by Claire Adams
“Watch out for the sparks!” Tony yelled, as a portion of the ceiling fell down in front of us. The embers lit the carpeting and burned brightly as I aimed the hose and doused the flames. To our left, the house was quickly being consumed by fire while the right side smoldered and threatened to go up at any moment.
“Find the guy they said is up here!” I yelled, as I turned the hose toward the flames.
Tony quickly ran up the stairs and began pounding on doors yelling “Fire Department! Call out!” When he pushed open the third door, he yelled, “Blake, he’s here! I need help lifting him!”
I secured the hose on the stairs and ran to help Tony lift the large man off the floor and carry him to the window. We loaded him on a backboard and then passed him out the window to the guys waiting on the ladder.
“We need to get the flames under control,” I said, as we headed back to the stairs. I grabbed the hose as Tony began chopping holes in the walls to make sure the fire hadn’t spread inside the walls. I could hear the guys on the roof using their axes to vent the fire as I doused the hallway and put out the flames.
When we emerged from the house an hour later, I saw Cal sitting on the curb with his head down between his knees, gasping for air. Tony walked over and slapped him on the back asking, “What the hell happened, rookie?” When Cal couldn’t answer, another of the guys spoke up and said, “He tried to pull the hose out without releasing the hook and knocked the wind out of his sails. Maybe busted a rib or something.”
“Jesus fucking Christ, rookie!” Tony shouted. “What the hell is wrong with you? Did you forget your brain back at the station? Hose usage is basic stuff! What the fuck, you idiot?”
When Cal didn’t respond, Tony stomped off swearing a blue streak as he helped roll up the hoses and store the gear. I walked over to where Cal was sitting and quietly said, “Hey, that was a dumb move all right, but we’ve all been there. Shake it off, rookie. You’ll do better next time.” Cal turned and looked up at me with a solemn expression, then nodded and pushed himself up off the ground.
“You should go over to the EMTs and have them check you out before we head back to the station,” I said. Silently, he nodded and turned to walk away.
Tony sidled up next to me holding a couple of axes in one hand and demanded to know why I was talking to the idiot rookie.
“Ease up, man; you’ve made your point,” I said quietly, as I looked at him and raised an eyebrow, “We’ve all been there before, or have you forgotten?”
“Fuck off, Gaston,” Tony said with a wry grin as he walked to the truck and stored the axes.
“Just saying,” I grinned, as we swung ourselves up into the rig and waited for the driver to take us back to the station.
Chapter Eight
Emily
Friday afternoon, as I was finishing hanging the best homework assignments on the board outside my classroom, I saw Nina Gaston walking down the hallway. She dragged her feet as if she were dreading whatever was waiting outside.
“Nina, can I talk to you?” I called, as she edged along the wall, intent on avoiding me. “Nina, I know you hear me.”
She looked up, surprised that I’d call her out this way, and stopped walking. I motioned to the classroom door, and silently she walked over and entered the room.
“I want to talk to you about your History grade,” I said, trying to maintain a calm, nonjudgmental tone.
“My dad already read me the riot act,” she said in a flat voice. “I know what you want and what I need to do. Is there anything else?”
“Nina, I don’t understand why you aren’t doing better,” I said, abandoning the pretense of neutrality. “You’re an incredibly smart student who has written some astute essays in the past. This change in attitude doesn’t make sense to me.”
“Not everything makes sense, Ms. Fowler,” she said, without further comment.
“Try and explain it to me,” I prodded.
“I don’t care about History,” she shrugged.
“Why not? I mean, I know my lectures aren’t the most scintillating, but the assignments are top-notch!” I joked.
“History is in the past; why dig it up?” Nina asked.
“Because we can learn a lot from it,” I said, wondering what had led her to draw this conclusion and why she was ruining her grades in order to prove her point.
“I don’t think anyone learns anything from the past,” she shrugged. “I find it boring and useless.”
“Nina, I don’t know why you feel this way, but I’m worried about what will happen if you blow off this class and sink your GPA because of it,” I said earnestly, trying to get through to her. “You’ve got to bring your grades up so that you can apply for college and scholarships next spring. You’re too smart not to take advantage of every opportunity you have.”
“Says you,” she said, looking up at me. I could see that there was something bothering her, but I was wary of prying when she was obviously intent on maintaining her defenses.
“I’m not trying to guilt you into anything; I’m just saying that I want to see you achieve your goals, and I know that staying in Waltham is not one of them,” I said bluntly, pointing out the fact that living in town and working at one of the low-paying minimum wage jobs that were available for non-college graduates should not be her first choice.
“You live here,” she said accusingly.
“Yes, but that’s because I finished my degree and made a choice to pursue a career that brought me here,” I said, suddenly feeling defensive. “I didn’t let this town become my default setting.”
“That’s nice,” she said, narrowing her eyes as she crossed her arms over her chest and backed away. “It’s not like Waltham is a terrible place to live, you know.”
“I didn’t say that,” I said, watching her move further away. “I simply said that you are too smart not to have options, and I don’t want your low History grade to keep you from pursuing them.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, as she walked out the open door into the hall. I watched her leave without saying anything. Sometimes it was best to say what I had to say and then leave the student to mull it over. I just hoped I’d said the right thing.
