Rescue and Redemption: Park City Firefighter Romance

by Daniel Banner

  “Then why even come?” Religion had never made a lot of sense to JFK.

  “Because I never regret it,” answered Mercy. “In fact, the more I dread coming, then come anyway, the more I get out of it. Call me crazy but there’s some sort of invisible picket line the devil puts up around this place, doing his best to keep me away.”

  “It’s working on me,” said JFK, but he’d dragged his feet too much. If he was going to do this, he would go willingly. “Ready?”

  “I think so,” said Mercy, and they started walking. “At least we’re going in right when it starts so you don’t have to meet any of my family until after the service.”

  Watching the timbers over his head, JFK, in a button up shirt and an honest-to-goodness necktie, led Mercy forward into their next adventure. They made it all the way inside without the slightest sign of roof collapse. The entry area was empty, and the doors into the big churchy room were open. He helped her out of her coat, and hung it in the coat nook, then caught a look at her.

  She was a stunning beauty with her nearly black hair, shaved on one side and perfect in the way it flowed down the other side well past her shoulder. The violet and white short-sleeved dress was modest, but it didn’t cover the tattoo sleeve on her arm or on the side of her neck. The way she smiled was both confident and playful and her blue eyes were so full of life. For the hundredth time, JFK wondered what he was doing with such a woman. Part of him kept yelling to just end it now, before he started getting his hopes up.

  According to Dom, compliments were a good way to do good manners, so JFK said, “If you were any more perfect, you’d be an angel.”

  “Thanks,” said Mercy, reaching out for his hand again.

  When JFK and Mercy walked through the doors into the churchy room, she took the lead, still holding his hand and leading them halfway up the rows of benches.

  A pastor or priest stood at the podium or altar in the front of the room and started talking.

  Mercy stopped at a bench that was mostly full, and when the people sitting there saw her, they scooted inward to make room for two more. Pretty much everyone on the bench had the same dark hair and blue eyes that Mercy and her Uncle Dom had, though none of them had hair quite as dark as Mercy’s.

  The man at the front of the room stepped back and sat as organ music started and a woman came forward with her arms raised. Everyone reached for one of the books in the wooden book holders and started turning pages. The teenage girl next to Mercy handed her a book and she flipped the pages like everyone else was doing. The book was a book of songs and on some cue from the woman at the front of the room, everyone started singing. JFK didn’t know the song, and even if he had, his voice wouldn’t be welcome among such civilized folk.

  Should he move his mouth as he read the words? Probably not. This wasn’t a place to pretend or fake. After a quick, suspicious glance at the ceiling, he stared at the bench in front of him as he sat perfectly still, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible.

  Eventually the song ended and everyone slid the books back into the holders. The priest came forward again and started praying, which sent everyone into lowering their heads and closing their eyes. That part was easy enough. He was perfectly happy to get everyone’s eyes off of him.

  After the prayer, the same woman who had directed the music came to the front again and started talking about good news. Around the congregation, people talked about new events in their life. A son in the service who had been reassigned. An update on someone with leukemia. A new member of the congregation who had just moved from Michigan.

  That was kind of cool. In a world where people were so self-centered and only seemed to care about bad news and gossip, these Christians shared small details from their lives and seemed genuinely happy for one another.

  At the far end of the bench, a woman who looked like she could easily be Mercy’s mother announced, “Our daughter Mercy is here and brought a friend with her.”

  Every eye in the building went to JFK. He waved, but didn’t know if he was supposed to say anything. The guy just two people over on the same bench was giving him and Mercy a pretty strong stink eye. Really strong for a family member.

  “This is … JFK,” announced Mercy. Part of him wished she would have called him Tarzan right then and there. But really he just wanted people to stop looking at him. “He wanted to find out what the fuss I make about church is.”

  For the most part people chuckled and were smiling and friendly, but the scowly guy just glowered even harder.

