Falling for the Fireman Page 4

  She just shook her head, looking down.

  “It’s the middle school fire drill. We’re using it this year to evaluate the company’s response time. That’s why everyone’s running out.” Suddenly, Chad put the pieces together. She was afraid of the station. Since buying the building, she’d never once crossed the street. And Jeannie Nelworth visited everybody. Despite Nick’s many visits and even the baskets he knew she sent over, Jeannie herself had never set foot in the firehouse. Until today. How cruel was that? “I’m sorry you had to be here for this, Jeannie. I…”

  “Why didn’t I know?” She cut in, looking up with anger. “Someone should have told us. Nicky isn’t ready for fire trucks to come screaming into the school parking lot. He needs to be ready.”

  “If everyone knows it’s coming, it’s not much of a test.”

  The fear in her eyes turned to fire. “So it’s okay to scare my son out of his wits on account of procedure? Did you have to plan that test for that school this year? Oh, Nicky.” She clutched a hand to her chest. Her fingers were actually shaking.

  Chad heard the metallic rumble of the huge equipment doors shutting. In the distance, the engine sirens died down and Chad could envision firefighters climbing out of their trucks calmly while teachers and students stood in lines on the school field. And he could just as easily imagine Nick standing, breathing hard and wide-eyed like Jeannie had just been, fighting to look calm while his insides were going off like firecrackers. George had suggested moving the company drill to the high school, but Chad had declined. He, who of all people knew what this might do to Nicky, had tried not to single the boy out in any way but had chosen wrong. “I’m sorry.” The words seemed weak and too late, the quieting firehouse a condemnation of all the commotion and noise he’d sent Nick’s way.

  Jeannie rose, then squinted her eyes tight and let out a breath. “Ugh. No, wait. I’m sorry, this isn’t your fault.”

  He was impressed that she was trying to smooth this over, and it only served to make him feel worse. “No, this is my fault. George wanted to move the drill to another school, or even pull this test off the school drill, but I thought it would be worse to do anything special to single Nick out.” It sounded like the worst decision ever when he said it out loud. “And I was wrong.”

  It was a funny thing; he could see her apply that parental control thing mothers had, could actually see her pull herself together for Nick’s sake. Normally he didn’t see those things in people, but her emotions were obvious to him somehow. “I should go over there right now.”

  Chad put a hand out, knowing instantly what she was up to and certain it would only make things worse. “You know, I’m not so sure that’d be a good idea.”

  Jeannie huffed and stepped around his hand. “Of course it is. He’s probably panicked out of his mind right now.”

  Chad had never been a parent, but he had been a thirteen-year-old boy. Despite not having enough sense to move the drill, Chad did have enough sense to remember that someone’s mom coming to the rescue would be instant humiliation in middle school. He owed Nick the only thing he could still do—delay the boy’s mother until she calmed down enough not to make a scene. Maybe even keep her from showing up at all. He grabbed the doorknob before she could reach it. “Even if he is upset—and yes, it’s my fault if he is—you rushing in to scoop him up is only going to make things worse in front of his friends.”

  Any fear in her face was now replaced by a fierce, protective glare. “That’s out of line. You’re not his mother.”

  “No, I am not his mother. I botched this, but let’s leave it at that. If you go over there and make any kind of scene, you’ll just make my bad call a worse situation.”

  “I wouldn’t make a scene.”

  He looked at her. She was a loving mother. She’d most definitely make a big scene. It was what loving mothers did. It was part of what made being thirteen so wonderful and awful at the same time—that much he remembered vividly. “You wouldn’t? Really?” He pointed down at her clenched fists.

  “Okay.” She unclenched her hands, a tiny bit of the tension easing off her shoulders as well. “I might make a bit of a scene. I mean, look at me, I’m a mess already.”