I went back out to finish up the bulletin board, and as I stapled papers to the wall, Ginny Baker came down the hall carrying an armful of art projects.
“Hey, Emily, how’s it going?” she chirped. Ginny was the art teacher, and she had a seemingly unending supply of holiday cheer. It might have been annoying had she not been such a kind and generous person.
“Eh, you know, ready for Christmas break,” I said, as I smoothed the corner of a paper and stapled it to the board. “What are your plans for the holiday?”
“I’m heading down to Ft. Lauderdale to visit my parents,” she smiled. “They’re in a retirement community down there that encourages families to visit during the holidays. We’re going to drive down and spend the vacation lounging by the pool and playing shuffleboard or whatever it is they do for fun down there.”
“Sounds relaxing, I think,” I laughed.
“What are you doing for the break?” Ginny asked.
“I’m going to spend the time in blessed silence!” I said, more forcefully than I’d intended. “No cooking, no family drama, and no crazy relatives!”
“Sounds kind of lonely to me,” Ginny said. “But then, what do I know? I’m the crazy one spending my break at a retirement home!”
“Not lonely at all, it’s a much-needed break from the noise and chaos of the school year,” I said. “I need a chance to recharge after this fall.”
“I hear you!” Ginny laughed, as she shifted the load in her arms. “I’ve got to get these down to the main office so they can make it into the display cabinet this afternoon. See you later?”
“Absolutely!” I said, more cheerfully than I felt, and watched her march down the hall toward the office.
I finished up my task and headed home to feed Howard and cook din
ner. When I arrived, the house was cold, and Howard was curled up in a ball in the center of the bed.
“Sorry, buddy,” I said, as I flipped on the space heater and set a fire in the fireplace. It wasn’t long before the small house began to feel warmer, and as I prepared a dinner of spaghetti and meatballs, I thought about my conversation with Nina. I wasn’t sure what it would take to unlock her potential, but I knew I wasn’t anywhere near done trying.
My phone rang just as the pot of water began to bubble on the stove. I tossed in the noodles and answered the call.
“Emmy! How are you, darling?” my sister cooed. She knew I hated the nickname she’d given me when we were children, but still she insisted on using it. Becca was my older sister by two years. She was the go-getter, the achiever, the one who not only met, but exceeded, all familial expectations, and as a result, she’d developed a sense of self-worth that tended to be off-putting, to say the least.
“I’m good, Becks,” I said, using the nickname I knew she hated. In my family, we were nothing if not experts at passive-aggressive retaliation. “What’s up?”
“Darling, I’m calling because Mom and Dad are asking whether you’re coming home for Christmas,” she said, as I pulled a spoon from the utensil drawer and stirred the spaghetti sauce. “I told them I’d call and find out what’s going on with your schedule and report back!”
“Um, I don’t think I’m going to make it home,” I said, as I lifted the spoon to my lips and tasted the sauce. I added a little salt and a pinch of dried basil to the thick red mixture and stirred as I listened to my sister lament my absence.
“But, Emmy, you didn’t come home last year, either!” she whined. “Are we ever going to see you again?”
“Yeah, of course, I just have a lot to do here, and I can’t get away,” I said, spinning the only excuse that I knew would work. “You know how it is with teaching. There’s always a meeting or some kind of extra preparation we have to do in order to maintain our licenses or to get ready for a new program.”
“It’s so unfair,” she pouted on the other end. “They shouldn’t be so selfish with your time, Emmy! We need to see you, too!”
“I know, and I’m sorry,” I said, not feeling sorry in the least. “I’ll work on something for next year. I promise. What’s going on with you and Daniel?”
“Oh my gosh, you’ll never believe what we’re doing this spring!” she exclaimed, before regaling me with the plans she and her husband had made to take a cruise down the Danube and visit Prague. Becca had a high-powered job with an accounting firm in Boston, and her husband was the CFO for a trucking company just outside of the city. They were filthy rich and had no children, so their world revolved around new cars, homes, and the latest trip they’d planned. I found her need to share every detail rather tedious, but it wouldn’t have mattered if I had told her that outright. Becca only listened to Becca.
“Oh my gosh, something is burning in the oven! I’ve got to run, sis!” I exclaimed, as she started to tell me about the new car she’d had her eye on. “I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”
“Okay, Emmy! Be careful! Love you!” Becca called, as I hung up the phone and returned to my dinner.
I turned to find Howard sitting in his usual spot at the counter. He had a mildly irritated look on his face as he stared straight ahead at the storage bin where I kept his dry food.
“Oh man, I forgot your dinner, didn’t I?” I apologized. Howard blinked twice and then looked away. I knew it was utterly ridiculous, but there was something about the way he was acting that made me feel like he was judging me for hanging up on my sister. I looked at the side of his head and muttered, “Don’t judge me, mister. There’s no way in hell I’m going to join that group of lunatics for Christmas. Besides, you have no reason to be upset; you get to spend the holiday at home instead of in a cage at the vet’s!”