  The good news went on for a few more minutes and eventually a sermon started. Do not judge or you too will be judged.

  A full half of JFK’s life was being sarcastic or criticizing people and it was hard to hear all the reasons that was wrong and why he should stop being such a judgmental jerk. JFK kept his eyes down—except when they blipped reflexively to the thick beamed ceiling—because surely there were people in the crowd or even the pastor himself who would detect his inadequacy in that department and call him out right there in front of everyone.

  That guy on their bench, for example, maybe a cousin of Mercy’s, or even a brother. He had to be one of the ones who was making Mercy’s life hard. The guy wouldn’t stop staring down JFK and Mercy, even though JFK ignored him and only caught the looks he sent down the bench out of the corner of his eye. It was obvious the guy wasn’t happy they were there.

  One part of the sermon stuck out in JFK’s mind—writing someone off as irredeemable or lost forever denied belief in the grace of Jesus to save. Something in the pastor’s words made JFK wonder if that’s what he’d done in regards to himself. Had he judged himself worthless and written himself off forever? And offended Jesus in the process?

  A week ago, it wouldn’t have been an issue. He was raised to be trash and always would be. What else was he supposed to believe after being called Anus at home for at least ten years of his life?

  But the miracle sitting next to him was proving him wrong. As farfetched as it seemed that she had been a lying, stealing addict, he couldn’t doubt her own words or the coin that she wore around her neck every day. JFK took a peek and saw that she was wearing it proudly right then, and just as JFK looked, that scowling guy glanced his direction and caught him looking in the direction of Mercy’s chest. Oh, that was just perfect. He diverted his eyes back to the bench in front of him and tried to pick up his train of thought where he’d left it.

  Mercy believed people could change. Not only was she one of the best people he’d ever met, she was proof that the lines of someone’s life didn’t always go in a straight line.

  The sermon ended and was followed by a song from a choir, the reading of some scriptures, another song from the entire group, and then another formal prayer. As soon as the amens were done and people started chatting, JFK breathed a giant sigh and loosened his tie just a little bit more.

  “You survived,” said Mercy quietly in his ear.

  Again JFK looked up at the ceiling, still surprised it hadn’t collapsed on him.

  “What are you looking at?” asked Mercy, glancing up.

  The guy who had been eyeballing Mercy and JFK throughout the service had squeezed past the teenagers and was leaning toward her. Before he could speak, Mercy said, “JFK, this is my brother, Justice. Justice, meet JFK.”

  Justice gave him a surly half smile and a nod, then said to Mercy in a loud whisper, “Don’t you have a coat or sweater you can cover up with? How many times have I asked?”

  “It’s nice to see you too, brother,” said Mercy. There wasn’t much space in between the benches, and so Mercy and Justice were pressed uncomfortably close together.

  “It’s not funny,” said Justice. “You just act like your behavior is normal and acceptable and your sisters and nieces are going to think it’s fine to defile their bodies and pierce them wherever they want to.” He was talking quietly so that only Mercy could hear, but JFK was close enough that he caught every word.

  The word
s shocked JFK so much, he had no idea how to react. Mercy had clamped her mouth shut and was just letting him vent on her. It appeared this wasn’t the first time they’d had this conversation.

  What did manners dictate he do right now? It was right to defend a woman under attack, but it was also right to not knock out anyone’s teeth in a church. Or was he making both of those up? Considering the size of his mouth, JFK had been in relatively few fights in his life, but he was ready to throw down. Instead he slid his hands under his thighs.

  “And that coin,” said Justice, glaring at the two-year coin Mercy wore around her neck. “You wear it like you’re proud of it. Like it’s some badge of honor for you to just walk around with your past out there for everyone to see.”

  JFK stood up. “Judge much, Justice?” He was taller than Mercy’s brother, and had about 50 pounds on him, but Justice didn’t appear to be intimidated. They were on his turf.

