“You and me both,” Becca says. “I left him home in bed. He says he doesn’t need much time to get his classroom in order.”
“Men,” Rachel says.
“Yeah, he’ll probably do it the day the students come back,” Becca says. “Teaching fifth grade is so much easier than first and second.”
“But not as rewarding,” I say.
I lock up my room and we head out of the building and cross the street.
“Anyone for margaritas?” Lisa asks. “It will be a long time until we can drink at lunch again.”
We all nod.
We’re finishing lunch and working on our second pitcher when something on the television draws my attention. I get up and go over to it.
A building is on fire. A tall building. In Brooklyn. My heart races and my eyes are glued to the screen. I read the closed captioning, trying to pick out information as it scrolls across the bottom of the screen. What building? Where in Brooklyn?
I feel like I’m going to be sick when I finally recognize where it is. And I don’t just feel sick because of flashbacks or irrational fears. I feel sick because Brett is on duty today.
The news camera is showing dozens of fire trucks and police cars. They pan by them too fast for me to see if Squad 13 is there. But I know it is. Even if Brett is out on another call, he’ll eventually show up at this one. That’s how it works when they have a three-alarm fire.
“Turn it up,” I say to a passing waitress. “Can you please turn up the volume?”
“I’m sorry. We aren’t allowed to do that.”
“That’s ridiculous!” I say, hearing the panic in my voice.
Someone comes up behind me, putting an arm around my shoulders. “I’m sure everything is under control.”
“Under control? Fire is spewing out of the windows twenty stories up. Look at it, Lisa. Does that look like it’s under control?”
“Maybe he’s not even there,” she says.
Tears well up in my eyes. “He’s there. He and every other firefighter in Brooklyn.” I head for the door. “I have to go over there.”
“You can’t,” Becca says. “You know you won’t get close. It looks like they’ve got the entire block cordoned off.”
I look at my shaking hands. “I’ll go home then. I can’t go back to work.”
My friends look at each other like they don’t know what to do. “We’ll go with you,” Lisa says.
“No. You guys get your classrooms ready. I’ll call Ivy or Sara. They’re married to men at the firehouse.”
“I’m not letting you go home alone,” Becca says. She turns to the others. “You guys go ahead. I’ll make sure she’s okay.”
I practically run down the block, with Becca not far behind. I slow when I pass the firehouse, hoping I’ll see Squad 13 parked in the garage, but it’s not there. I knew it wouldn’t be.
At my house I can’t even fit the key in the lock.
Becca takes it from me. “Let me do it. Your hands are shaking a mile a minute.”
The door opens to an empty house. I’m glad Evelyn is at camp. She’d be devastated to know Brett was involved.
I turn on the television. The coverage is on all the major news networks. I sink down on the couch. “This isn’t a routine fire. They wouldn’t give this much attention to it.”
“You still don’t know if he’s inside,” Becca says. “He could very well be outside the building trying to put out the fire.”
I shake my head. “That’s not what he does. Brett is the one who runs into the burning building, Becca. He’s on Squad. They rescue people when no one else can.” A camera in a helicopter shows people frantically waving on the roof. “Oh my God, look, people are trapped up there. That means they can’t get below the fire.”
I pick up my phone and call Ivy. It rolls to voicemail. Then I try Sara, only to have the same thing happen. I try Ivy again and leave a message. “It’s Emma Lockhart. What’s going on? Do you know anything? Please call me.” I leave the same message on Sara’s phone.
My head slumps. “Why isn’t anyone answering?”
Becca gently touches my arm. “I’m sure everyone is calling them. Friends. Family. They are probably trying to make calls to get information too. They’ll call you as soon as they can.”
I can’t just sit here and wait. I can barely hold still. I continue to call them over and over.
News coverage shows people being carried out of the building and put on gurneys. But the cameras are so far away, there’s no way to tell who they are. Not that I’d be able to recognize Brett in his helmet and turnout gear anyway.
I sit and watch the TV, hot tears rolling down my cheeks, hoping for any indication that he’s okay.
It’s stupid and futile, but I send him a text anyway.
Me: Are you okay? Just send me a text. One word even. I need to know.
It’s ridiculous to think he would have time to send me a text. Does he consider how worried I am about him? Does he care? I put my head in my hands. I can’t do this.
Becca puts a cup of tea on the table in front of me. “Drink this. It will help calm you.”
“Calm me?” I say, sounding like a crazy woman. “An entire bottle of Xanax couldn’t calm me right now. He’s in there, Becca. I know he is.”
My phone rings. It’s Ivy.
“Please tell me they aren’t inside,” I say.
“I don’t know much,” she says. “Their entire house is on the scene, along with just about every other company in Brooklyn.”
“Oh, God.”
“Emma, this is their job. I promise you they are doing what they can to stay safe and help people at the same time. And I’m sure it looks worse on TV than it really is.”
“Are you there? On the scene?”
“No. The last thing they need is more people getting in the way.”
“Will they tell you anything?” I ask. “Is there anyone we can call?”
“We’re trying. I promise to let you know as soon as I know anything.”
