Saved by the Fireman

by Allie Pleiter

  She knew how much it cost him to admit that, to make the request, and the last piece of her heart broke open for this incredible man. “I want to, but how?”

  “I don’t know yet. But if God is never late and He’s never early, then maybe He’s never wrong. I’m pretty new at this, but you told me yourself you felt like God led you here. It’s got to still be true. We’ll just have to figure out how to trust that.”

  * * *

  Jesse’s work with the GFVFD put him in the position of dealing with friends and neighbors after a fire, so he should have been used to this. None of that explained how his heart drummed against his ribs as he rode in Charlotte’s little blue car, crutches banging against his shoulders, frustrated that he was forced to let her drive.

  The damage on the outside wasn’t especially visible in the predawn light, though there were some signs. The loose front railing had given way when knocked by one of the firefighters, and it lay propped up against the side of the cottage. The bushes Charlotte had just trimmed after months of neglect were trampled, and there were divots and gashes in the front lawn, scraggly as it was.

  He caught her gaze as she turned off the ignition in the driveway. “See, it’s still here. Not even a window broken. You should realize how fortunate you are.” He wanted to reassure her, bolster her up before she saw the inside. He’d not been in there yet, but he knew what to expect. He dreaded watching her eyes take in the overwhelming sooty blackness he knew would cover her home.

  “Yeah, I know.” She said the words for his benefit, her tone hollow with disbelief.

  He grabbed her hand, needing to make her understand. “Your neighbor called when she heard your smoke detectors go off and she didn’t see any lights come on in the house. If it had become fully involved in open flames, I don’t think you’d have much of a cottage left.” He tried to put it into the terms that would mean the most to her. “You’re blessed, Charlotte. It could have been so much worse.”

  Her grip on his hand tightened. “You put those smoke detectors in for me.”

  “And boy, am I glad.” There was no way he was going to let her sleep in that house without the best smoke detectors he could get. It was the one extravagance he endorsed without a hint of guilt. He couldn’t help drawing the connection between that urge and her current safety. He knew Charlotte wouldn’t call that coincidence, and it was starting to sink in that it wasn’t. He’d been placed in Charlotte’s life right at this time. God is never late, and He’s never early; He’s always right on time. “Come on, let’s get the first look over with. It gets better after that.”

  She hesitated, one hand still white-knuckled on the steering wheel. “What’s in there?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t been in yet.”

  “Yes, but you know what to expect. Tell me what I’m going to find.”

  Jesse took a deep breath. Perhaps this was the least he could do—lessen the sensory shock so that it didn’t hit her like a brick wall. He pulled her hand into his lap and stroked it softly while he kept his tone low and calm. “It will smell bad—at least for now. It’s good that you don’t have a lot of furniture in there yet.” He thought of the little plaid chair where he’d imagined resting his leg. “Most of the textiles might need to go or be professionally cleaned.”

  “All my yarn and fabrics are still in Chicago. And my china, too—well, most of it.” Her grappling for positives unwound his heart.

  “Yep, that’s good. Most of the kitchen will be covered in black soot and probably some whitish powder from the extinguishing agent. Probably some of the dining room and hallway, too. None of the windows are broken, so that’s good, too.”

  “My new sink and faucet are goners, aren’t they?”

  “Maybe, maybe not.” He gave her hand a final squeeze before he let go and opened the car door. “There’s only one way to find out.” When she winced, he added, “I’ll be right beside you, Charlotte. Now and all the way through this.”

  Before he could get himself out of the car, Charlotte grabbed his shoulder and gave him a tender kiss. If there had been any resistance left in him, the need he felt in that kiss dissolved the last trace. The small, insistent longing to make her happy swelled into a consuming urge. He returned her kiss as if he were sealing a promise. I will see you through this. I will stand by you.

  “Thank you,” she said, their foreheads still touching.

  He started to say, “You’re welcome,” but the words weren’t near adequate. Instead, he kissed her again, hoping his touch spoke more. “Okay.” He forced a grin and a wink. “Enough necking in the driveway. Let’s get the hard part over with.”