  “This doesn’t concern you,” said Justice, then turned back to Mercy. “It’s embarrassing, Mercy. At least sit somewhere else if you won’t at least act like you’ve changed.”

  “What’s wrong with you?” said JFK, loud enough that people around them turned to see what was going on.

  “I told you,” said Justice quietly, glancing side to side. “Stay out of it.”

  “Did you hear anything the priest said?” asked JFK. His face was getting hot again, just as it had before they’d come into the building.

  “Pastor,” corrected Justice. “You obviously know even less than my wayward sister.”

  “You think because your sins are private instead of public that you’re better than her?” JFK was trying not to yell, but the pompous hypocrite was pushing every one of his buttons. “No matter what she does, you’ll never accept her or let Jesus accept her as long as you have any say. And that coin on her neck is a bigger accomplishment than you’ll ever achieve!”

  Most of the congregation had gone silent, but JFK wasn’t finished. Half to Justice and half to the congregation in general, he asked, “Isn’t that the point of this whole Jesus thing—that he loves and helps people who’ve made mistakes? If Mister McJudgy here is so perfect, what’s he doing in church in the first place?”

  And here was JFK guilty of judging Justice for judging Mercy. Where did it all end?

  No one in the big, old churchy room was speaking. Even Justice was too stunned that someone would call him out in church that he wasn’t talking. JFK didn’t want to leave the focus on Justice because he had a pretty good idea most of the people knew on some level what his issues were with Mercy, so he brought it back to himself.

  “Look at me, Justice.” JFK spread his arms wide. “I’m fat. Why don’t you tell me I can’t come to services until I learn to stop being such a bad example of gluttony and food worship? Your kids might see me and get addicted to food.”

  Way to go, JFK told himself. Compared to the bonfire that JFK had roasted himself on at the awards ceremony, yelling his own hypocritical judgy thoughts inside a church was a towering inferno. Anything else that happened from here on out would just make things worse, so he looked at Mercy, who looked up at him with an unreadable expression, and said, “I’m really sorry, Mercy.” He walked toward the door without another word.

  He couldn’t get out of the building fast enough. What a stupid thing to say or do to the brother of a woman he wanted for a girlfriend. Stop even thinking ‘girlfriend’, he told himself. As he pushed through the front doors, he increased his speed. In just a few steps he’d be out from under the ceiling of the church and if God wanted to do him in, it would be in a normal way like a car accident or an oversized bite of ham.

  Would Mercy be okay if he left? In the long run, she’d be fine, but he was her ride. Could he just leave her? Should he just leave her? It seemed like she had over a dozen family members at the service. Any one of them was probably a preferable option to a guy who yelled at her brother in church.

  Oh boy, the guys at the station were never going to believe this one. Too bad Dom and Emily went to a different church or he’d have witnesses.

  “Hey!” The word caught him mid step. Mercy’s voice. This wasn’t going to be good. She already had a hard time coming here where she knew there were people who were suspicious of her. JFK had just made everything a hundred times worse. He turned to face her and saw her walking briskly up the sidewalk without her coat.

  “Mercy, I shouldn’t have done that. I—”

  She reached him and practically jumped at him, throwing both of her arms around him and burying her face in his neck. Was she going to choke him out? Because if so, she would have been better off getting him from behind without giving him warning.

  “Every week,” muttered Mercy.

  The hug wasn’t tight enough to make him lose consciousness. In fact, it was enjoyable. A little piece of heaven. Not strong enough to cut the oxygen to his brain, but firm enough for him to know that it wasn’t some fake, casual hug. Cautiously, JFK reciprocated and put his hands on her back.

  “Every single week,” she repeated.

  Hopefully she didn’t mean she wanted him to come back to services with her that often. Give him a little time and some more opportunities and he could screw everything up much worse than he had today. But none of it made any sense after he’d insulted her brother and made a giant scene in front of the whole church.

  And had he really used the phrase, this Jesus thing?