“I … I …”
“Emma. I know what must be going through your head right now. But listen to me. Hear my voice. I’m not panicking. And neither should you.”
“Why aren’t you? How can you not worry about them?”
“Because I’ve been through this before. Of course I’m worried, but I’m not going to panic until I have a reason to.”
I look at the TV, thinking that is reason enough. “You’ve been through this? Bass has been in fires this bad before?”
“Maybe not exactly like this, but he’s been in some precarious situations. Is there anyone with you right now? Maybe you shouldn’t be alone. Can I come over?”
The truth is I want her here. I want both Ivy and Sara. But they have families. Kids whose fathers are in danger. Oh, no. Leo. I run to the front window and look out, wondering if Bonnie is aware of what’s happening.
“I can’t ask you to do that,” I say. “You have your daughter to think about. I’m fine. There is a friend here with me.”
“Okay, good. I’ll call you as soon as I hear anything.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s going to be okay, Emma.”
“You don’t know that. Not for sure.”
“I suppose I don’t, but we need to hope for the best. I’ll talk to you soon.”
I put down the phone and turn to Becca. “She doesn’t know anything except that they are there.”
Becca nods to the tea. “Do you want something stronger?”
I shake my head and change the channel to see if another network has newer information. A reporter is interviewing a man covered in soot.
“I’m on the scene with Lane Folson,” she says. “Lane, you were in the building. You were on the floor where the fire started, is that correct? Can you tell us what it’s like in there?”
“It’s mayhem,” he cries. “It’s like 9/11.”
My eyes widen, as do the eyes of the reporter. She quickly tries to co
ntrol the situation. “Folks, there have been zero reports that terrorism is associated with this fire.” She walks away from the guy, the interview clearly over. “Mr. Folson is worried about his coworkers and is obviously under a great deal of stress, but I’d like to reiterate that this is not a terrorist attack. Early reports from multiple building workers indicate it may be related to a gas leak. FDNY and NYPD are working closely with the utility company to locate and shut down any gas leaks that could affect neighboring buildings.”
“She looks pissed,” Becca says. “I can’t believe that man said that. Does he know he just freaked out half of New York City?”
“This can’t be happening,” I say.
I look at the time. Four hours until Evelyn comes home. What if the fire isn’t out by then? What if I still haven’t heard from Brett? What will I tell her?
I scroll through pictures on my phone of Brett and Evelyn and me in Germany. Why did I let her get close to him? I study the way she looks at him. It’s the way a girl might look at her father.
Thirty minutes later, I scream at the television. “Doesn’t anyone know anything? Where is he?”
“Emma!” Becca yells. “Someone’s at the door.”
I run to open it, hoping Brett will be standing there. But it’s Ivy and Sara. “Hi.”
They are alone. They don’t have their kids with them or their family or friends. Why would they leave everyone to come see me? I back up and sit on the bottom step of the stairs.
“You know something,” I say. “You wouldn’t be here otherwise. Is he dead?”
They come in and close the door behind them. “Maybe we’d be more comfortable in the living room,” Sara says.
“I’m comfortable here. What is it?”
It’s bad. I know it’s bad. I know this because Ivy and Sara sit on the floor in front of me. People don’t sit on the floor unless they are about to tell you something terrible.
“Denver called,” Sara says. “He told me”—she looks at Ivy, and Ivy nods at her—“he told me Squad 13 is trapped above the fire.”
My mouth goes dry, all moisture diverted to my eyes, which are crying an endless river of tears. I put my head between my knees, feeling faint. “He’s trapped?” I sob through my words.
“They’re airlifting people off the roof,” Ivy says. “But the winds are high, so the helicopters can’t land. They have to take people one at a time.”
“I have to get back to the TV,” I say, standing.
I look at the family pictures on the foyer wall, focusing on the photo taken of my parents the day they got married. They look so happy. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and have a hard time catching my breath. Oh, God. I’m my mother. Did she feel like this that fateful morning when we watched the twin towers burn? I remember her trying so hard to keep it together. For me. She couldn’t let me think she was scared. But I know she was. How could she not have been?
I hope my mother doesn’t know about this. I would hate for her to think about that horrible day. But she’s at the Connecticut office today, so maybe news hasn’t traveled that far.
“What about Bass?” I ask Ivy when I’m back on the couch. “He must be okay if you’re here.”
“Everyone from Engine 319 is below the fire,” she says. “Squad 13 are the only ones still up there. I think he said there are firefighters from neighboring firehouses up there too.”
“Are they communicating with Brett? They must be, right?”
“I’m sure they are, but that’s all we know right now,” Sara says. “Denver said he or Bass would try to give us an update the next time they break for a drink.”
I laugh maniacally. “Break for a drink? Brett and the others could be dying, and they are going to break for a drink?”
Ivy puts an arm around me. “They are forced to, Emma. They have to hydrate every time they come out of the building. They can’t risk collapsing in that heat wearing the heavy turnout gear.”