  He couldn’t help but smile just a bit. “Yes, but you know it’s a drill now and you’re less of a mess. I expect the same is true of Nick. We threw him a curve, but he seems like a strong kid. Maybe we need to let him figure out a way to get over it on his own.” He gestured toward the chair, and she sat down again. “If you like,” he went on, grasping for any idea that might help, “I can call the guidance counselor in ten minutes. You know, see if everything went okay. I can casually mention Nick and see what she says. You and I can get a cup of coffee in the meantime and think of ways to punish Plug for his thoughtless escape.” When she hesitated, he was surprised to hear himself add, “And maybe think of some way to reward you for making it across the street under dire circumstances.” His tone of voice seemed to be coming from some other man. Some warm, friendly guy he didn’t recognize. He disliked her stalwart optimism, but she fought so hard for it that he couldn’t bring himself to fault her. “Coffee and ten minutes. Then you can boast to Nick about having made it across the street and into the firehouse for a whole ten minutes. Sirens included.”

  Her hand flew to her chest again, flattening up against the big, cream-colored fisherman’s knit sweaters she wore. The thick weave made her seem even smaller, made the flush in her cheeks stand out all the more. “I don’t think my pulse has come back down to normal yet.”

  Chad felt a grin take over his face before he could stop it. “In that case, maybe you shouldn’t drink George’s coffee.”

  Chapter Five

  Chad made sure he was in the firehouse when Nick came over to walk Plug the next day. He also made sure Plug stayed in his office so he’d have a chance to see how the boy fared. No amount of remorse would shake responsibility for what he saw in Nick’s blue eyes: the inner storm beneath his pose of teenage apathy. Yesterday obviously hadn’t been the best of days for Nick. He was very glad to be here, but trying hard not to show it.

  “So the fire drill was no big deal?” Chad made a careful effort to sound casual as he handed Plug’s leash to Nick. He double-checked the file he was “reading,” making sure he wasn’t holding it upside down. He suspected Nick would linger in his office, and the boy had. Nick spent a few minutes playing with Plug, tussling with the hound in fidgety unease. Chad caught as many surreptitious glimpses as he could over the top of his file.

  “It was a…bit…weird,” Nick finally offered after a pause that was so long Chad had forgotten he’d asked a question. The boy busied himself with the leash. His hands stilled just a bit before he added, “Loud.”

  Chad pretended to need another folder from his filing cabinet, which meant he had to walk close to Nick. “That siren sure is loud, especially in here. If you’re in my office when the siren goes off, it’ll rattle your teeth.” He snatched a glance at Nick and then shifted his gaze out the windows to Tyler Street. “Hey, I wonder if it rattles the windows in your mom’s shop? Do you know?”

  Nick forced out a bit of a laugh. “She jumps every morning at ten when you guys test the sirens. I don’t know about the windows, but it rattles Mom, which is dumb because you do it every day. She knows it’s coming.”

  So the boy sensed his mom’s fear of the fire station. That made him doubly unlikely to tell his mother anything about yesterday, and Chad knew from the principal that yesterday hadn’t gone well. Any other fire drill, and it would have been purely an internal school matter—no sirens, no fire trucks. Any other kid, and Chad might have waved it off as just a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Chad wasn’t one to poke his head into these kinds of things, but there was just something compelling about Nick Nelworth. For whatever reason, Chad wanted to help Nick if he could. Provided things didn’t get messy or complicated.

  Chad pretended to hold a receipt up to the lig
ht coming through the window. “She tell you Plug dragged her over here yesterday? In the middle of your fire drill?” He kept his voice as casual as if he were asking the weather.

  He watched Nick’s reflection through the window glass. He was surprised, which meant Jeannie hadn’t told him of her escapade here. He wondered what that meant as he watched Nick think it over, too.

  “You came looking for me, did’ya, boy?” Nick ruffled Plug’s floppy ears, but made no comment about his mother. “I was in school and besides, I can’t come by every day. At least not yet, anyway.”

  Chad turned around to face Nick. Plug was a big dog, and Nick was small for an eighth-grader, but he seemed especially small as he sat there on the floor of the office. Chad parked himself on the window ledge for a moment, letting himself enjoy their playful interaction. Plug’s constant slobber didn’t phase a thirteen-year-old in the slightest, and the dog came to life around Nick in a way Chad hadn’t seen before. George was wise to put them together. “The whole thing was pretty funny, actually. Plug snuck out, near as I can tell. He carried his leash over to the shop and everything.”