  Her hands were shaking as she pulled aside the yellow tape that held the door shut. They’d had to break down the door. “Oh well, I was thinking about a new front door anyway.”

  “That’s the spirit. Ready?”

  “No.” She managed the smallest slip of a smile, a weak and wobbly thing that still looked breathtaking on her.

  “Want me to go first?”

  She pushed back her shoulders and raised her chin. “No. I can do this.”

  You can. I know you can. In that moment, Jesse knew she’d come through this even stronger. Chief Bradens said he could always tell which people would beat the fire, and which people would let the fire beat them. In this case, Jesse could see it, too. Charlotte wouldn’t let this keep her down for long. Jesse felt his heart slip from his grasp as she stepped across the threshold.

  The acrid scent of smoke hit them with a force that was almost physical as he followed her into the house. Her hands went up to her face. “Oh, Lord, help me.” It wasn’t a casual expression—it was a heartfelt plea to heaven. Jesse, to his own surprise, felt a similar plea launch up from his own heart—Help me help her.

  The front hallway and living room weren’t as bad as they could have been. Thin black film covered everything, but he’d seen far worse. In the gray-pink light of dawn, it was as if the room had been poorly erased; everything blended together in a smudge of colorless dust. He made his way over to the windows and began opening them up. He’d go through the house with Charlotte and open every working window until the worst of the smell had eased up a bit. It would feel like progress to her, and he knew all she really needed was a first foothold.

  He heard a whimper and turned to find her staring at the plaid chair, now damp and smudged with soot. He could tell her something optimistic, but he owed her the respect of honesty. “You’ll have to trash it. I’m sorry.”

  She hugged her elbows and shrugged. “It was so perfect.” It was true. She’d grown ridiculously attached to that chair ever since the day she’d brought it home, half hanging out of the hatch of the tiny blue car. It had made him wonder how it hadn’t fallen out on the way home and why she hadn’t asked him to pick it up in his truck, which would have held four such chairs easily.

  “You’ll find another perfect one. Maybe a pair this time.” He wanted to swallow the words back—a pair?—what kind of dorky misplaced romantic comment was that?

  Opening two more windows, Jesse made his way to the kitchen, taking care not to slip on anything with his crutches. He was due back at the hospital in three hours, where he would have to explain why he had not, in fact, done anything close to “take it easy and keep it elevated.” The last dose of painkillers had worn off and his leg was throbbing.

  “Oh.” Charlotte’s word was more of a gasp. “It’s ruined. It’s all ruined.”

  Jesse went over to one of the blackened cabinets, which looked like someone had set a dozen cans of black spray paint on the stove and triggered them in every direction. The new stove was a total loss, as were the cabinets directly above and around them. He had kissed her up against one of those cabinets. Every scorched corner of the room held a memory for him.

  Even more so for her. Charlotte was pacing around
the room, hands outstretched as if she needed to touch everything but couldn’t bring herself to do so. “Everything is covered in black.”

  He opened one of the cabinets, wanting to show her one thing that hadn’t been blackened. The interior wasn’t scorched, but the plastic containers inside were slumped into melted, distorted forms. Her teapot lay in pieces on the far corner of the kitchen floor. The mason jar that had held his flowers the first time he’d brought them for her lay cracked with a big chip out of the top. One chair lay sideways on the floor, a leg bent in on itself and smeared in black. Footprints and smudge marks covered the once cheery lemon-colored linoleum floor she’d wanted so badly to keep.

  “I did this.” She stood in the center of the room, losing her battle to the returning tears she’d been trying so hard to fight off since the floodgates. “I’m so stupid to have done this.”

  She wouldn’t hear any argument he might make right now. So Jesse did the only thing there was to do. He leaned against the counter for support, and pulled her to him. He let her cry it out, holding her tight and singing “Jesus Wash Away My Troubles,” with his eyes closed and his heart wide open.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Charlotte! Charlotte, where are you in here?” Melba’s shocked voice called from the hallway.