“I know. I’m sorry. Of course they need to drink. It’s just … what if he can’t? What if Brett gets dehydrated and falls down because he doesn’t have any water and it’s too hot? What if he runs out of air and it’s too smoky? What if …” —I look at the TV and am nauseated— “What if the building collapses?”
I run to the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before I retch up tacos and margaritas.
Sara follows me. She holds back my hair and offers me a hand towel when I’m done.
I sit on the cold tile floor and lean against the wall. “This is what it’s like, isn’t it? Dating a firefighter. I knew I shouldn’t get involved. I was crazy to think it would work out.”
Sara sits next to me. “This is not what it’s like. Things like this almost never happen.”
“Well, it’s happening now.”
Ivy comes to the door, holding out my phone. “It’s your mom.”
She never calls me from work. She knows something.
“Hello?” I ask, trying not to sound like I’ve been crying for the past two hours.
“Hey, sweetie. How are you doing?” She sounds cheery but guarded.
“You know about the fire, don’t you?”
“Yes, but I didn’t know if you did, and if you didn’t, I didn’t want to alarm you.”
“Well, I’m alarmed,” I say, crying. “He’s inside, Mom. He’s trapped above the fire floor.”
There is a pregnant pause and she sighs deeply. She’s no doubt thinking of my dad. “What about the helicopters? I’ve seen them airlifting people.”
“He’s a firefighter. You know as well as I do Brett will be among the last to be rescued. But what if there isn’t time?” My last words come out in a sob.
“Sweetie, there will be time.”
“But what if there’s not?”
She doesn’t know what to say, because what is there to say? “I’m on my way home.”
I get off the floor and return to the living room. “You shouldn’t have to watch this.”
“That’s not your decision to make, sweetie. I’ll be there in an hour.”
“Evelyn will be home at four,” I say. “I can’t let this happen to her, Mom.”
“You aren’t doing anything to her. Nobody is.”
I look at the television again, sickened by the images of a forty-story building being engulfed by flames. The entire thing is going up in smoke, like a chimney.
“I knew this would happen.”
“Stop it, Emma. You don’t know anything.”
“I have to go. I’ll see you when you get here.”
Ivy and Sara flank my sides as Becca keeps a close eye on me from across the room. Just this morning we were talking about how lucky we were. How happy we were. But she’s the lucky one. Becca doesn’t have to worry about this happening every time Jordan walks out the door.
Sara’s phone rings. I hear bits and pieces of her conversation. “Denver, she’s freaking out. Isn’t there anything you can tell us?” She holds the phone out to me. “He wants to talk to you.”
I take it. My hand is shaking. “Hello?”
“I only have a minute. We’re in contact with Brett, but personal conversations aren’t allowed over the radio. I wanted to tell you what he would say if he could talk to you right now. He’d say that if you or Evie or Bria or Leo were ever in a situation like this, he hopes someone like him would do everything they could to help you without thinking twice about it. That’s what he’s doing right now, Emma. He’s saving people so they can go home to their husbands and wives and children. Those people being airlifted off the roof? They’re alive because of him.” Someone shouts in the background. “I have to go. Just know he’s not him, Emma. Brett is not your father.”
“He t-told you?” I ask, shaking with sobs.
“Yeah. He did. Listen, Brett is the most skilled firefighter I’ve ever known. Have faith in that.”
I can only nod.
“Bye, Emma.”
The line goes dead.
I fe
el like I’m going to die when I see part of the building explode. Audible gasps come from the three women in the room with me when glass is blown sideways, along with concrete and other debris.
For the next thirty minutes they try to comfort me, but I’m not sure I hear any of their words. My ears ring and my head is spinning. My thoughts go to Leo. I wonder if he’ll ever forgive his dad. Then I go numb. I shut down, waiting for the fateful call.
“Emma! Emma!”
Ivy is shaking me, trying to get my attention. I look up at her.
“He got out. Brett is out. He’s okay.”
I’m not sure I heard her correctly. “What?”
“The explosion somehow created a pathway for them to evacuate down through the building. He’s being taken to the hospital for smoke inhalation, but Bass said it’s just a formality. He’s fine.” She puts her hands on my shoulders and looks me in the eye. “Did you hear me? Brett’s going to be fine.”
Sara hands me my purse. “Let’s go. You can see for yourself.”
We leave for the hospital, and all I think the entire time is that I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be doing this. I don’t want this to be my life.
I have to protect my daughter.
Chapter Thirty-five
Brett
My body aches badly. My throat is sore. I’m covered with sweat, soot, and dust. But I smile anyway.
Being in that building was as bad as it gets. I’ve never been so worried about getting out before. We were trapped. Literally trapped more than twenty floors up with no way down. The fire was eating more and more, burning faster and hotter, and there were still over a hundred people to evacuate. None of us said it, but we were all thinking that maybe there wouldn’t be enough time.
My eyes close and I rest against the pillow, breathing through the oxygen mask they put on me as a precaution. As hard as it was, these are the days firefighters live for. I beat it. I beat the fire. It didn’t get me. It didn’t get anyone. Zero casualties. It’s almost unbelievable, considering what a disaster it was.
Engulfing Emma (The Men on Fire Series) Page 25