Howard turned and faced me. He stared at me without blinking, then mewed once and hopped down off the stool. I quickly picked up his dish and filled it with his dinner before setting it down in front of him as I muttered, “Spoiled rotten, that’s what you are.”
Chapter Nine
Blake
Saturday morning I woke up early, made breakfast, and read the newspaper before I got ready to go pick up Nina. She didn’t know it, but I’d arranged for us to spend the day with my parents. They lived just outside of Waltham, but we didn’t get to see them as often as I’d have liked.
Since they’d retired from teaching at the university, my parents had made it a point to spend several months per year traveling to the far reaches of the globe, exploring countries and cultures that they’d read about. They were active and engaged members of the global community, and as a result, were often not around for quick visits. This year, they’d decided to spend Christmas at home, so at the beginning of December they’d phoned all of the relatives living close by and told them that the party was at the Gaston home this year. I hadn’t seen what they’d done to prepare, so today I planned to bring Nina over and view the preparations.
I tuned the radio to a station playing Christmas carols as I drove over to get Nina. When I pulled into Remy’s driveway, I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. Ever conscious of the appropriate way to decorate, Remy had covered the outside trees in white lights and red bows. The front fence was draped with a green garland that had a red bow tied to it every two and a half feet. I knew from being married to her that she’d probably spent hours measuring out the exact distance between bows. I sighed as I put the truck in park and walked up to ring the doorbell.
“Hello, Blake,” Remy said, as she opened the door. She was wearing a fuzzy white sweater covering white leggings and had a bright red apron tied around her waist.
“Hey, Remy; you look festive,” I said, as I stepped in out of the cold and stood just inside the door. “Nina ready?”
“She’s upstairs putting her laundry away. I told her she wasn’t setting foot outside of this house until her room was spotless,” Remy said, as she turned toward the kitchen. “Come in and shut the door, will you?”
“Why don’t you just tell her to shut the door to her room and leave it alone, Rem?” I asked. I knew better than to poke the bear, but sometimes I couldn’t help but side with my daughter. Especially when it came to Remy’s obsessive need for absolute order.
“Because I won’t have my daughter living in a room that resembles a pigsty,” she sniffed, as she returned to the task of rolling out cookie dough and carefully cutting perfect shapes from it. “If you want to let her be slovenly at your house, well, that’s your choice, but I want our daughter to develop good habits that will last a lifetime.”
“Jesus Christ, Remy,” I said, shaking my head as I looked at her. “Who the hell shoved the manners stick so far up your ass?”
“Blake! I won’t have you talking to me that way in my home!” she scolded.
“Remy, I’ve known you longer than anyone but your family,” I said, watching her avoid my eyes. “You have always had goals, but you were never such a stuck-up bitch. What happened to you?”
“That’s so rude, Blake!” she shot back. “I’m just saying it like it is! What’s wrong with wanting something better for our daughter? Why is that such a bad thing?”
“It’s not bad; it’s the way you talk about her,” I said. Realizing I wasn’t helping Nina by antagonizing Remy, I changed my approach. “I don’t understand why you have to be so rigid about things. She’s a 16-year-old girl, not a Navy SEAL. Lives don’t depend on her maintaining a sterile bedroom.”
“Blake, our daughter is failing History and close to failing Math,” she said, as she stopped working and stared at me. “She lacks basic discipline and you certainly aren’t encouraging her to develop any!”
“That’s a low blow, lady,” I said angrily. “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m the one who showed up at the parent-teacher conference and talked with Ms. Fowler!”
“A hell of a lot of good that did! She’s still
failing!”
“Remy, it’s been less than one week! For God’s sake, ease the hell up on the kid!” I shouted, as Nina entered the kitchen holding her overnight bag.
“You think the whole neighborhood can hear you two yet?” she asked in a sarcastic tone as she threw her bag over her shoulder and headed for the door. She called over her shoulder, “My room has been cleaned enough that you can eat off the floor if you want to, Mom.”
“You really need to say something to your daughter,” Remy fumed, as I followed Nina out the front door.
“Gonna congratulate her on her well-developed sense of humor,” I said, before slamming the front door. I knew I shouldn’t behave this way in front of Nina, but Remy had a way of bringing out all of my latent adolescent stubbornness.
“So, how’s it going, Punkin?” I asked, as I slid into the truck and gunned the engine.
“Dad, seriously,” she sighed, as she stared out the passenger side window.
“Okay, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t fight with your mom that way, but she annoys me,” I said.
“She annoys everybody,” Nina replied in a flat tone. “I hate living there.”
“I know, kiddo, but despite the fact that she annoys you, your mom really does love you,” I said through gritted teeth. I remembered how suffocated I’d felt the last few months before Remy and I separated, and while I sympathized with Nina, I was also very well aware of the custody agreement we’d worked out during the divorce and the fact that if I tried to buck it, Remy would have cause for filing for sole custody of Nina.
“You could have fooled me,” Nina said tersely.
“All right, well, I can’t change the fact that you have to live with your mom, but I can offer you a respite from her rule,” I said, trying to change the subject and get Nina to lighten up.