  “Kitchen,” Charlotte called out, then sniffed and wiped her eyes with the corner of the zip-up sweatshirt she’d been wearing. Already it had black streaks on it, the fabric beginning to give off the tang of soot and smoke. Her eyes stung from more than the onslaught of tears.

  “Look at this place. Thank heavens you’re safe.” Melba’s hug somehow brought everything into full reality, making Charlotte instantly exhausted. She needed to sit down but didn’t have a single clean spot to do so. “Clark told me it wasn’t as bad as it could have been, but it looks awful enough to me.”

  Jesse seemed to sense her weariness. “Let’s go out onto the back porch. There’s still a lot of smoke and soot in here, and I could use a dose of fresh air.”

  “And Mo. He’s yowling in the car, you know.”

  “I forgot about Mo!” Charlotte rushed to the car to find a disgruntled Mo protesting his neglect from the backseat. In the emotion of the past hour, she’d not even remembered he was there. She pulled him from the carrier, keeping one hand on his collar. “Oh, big guy, this isn’t a place for you to be inside right now. We’ll get you set up in a little while, but I need you to stay put.” Guilt over Mo piled on top of her grief and stress over the house. “This isn’t much of a new home, is it? It’ll get better, I promise.” She found some strong yarn in one of the bags in her trunk and tied it to Mo’s collar. “The back porch is the best I can do for you right now. Be nice to Jesse, okay? He’s done a lot for us and he even went looking for you.”

  She walked around the side of the house, wincing at the dark streaks around the kitchen window and wondering if they would wash off or if she’d have to repaint.

  She walked up the back porch steps, Mo still in her arms, to find Melba had pushed open the back door and propped it wide with a sooty box of books. Jesse had maneuvered himself into one of the porch’s bistro chairs. He looked exhausted and uncomfortable.

  “Clark told me you were hurt in the first fire,” Melba was saying to Jesse, as Charlotte practically fell into the other chair and settled Mo on her lap. “It’s broken, huh?”

  Jesse nodded, one eye on Mo. His regard toward the animal had softened a bit. Charlotte was so touched that he’d gone in search of “the little beast” before he knew Mo was with her in Chicago.

  Melba settled herself on the porch steps. “I was worried sick, Charlotte. I wished you’d called me when you got into town.”

  Charlotte leaned back in the chair, fatigue growing stronger with every minute. “You were asleep. You had Maria to tend to. I knew Jesse was waiting.” Charlotte yawned. She’d been up for almost twenty-four hours now, and it was taking its toll.

  Within seconds, Melba had her “mother face” on. “Have either of you slept at all?”

  “Not exactly.” Jesse yawned the words, although they had more of a wince quality to them. He hadn’t said anything about the pain he was in, but it was obvious he hurt. Badly. The bandage on his leg was starting to grow pink at the center.

  Melba stared at Jesse’s bandage and splint as well, coming to the same conclusion. “Clark’s dropping Maria off with JJ and Alex. He’ll be here in ten minutes. Charlotte, you’re coming home to shower and sleep at our house while Clark takes you to your apartment to do the same, Jesse. Clark’s dad is skipping church to come pick you up for your hospital appointment at ten-thirty and deliver you back home. I should tell you, Chief George has orders from Clark to tie you to your couch if that’s what it takes.” Melba’s father-in-law was fire chief before his son took over the job, and Charlotte knew George now served as an unofficial guardian of sorts to the firehouse. Jesse could use that kind of support right now.

  “I don’t think I have the strength to argue with that,” Jesse said, shifting his weight tenderly. “Charlotte needs to sleep.”

  “So do you,” Charlotte added, a surge of gratitude for all Jesse had done in the past hours welling up and threatening a new bout of tears. “You’ve probably done a million bad things to that leg in the last eight hours.”

  “I haven’t exactly kept it rested and elevated, if that’s what you mean.” He held Charlotte’s eyes for a long moment. “I had other priorities.”

