I ruined everything.
I had the perfect opening to make everything better, and I froze.
Aria Johnson deserves so much better than I’ve ever given her. And yet, I still want to be good enough for her.
I do what I always do when I feel like shit. I go to work. I stop at my apartment and put on my uniform, then make the half a block commute to my desk in the firehouse.
The shift is covered and there’s no reason for me to be here. Sue and Kevin look surprised when I walk in, and I don’t have any explanation to offer other than a half-hearted wave.
I climb the stairs to my office and sit at my desk. I need to work on the next schedule. Somebody’s going out of town, right? Who was it? I shuffle around my desk looking for the time off request form, but I can’t find it anywhere. I forget what the form even looks like.
Wait, what am I looking for again?
I’m a wreck.
I had my chance, and I blew it. Aria might hate me forever.
But that’s not who I am. At least, that’s not who I want to be. I want to be the man who can get it right for her. The one shecomes to when she needs someone to make it better. The one who knows just how much love she deserves.
Actually, she does know that. And I haven’t given her that at all.
I clench my teeth as self-loathing sets in.
This is not me.
I want one last chance. I don’t deserve it, but I want it. The air smells like Kevin’s chili, and my stomach rumbles.
But before I eat, I’m going to fix this.
I grab a few sheets of paper out of my printer, pick up a pen, and start to write.
I standon Richard’s porch. My foraging basket still sits there, a reminder of the colossal mistake I made earlier.
It’s pretty late, after ten, and I’ll probably scare the bejeezus out of them if I knock on the door or ring the bell. I’m also going to scare them if they come outside and find me standing here, so I’d better get on with it.
I kiss the folded up paper in my hand for good measure, lay it on the door mat, and put the basket on top of it to weigh it down.
I drive back to town feeling somewhat more settled, and somehow much the same. I don’t know what I expect from here. Will Aria call me in the morning when she reads my letter? Do I even deserve that? I don’t have the right to expect anything from her.
Before I left this afternoon, I caught a glimpse of her sitting on her bed, looking so distraught. I did that to her.
I am the source of Aria Johnson’s hurt, and that’s not the life I want.
As I’m pulling up on Main Street to park in front of the coffee shop, and thus my apartment, I hear our truck’s siren growing more distant. I keep a spare radio in my truck and lean across the dash to flick it on.
The address Sue repeats to Kevin makes my blood freeze.
It’s Mrs. Johnson’s.
I pullup outside Mrs. Johnson’s just in time to see Sue hauling Aria’s grandma out of the house. She holds a rag over her mouth and coughs. I race to Sue’s side to take the load off and let her go back in to clear the house. I don’t have my turnouts on, so I can’t go in.
An EMS unit is pulling up as I take Mrs. Johnson. I know she and Aria haven’t always gotten along and that she was hard on Ari. But seeing her weak and vulnerable gets to me. Ari would probably kill to be here right now. But she’s not and I’ve got a job to do.
“Heya, Granny. I’ve got you,” I say, gently lowering her onto the gurney the EMS crew has unloaded.
She coughs and coughs, wheezing in a breath. EMTs buzz around us, checking her heart and lungs with a stethoscope.
“Mrs. Johnson, is anyone else in the house?” I ask. I know the answer, but it’s our job to make sure.