  That probably could have been worded better. It hadn’t been his intention when he’d woken up that morning to offend an entire congregation of good, God-fearing people. So what was Mercy doing here in his arms and what was she talking about? He was still too confused to even know how to ask.

  With her face pressed up against his neck in a way that made him just want to close his eyes and forget there was anything else in the world, Mercy said, “I can’t remember the last time he hasn’t criticized me or demanded I do something different.”

  “Why’d you let him?” asked JFK, realizing as soon as he said it that it was probably an insensitive question. She’d been bullied and the question might make it seem like he was saying it had been her fault.

  “I didn’t know he was wrong,” said Mercy. “Not deep down, I guess. This has been his domain ever since I went down the wrong path, and I let him dictate the way I walk within these walls. I haven’t worn short-sleeves here in over a year. No wonder I felt my Higher Power so much stronger in other arenas of my life.”

  “I’m sorry,” JFK repeated. “For whatever reason, you obviously feel a need to be here with your family, and I think I burned all the bridges you’ve built. I really shouldn’t be allowed out in public.”

  Mercy pulled her head back and looked at him. “You get me, Tarzan. You’re an answer to prayers, again. A regular angel sent from God.”

  What did you say to that? That right there was the reason things would never work out between them—she expected a hero and that was not JFK.

  Mercy spoke first. “That’s the real reason He sent you. To help me learn how to come back to church. I guess you can go now.” Her tone had the joking quality that was basically its own dialect around the fire station, but it was impossible that she really wanted him to stay or that there was any chance of a relationship as more than friends. Remember the kiss, he reminded himself, but that just made him crave her lips all over again. The aftermath, dummy, not the kiss.

  “I …” What? I’m just glad I didn’t knock his teeth out? I don’t hate Jesus like it might have sounded like in there? I think this means you have to be my girlfriend now?

  See? It was stupid.

  “I’ll give you a ride home,” he finally said. He walked around to the passenger side of his truck and Mercy followed him. Neither spoke as she climbed in.

  Why, after such a strong positive reaction from her in the form of an extended hug, did he feel these feelings of rejection, disappointment with himself, and frustration with the world in general? Actually, hati
ng the whole world wasn’t really new, but he’d kind of lost that persistent irritation with everything in it since Mercy came along.

  But his stupid actions in a church of all places had changed everything. Even though JFK had been the one to make a scene and hurt other people’s feelings, he was the one feeling grumpy now.

  “What are you doing for the rest of the day?” asked Mercy, once they were on the road.

  Wallowing in self-pity. “I need to get the snow off Mrs. Walker’s roof. It’s impinging on the rain gutters and will start bending them out of shape soon.”

  “Want some help?” asked Mercy.

  “No,” said JFK automatically, not sure why he was pushing her away. “I’ve got a special tool and it’s kind of a one-man job.”

  “Sorry I called church an adventure. You up for a real adventure Friday after next?”

  “I think I should probably get more details before committing,” said JFK.

  “It’s a sort of mini Jewell family reunion. We do a talent show and the annual name game and spend a night or two in cabins. It’s a fun night and you can see a side of our family that gets along and likes each other.”

  The members of the Jewell family he’d met so far—Dom and Justice—weren’t his favorite people in the world. And while he really liked Mercy it was becoming clear that he could never be the hero that she wanted him to be. He needed to push her away, but for once he cared too much about someone to just be a total jerk until he himself got pushed away first. This one would actually take some finesse.

  They’d gotten close enough that it would hurt this time, and the longer he delayed the inevitable, the more it would hurt when the rejection or split finally came.

  The Jewell family thing actually gave him a good out. It might offend Mercy a little, but it wasn’t blatantly offensive like he did with most people.

  “I’m not crazy about your family,” he said flatly. “Especially Justice. I really can’t stand that guy.”

  “Is that really what’s wrong?” she asked, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Are we good?”