  “These firemen,” Melba chided. “They think they’re invincible.” She walked over and stood over Jesse. “Where are your pain meds? Your antibiotics?” She was on full mother alert now. Charlotte had seen it when Melba was caring for her ailing father. It was not wise to mess with Melba when she was in caregiving mode.

  “Back at the apartment.” He had the good sense to look sheepish, like a kid caught skipping his chores.

  “A fat lot of good they’re doing you back there.”

  “Yes, I hurt. Everything hurts. I need my medications. I’ll go home with Chief and I’ll keep my doctor’s appointment—after some sleep. Okay, Mom?” His half-exaggerated pout told Charlotte he was nearing the end of his good humor, and so was she.

  “It isn’t like we can do anything right now except air the house out anyway.” Melba planted her hands on her hips. “I’m going to go see how many windows I can get open.”

  “You’ll need my help on some of those.” Jesse made to rise but Melba pushed him back down.

  “I’ll do just fine. And what I can’t get open, Clark will. You sit tight, both of you.” She fished around in her handbag until she produced a pair of granola bars. “Eat something.” Then she disappeared back into the house, a few expressions of her dismay echoing from the mudroom and kitchen.

  Jesse sighed and tore open the wrapper. “She’s a total mom now. Like someone threw a switch inside her, you know?”

  “She’s always been the caregiving type. It’s why she came here to take care of her dad.” Charlotte tied the other end of Mo’s yarn leash to the porch railing and went over to kneel at Jesse’s feet. “How are you, really?”

  Mo, after giving Charlotte a “you gotta be kidding me” glare and swatting once at his makeshift leash, sauntered over to brush against Jesse’s good leg. With a small “harumph,” Jesse reached down and ran one hand over the cat’s fat back. They were making friends after all. “I wasn’t kidding. I hurt. Everywhere, it seems.”

  Charlotte noticed a bruise on his forearm and some scrapes on his knuckles. The risks of what he did clashed with the care she felt for him. It was an awful tug-of-war inside her, and she was too tired to endure it. She couldn’t think of anything to say other than “I’m sorry.”

  He ducked his head down to meet her eyes. “It’s not your fault.”

  It was the wrong thing to say. Tears welled up in her eyes a
nd she nodded back toward the house. “Oh, this most definitely is my fault.”

  “The usefulness of that debate right now aside, my leg is not your fault. Firemen get hurt. It comes with the territory. Always has.”

  And that was the problem, wasn’t it? “Have you been hurt before?”

  She watched Jesse start to give her some wisecrack answer, then stop himself in favor of the honest truth. She was glad he didn’t try to brush this matter off—it was important. “Not this badly. Mostly cuts and bruises. I chipped a tooth once. Usually I’m a pretty careful guy.”

  “What happened, then?”

  A hint of a smile reached the corners of his eyes. “I had an argument with someone I care about. Something about Vermont, but it’s all kind of fuzzy right now.” He leaned down toward her. “I meant what I said, Charlotte. I don’t want you to go. I know it’s not my decision and I can’t tell you what to do, but I don’t want you to go to Vermont. Even for a year. Even for a month.”

  Charlotte touched the bandage, the splint. “I don’t know if I can do this. I told myself I’d never do this.”

  “I told myself I’d never do church, but I prayed so hard tonight I thought God Himself would drop His jaw in surprise. Maybe it’s not as hard as we think.”

  Charlotte let her head fall on Jesse’s lap, feeling Mo curl up beside her. “Maybe it’s harder. Maybe we’re kidding ourselves.”

  She felt Jesse stroke her hair. “I’m not saying God allowed your house to burn, but what if He knew it would take something this drastic to get us together?”

  She angled her head up to look at him. “Are we together?”

  “That depends on whether or not you need to go to Vermont.” There was a cautious pleading in his eyes that broke Charlotte’s heart wide open.

  “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I want to stay here, but I don’t know if I can.”