  Nick pushed his forehead up against Plug’s droopy eyebrows. “Did you do that, Plug? Did’ya?” Plug responded with a generous wet lick up Nick’s cheek that sent the boy into giggles.

  Chad ventured further. “You ought to be proud of your mom. It scared her to death to come over here with the sirens wailing but she made sure Plug got back home safe.” That wasn’t exactly how it happened, but close enough.

  “She even freaks out whenever the sirens go off at home…at our apartment.” Nick corrected himself with obvious distaste. “And we’re four whole blocks away up the hill. She won’t come over here. Well, she wouldn’t come over here before.” He caught Chad’s eye. “Betcha she’ll still say she sends me ’cause she’s too busy, but it probably still creeps her out.”

  Chad had to tread very carefully here. He slid his weight off the windowsill and hunched down to Nick’s level under the guise of finding a twig on the floor. “Probably still does. Sirens and fire engines do that to lots of people.” He waited to see if that elicited some kind of response from the boy. When it didn’t, he added, “I had a big fire happen to me…and a friend of mine…years ago and I still jump a bit when that thing goes off.”

  Chad never admitted that to anyone but George, and it felt risky to say it aloud even in his office. Still, it seemed like the best way to give Nick permission to admit that the sirens made him nervous, too. The boy said nothing, fiddling with the ID tags on Plug’s collar as if he hadn’t heard Chad’s remark.

  Chad let it sit for a moment, twirling the twig he’d picked up from the floor. Nick’s guidance counselor, Mrs. Corning, had happened to be in the field near Nick during the fire drill—one of those things Laurie would have called a “God-incidence.” While Mrs. Corning’s initial report was good enough to keep Jeannie from barreling over to the school, a later call from her gave Chad reason to worry. Nick had held it together, but just barely. He’d been visibly shaken during the drill, argumentative in his next class and then quiet and sullen the rest of the afternoon in school.

  “Plug howls at sirens,” Chad tried again, just to see if the boy was listening. “Can you believe that?”

  Now that they’d reached a safer topic, Nick looked straight at him. His eyes were as striking as his mother’s, even though they were blue to Jeannie’s brown. “He does? He howls?”

  “Like a wolf. I suppose he thinks he’s helping, but it’s really pretty awful sounding. Stick around long enough, and you’ll get a front-row seat to that show, although you may be sorry you did.”

  Chad hoped he’d opened up another window in the conversation, but got no response. There was little reason to be surprised. Hadn’t he done the same thing himself? Whenever the topic of Laurie and the fire—or loved ones lost in fires, or loved ones lost at all—came up in conversation, Chad always shut down. It was just easier not to go there at all than to try and keep up some kind of “all better now” facade.

  “Your mom still planning on opening up for the holidays?” That wasn’t a safe topic of conversation, either. He’d lectured Jeannie about the size of the restoration she’d bitten off. The building she chose had been vacant for almost a dozen years. Most of the firefighters encouraged her, convinced Jeannie’s shop would be an easy source of goodies once she opened, but Chad had reservations.

  “Yep,” Nick replied. “She says we’ll have our own Christmas tree in our own place above the shop. I can’t wait.”

  Chad stifled a sigh. Half the interior walls needed to be rebuilt, and if she did as much internet business as she said, she’d need a lot of rewiring. Given all that, Chad would put the mark closer to six months. He was trying to figure out what on earth to say when Nick quickly fixed the leash to Plug and stood up.

  “Okay, we’re gonna go out now.”

  So much for that opportunity. Nick wasn’t going to offer up squat about what happened yesterday at school or how he felt about it. Should Chad be glad it was over, or annoyed that he’d lost the chance to get the boy to open up? Since when did he care about getting young boys to open up, anyway?

  Watching them stop at the corner, seeing Nick reach down and give the dog yet another pat, it was clear they would be good for each other, needed each other on some level. Somebody—canine or human, needed to pull the hurt out of that boy. Not that it was Chad’s place to do it—the school had counselors for that. Still, something in the shadows of Nick’s eyes grabbed a hold of Chad and wouldn’t let go, as if the boy needed to escape and Chad held the only rope. He was still standing out the window, wondering how he could have been better at helping, when George came up behind him.

