She laughed. “They did and do. I know most firefighters carry them. Why?”
I gave a one-shoulder shrug. “To keep up with what’s happening.”
“Even when you’re not at work?”
“Especially when I’m not at work. I don’t need it then, I have my walkie-talkie at work. I often turn my scanner on when I’m driving in to hear what’s going on or get updates on what happened while I was out.”
“You guys are addicted.” She shook her head, smiling. I was grateful her mood seemed to lighten.
“You hungry?” she asked.
I almost forgot about the food.
“Sure.”
“I made turkey club since I know you liked the last one. This time I used an avocado sauce instead of mayo. Or I made a roast beef and cheddar melt. Which one would you like?”
“Roast beef.”
She reached back and grabbed the picnic basket, handing me the sandwich and pulling out paper cups and a bottle of champagne.
“You came prepared.”
“Always.” She winked. “Let’s listen.” Her head jutted toward the scanner.
“Really?”
“Yeah, I wanna hear what goes on between you guys.”
I laughed. “We save the dirty talk for the station. Not over the scanner.” I flipped the switch, turning it on. After a few moments of static, we heard voices come through.
“Let’s get in the backseat to get more comfortable.”
I waited for her to climb in the back, before going after her. I positioned myself to one side, and Angela slid in between my splayed legs, making herself comfortable. She fit like a glove. We ate our sandwiches and fruit, listening to the scanner.
“What’s a 10-88 mean?” she asked between bites.
“It’s a code for a type of fire. A 10-88 is a relatively small fire. Probably only a one alarm.”
That went on for the next two hours, us listening to the scanner and her asking questions about what this code or that code meant. I didn’t mind the questions; I genuinely appreciated her interest. Now and then she would intersperse her questions with a memory of her father talking about a run he went on with her mother late at night.
“He rarely talked about the big fires with us, though.”
“Most of us don’t.” That slipped out of my mouth before I had a chance to think better of it. That was unusual for me since I always measured my words before speaking.
“Why is that?” Sitting up, she stared at me expectantly.
“We just don’t want to bring our work home. Most people try to separate work from their personal life. No different with us.” That wasn’t the complete truth. A bad day for someone who worked a nine to five could mean being yelled at by their boss. A bad day for a firefighter could mean a person dying in your arms due to burns or smoke inhalation. Every man wanted to keep his personal life separate from that. The home was our respite from the sometimes dark world of our careers. No matter how much we loved the job, everyone needed a respite.
She continued to look at me as if the answer hadn’t satisfied her, but she didn’t push the issue.
“I worry about you,” she said, voice low. “I used to just worry about Sean, but now I worry for your safety, too.” She grabbed my hand, wrapping it around her waist, tightly.
“No need to worry about me.” I tried to sound lighthearted about it.
“Are you kidding me? You run into fires for a living. How can Inotworry?”
Bending down to place a kiss on the top of her head, I ran my thumb along her forehead to smooth out the worry lines.
