you want white cake, lemon cake or chocolate?” the young man asked.
“Let’s do white cake with chocolate icing,” Rachel said.
“I’d recommend the buttercream icing. We can do that in chocolate.”
“That sounds delicious. And on the top, could you write—”
Rachel took the slip of paper the young man offered her and wrote the message for the top of the cake. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the door to the kitchen opening, and a thin man with small wire glasses came out, a baker’s hat tucked under one arm.
“So you think there’s room for another oven?” the man asked someone behind him.
“As long as you leave those twenty-four inches before that door, you’ll be fine. But measure carefully, if you want to stay within fire regulations.”
Rachel glanced up, recognizing Matt’s voice immediately. He seemed to notice her at the same moment, and their eyes met in mutual surprise. Matt’s dark blue shirt was open at the neck, his blue eyes meeting hers from under the rim of his formal hat. A smile teased the corners of his lips.
“Hi,” Matt said.
The smaller man looked from Matt to Rachel, curiosity written on his face. He wore the bakery smock as well, and he carried himself with quick, efficient movements.
“Doug, this is Rachel Carter. She’s new in town. Rachel, this is Doug, the owner of this bakery.”
“And his cousin,” Doug added with a grin.
“And my cousin.”
“Nice to meet you.” Rachel smiled and shook the man’s hand. “I was just ordering a cake.”
“Special occasion?” Matt sauntered around the display case to her side. She inwardly winced. Had he noticed that he hadn’t been invited?
Matt leaned against the counter, his strong, warm arm brushing hers. As he glanced down at the paper in front of her, the musky scent of his cologne tugged at her, and she stoically ignored it.
“Chris turned seven last month, but since we were getting ready to move, I thought we’d take another swing at a birthday cake tomorrow. The first one was a homemade disaster.”
“Doug’s cakes are great. You’ll start celebrating Tuesdays as an excuse to have one.”
Rachel smiled. “I have no doubt.”
Rachel turned back to complete her order. She needed to have the cake ready for that evening, which she was assured wouldn’t be a problem. She even had the option of having the cake delivered, which she gratefully accepted. As she finished up with the details, Matt ambled over to the display case and selected a few treats. When they had both paid, Matt angled his head toward the door, a white paper bag in hand.
“Can I walk you out?” he asked, lowering his voice to keep their conversation just between the two of them.
“Sure.”
“See you later, Doug,” Matt called over his shoulder. Rachel smiled her thanks and followed Matt out the front door, leaving the cool air-conditioning behind them as they sauntered out into the summer heat.
The street wasn’t busy this time of day, and Rachel paused to breathe in the scent of begonias from the planters that hung dripping from a fresh watering. Down the street, a pickup truck crept along, a big water container in the back, and a teenage girl leaned out with a sprayer, watering each hanging planter as she passed. Rachel watched the process for a moment, then turned her steps after Matt.
They stopped at a corner and waited for a car to pass before they stepped out into the street and crossed to the other side. Matt paused next to the vehicle and bounced his keys in his palm.
“Look, Matt—” she began. “I’m sorry I didn’t invite you to the party.”
“It’s okay. It’s understandable. You need Chris to settle in on his own, with the people who will be part of his life here.” He shrugged. “It’s okay. I get it.”
She sighed. “Okay. I’m glad. If things were different—”
“It’s okay,” he repeated. “Did you drive?”
“No, I walked,” she replied. “I wanted the exercise.”
“You seem to do that lot.” A smile tickled the corner of his lips.
“It’s good for me.”
He nodded. “Can’t argue with that. Do you want a lift back?”
Rachel considered for a moment, then shrugged. “I do need to get back and get organized for the party.”
Matt pulled open the passenger-side door. He handed her up into the seat and deposited the bag of treats into her lap. “Help yourself.”
Inside, there was a selection of pastries, and she plucked out an apple turnover and sank her teeth into the flaky pastry, her mouth watering.
“Good?” he asked as he hopped up into the driver’s side.
“Hmm.” She nodded, chewing.
“Doug’s the best, all right.” He pulled out a chocolate-covered doughnut and took a bite. Then he started the truck and eased out of the parking spot.
“You don’t normally attend church, do you?” she asked.
“Not really.”
“Did you used to?”
“Every week.”
She nodded. She didn’t need the explanation of why he’d stopped. She glanced at him, wondering what he
was thinking. His gaze flickered in her direction, and then he signaled for a turn.
“I’m sorry things got weird at the church with Wendy Martin. I didn’t mean for you to see that.”
“Don’t worry about me,” she said. “But I think I get it. She’s Natalie’s mother. What are you supposed to say to her?”
“It’s a bit more than that.” He stopped at a corner, waiting for a couple of teenagers to cross before he made the turn. “When Natalie died, Wendy was a mess. We all understood that. But she needed someone to blame.”
“And she blamed you?” Rachel asked cautiously.
He shrugged. “I was the obvious target. I hadn’t gotten her daughter out in time.”
The truck rumbled past an auto-body shop and a gardening store on one side of the street, a hardware store on the other. A warm breeze whispered through the open window, and she took another bite of the apple turnover, the flaky pastry melting in her mouth.
“What about the man who started the fire?” she asked. “He seems like a better target to me.”
Matt shook his head. “Grief does what it does. It’s not always logical.”
“You seem to understand that,” she said softly. “She doesn’t blame you still, does she?”
“No.” He popped the last of his cream puff into his mouth. “She and her husband came down to the firehouse and apologized for it. She said she was wrong and after that she became my biggest champion.”
“So why the tension?”
Matt was silent for a long moment, and then his big shoulders lifted in a sigh. “Because she was right. It was my fault.”
“No.” Rachel shook her head adamantly. “How could it have been?”
“Whatever happened in there, it’s on my shoulders. I was in charge,” Matt went on. “When Wendy decided she didn’t blame me after all, it didn’t change the facts.”
“I read the newspaper articles,” Rachel admitted. “Everyone started focusing on the heroic firefighter who’d done his best.”
The muscles along Matt’s jawline tensed. “Something like that.”
“You don’t want to be a hero, do you?”
Love Inspired May 2015 #2 Page 51