  “Heard it didn’t go so well yesterday,” George said, staring at Nick and Plug.

  Chad ran his hands down his face. “You were right. We never should have put Nick Nelworth through the full company showing up at his school. I messed up, George, and that poor kid paid the price.” He stared after the unlikely pair as they headed down the sidewalk. A stumpy-legged hound loping happily after a gangly legged boy. Opposites, or maybe just complements. He suspected Nick took after his father in appearance, being light and tawny compared to his mother’s dark and dramatic features. He’d never known Henry Nelworth, but people spoke of the fatal car accident with great sadness. Nick’s late father had obviously been a good man, a great loss in that boy’s life.

  George peered down the street at the pair. “You were sticking to the rules. That’s what you’re paid to do, so don’t beat yourself up. And you know, maybe it really was better not to make special arrangements. Nick had to get over that sometime, maybe sooner and all at once was better than later. He looks okay to me. He came back to the firehouse today without any trouble at all.”

  Chad knew the clinical signs of pediatric post-traumatic stress; they’d had classes on crisis care at the academy. He knew the signs of shock, the basics of first-responder interaction, the academic essentials of how fires affected children. This wasn’t a clinical concern. It was more personal, an unwelcome, niggling feeling. Maybe it was just man-to-boy commiseration. He remembered the gawky confusion of middle school and hated to see any kid have something tragic like a house fire added on to that misery. Kids could be cruel at that age. “He’s not all okay, George. I can see it.”

  “Well, if anyone could see it, it’d be you.” He shot Chad a sideways glance. “You don’t think I had you supervise our dog walker because of your sparkling personality, do you?” George had been wise enough to see he needed something, someone to care for and interact with. George was such a great judge of character, it still baffled him how the chief’s own family could be so estranged from each other. Who knew how people messed up their relationships so easily? Maybe George had seen something in Chad that tugged at him the way that boy tugged at Chad.

  George sighed. “Then there’s Jeannie. Artie told me he was worried he’d have run her over if you had
n’t pulled her out of the street.”

  The memory of Jeannie yesterday hadn’t left him. He still couldn’t shake the sight of her big eyes and her brittle, frozen stance as she clutched Plug’s leash. The way she looked up at him from his office chair, fierce love for her son blazing in her features. “She was pretty upset, but I think she’s okay.”

  George looked across the street and scratched his chin with the hand that wasn’t holding a bottle of root beer. “Is she?” He hated it when George got all cryptic. Why was it that the old man could convey twelve sentences in two words?

  He could see Jeannie bent over some papers on the table in her shop. “She looks okay to me.”

  George produced a disbelieving snort.

  Chad turned to him. “What?”

  “Oh, I’m sure it’s nothing.” George’s fake sigh told otherwise.

  “George, what?”

  Taking a long slow sip, George turned back to eye Chad. “It’s just that Ed from the hardware store called a bit ago.”

  “And said what?” What on earth did Ed have to do with any of this?

  “Seems Jeannie Nelworth came in yesterday afternoon and bought eight smoke detectors.”

  “She doesn’t need that many. Even with two stories, she needs four, maybe five. And they will be hardwired in that place once the interior walls go up anyway. She has no use for the hang-up kind you get at Ed’s.”

  “Yep.” With a long look at Chad that said entirely too much, George took another sip and left the room.

  Chapter Six

  “Push the red button and hold for ten seconds to test.” Jeannie read the directions aloud the next morning as she snapped the sides of the smoke detector together shut after inserting the battery. “Sounds easy enough.” With a deep breath, she counted to three and pushed the red button. In seconds a shriek blasted throughout the building. “Oww!” She fumbled to pull the battery back out. “That’s bad enough to make your eyes water. If there ever was a fire here, they wouldn’t just hear you at the firehouse, they’d hear you clear to Ohio,” she addressed the disassembled device. “You go by the room that’ll be Nicky’s, because that boy sleeps like a rock.”