On the fifteen-minute drive across town to the hospital, I didn’t care about whether I would get stopped for speeding. If I had any luck, getting pulled over might’ve been a good thing. It could be one of my former police mates, and they’d flash their lights and let me ride on their tail as I rushed to get to my family.
But I didn’t get stopped that night. Instead, I hit every green light on the way to the hospital as if the heavens had made way for me, knowing the two most important people in my life waited for me.
Earlier that day, Corey had stood in my office, his arms folded across his chest as he laughed. The navy-blue t-shirt he’d worn had proudly displayed the Williamsport Fire Department logo over the left breast.
He’d dropped by during his shift to bring me the rum cake I’d forgotten over at Mama’s two nights earlier. He’d commented about not liking the cake, and I’d joked that our Jamaican ancestors rolled over in their graves every time he said that.
That was when Don, Corey’s best friend and fellow firefighter, had stepped in and admitted to swiping a piece of my cake. I’d glared at Don while doing my best to avoid looking him in the eyes for too long.
The memory faded and I returned to the present moment, at the same time I pulled into the parking lot at Williamsport Central Hospital.
I raced through the doors of the emergency department and asked the first person I could find where I could locate my brother. Once she told me which floor, I didn’t wait for anything else.
The four-inch heels I wore beat a frantic rhythm against the linoleum floors of the hospital’s hallways. I caught the glances of people with concerned expression on their faces as I rushed past.
My heart beat wildly in my chest as I exited the elevator and ran toward the double doors leading to the trauma unit of the hospital. Through the glass, I made out a slew of men dressed in navy blue t-shirts and black trousers. Even with their backs turned to me, I knew they were from the fire department. I’d grown up with that uniform etched into my memories since my father had spent almost thirty years of his life fighting fires for the Williamsport Fire Department.
My steps faltered.
This was real.
Corey had gotten hurt while on the job.
I burst through the doors that separated the trauma wing from the other parts of the hospital. “Mama...”
A few of the men stepped back, and I spotted my mother, seated and wrapped up in the arms of one of the firefighters. I didn’t bother looking to see who. The sight of tears streaming down my mother’s honey-brown cheeks felt like a kick to my stomach.
“Mama, what happened?” I asked, kneeling in front of her and taking her hand in mine.
“Sit here,” a male voice said. It was Carter, one of Corey’s Rescue Four squad mates who’d been consoling my mother.
He stood, offering me his chair.
I kept my mother’s hand in mine as I took his seat. “What happened?” I asked again, the question coming out in a whisper.
“Jocey,” my mother said, leaning over and wiping her free hand down my cheek.
That was when I noticed that I’d let a few tears slip. Quickly, I wiped my tears and tightened my hold on my mother’s hand.
“There was a roof collapse.”
I looked up at Carter, who stood over us. “Is...” I had to force the words up my throat and out of my mouth. Every muscle in my body tightened to the point of near pain. “Is he alive?”
“Yes,” Carter assured.
I released a shaky breath, relieved.
“His protective gear kept him safe from the fire,” Carter explained, stooping low. “He wasn’t burned.”
My mother remained silent next to me, stroking my back with her hand.
“But the roof,” Carter continued. “It fell on him.”
He looked over at my mother.
I, too, looked over at her, and she nodded at Carter.
Carter turned back to me. “The doctors had to amputate his leg.”
