This is the part of the job that isn’t glamorous. That isn’t fun.
These are the things I lock away inside myself when I go home and sleep.
It’s just after seven, and I need to sleep. It’s only Eden’s third day on the job, and as far as I can remember, Sassy’s watching Juniper. My mind goes to shit after a shift like that. It takes some time before I can pull myself from the intensity of the work and get back to the routine of life outside the station.
Once I’m inside my truck, I slam the door hard, images from the night playing like a movie in my mind. I close my eyes against the memories, but that only makes them easier to see.
I check my phone, and there’s a photo message from Eden waiting on my phone. It’s only a picture of her legs. She’s sitting on her bed, her legs crossed. She’s wearing a black pencil skirt, black nylons, and sexy high heels.
Eden: Missed u, babe.Missed u bad. This will be waiting for you when you get to my place. Can’t wait for you to move in.
I’m supposed to go to Eden’s this afternoon after she’s off work and after I get some decent sleep. But I can’t think that far into the future. I can’t reply to her text. I can’t do anything but think about what I saw, and I want to stop thinking about it.
I’ll be back here tomorrow for the meeting with the therapist, and we’ll all go back over it. It’s usually the same one, somebody the chief calls in from another county.
It often helps if the person is a total outsider. If the therapist knows the people involved in the traumatic incident, the one that was so bad a whole crew of experienced first responders needed stress debriefing, that makes the whole process a lot tougher.
Some of the therapists are better than others. Most invite us to talk but let us stay silent if that’s how we need to deal. Intervening early and giving us the chance to get what happened off our chests is supposed to lead to less PTSD, fewer guys like me having real problems because we can’t deal with the stress.
I toss my phone onto the passenger seat and crank the music up full blast. My ears are ringing by the time I pull into the driveway at my parents’.
I walk in the front door, a fucking grimace on my face that’s so heavy, my jaw literally hurts. I kick off my shoes and head into the kitchen just in time to see my father with his hand under my mother’s robe.
“Jesus Fucking Christ!” I shout and stagger back. Thankfully, Pops is fully dressed, but he sure as hell was getting a handful of something.
“Vito.” Ma clutches her robe closed at the top. Her hair and makeup are not done, and I’m shocked to see her not dressed at this hour. “We thought you were going to text us if you were coming back. We assumed you were going to crash at Eden’s.”
“Plans changed,” I grumble, but then I drop my phone on the counter and brace myself on my palms.
“Oh shit.” Pops comes around the counter and claps a hand on my shoulder. “What happened, son? Is it Eden?”
I whip my head up, and my heart practically parkours its way out of my chest. “No.” I shake my head. “Multiple fatalities. It was bad.”
Ma immediately runs to the sink and starts a kettle for tea. Pops is quiet, but his hand on my shoulder is firm. “When’s the debrief?” he asks, his voice low.
“Tomorrow,” I say. “Three.”
Ma gets a mug and drops a tea bag into it, then scurries around gathering fruit and bread for toast while the kettle boils. “Just something light to eat, baby,” she says.
I nod. This is the routine. This is what it’s like supporting a guy like me with a job like this. This is the shit my siblings don’t see.
They may think I live with our parents because I’m lazy or directionless. I stay because they are my safe place to land. Always have been.
“Ma,” I say. “Can you put that tea in a to-go cup? I’m going to grab some fresh clothes and head out.”
Ma looks to my pops, tears filling her eyes. “You want me to drive you? You look so tired, son.”
I never like this part, but it’s always a component of the routine. I lie. Not a big lie, but one that will keep the pain that could tear me apart under control, so that it doesn’t shatter the hearts of the people I love.
“Ma,” I grumble, trying desperately to find some humor but coming up with very little. “Don’t pretend you and Pops won’t get right back to what you were doing when I walked in the second I’m out that door.” I give her a weak smile. “I’m all right.”
She packs up some fruit and hands me the toast on a paper plate. “Eat this before it gets cold. I’ll have the rest ready when you come down.” She comes around the counter and slips her arms around my waist. She hugs me hard, her soft body going tight. The strength of my tiny mother, the way she’s trying to hug the hurt right out of me… It makes my eyes burn and my nose prickle.
“All right,” I say, blinking fast and stepping out of her hold. “Thanks, Ma.”
I head upstairs and throw clothes and toiletries into a gym bag. I don’t think, just grab and shove, until I realize I need socks and underwear, and I grab those too. I head back downstairs, where Ma has a massive casserole carrier waiting for me.
“I’m sending some leftovers, so you just have to heat up lunch.” Ma shoves the bag of food at me. “You come home tonight or tomorrow if you need us, baby.”
