“No,” he said softly. “It doesn’t. You just learn how to cope with it better.”
* * *
I had no desire to go home and face Jeremy. I didn’t want to explain how the day had unraveled. Instead, I hid alone in the ambulance bay until almost midnight. The station was quiet, no alarms rang, and the night crew was asleep in their bunkers. Still, I stayed awake, finding things to do. I ended up sitting inside the back of our ambulance after thoroughly cleaning, checking, and rechecking every supply, ticking it off mindlessly on the list repeatedly until I no longer realized I was even doing it. My mind reeled as I worked, the image of the lifeless young boy engraved permanently in my mind. Every time I blinked and took a breath, it was there again, haunting the very depths of my soul. Multiple times my cell phone buzzed in my pocket, and each time I ignored it, knowing I couldn’t talk to anybody now and not really wanting to, either.
At one-thirty, fatigue overcame me. I dropped the supply list to the floor and leaned back in the ambulance seat, crossing my arms over myself. I knew damn well I wouldn’t sleep, and I wondered if sleep would ever come again at this point. So instead of sleeping, I stared straight ahead, wishing away a throbbing migraine. Fifteen minutes later, the door to the ambulance bay swung open and closed.
“Hill?” someone said, and a moment later, Chief Davis came around the back and found me huddled against the far side of the bus, staring mindlessly ahead.
“Chief,” I gasped, struggling to sit up. “I didn’t know you worked many overnight shifts.”
“Erik Hansen called me earlier,” he said, climbing into the back of the ambo. He took a seat on the empty stretcher and looked around, pretending to be interested in the back of an ambulance he’d seen countless times before.
“Hansen called you?” I repeated. “Why?”
“He asked me to check and make sure you’d really gone home and weren’t in the middle of a breakdown somewhere hidden in the station,” Chief Davis said softly, his wise eyes scanning my face, looking for a weak spot he could break down. I was silent, barely able to understand the words that Chief Davis was saying. The fatigue that clung to me was overwhelming, and my head was fuzzy with exhaustion.
“I’m fine,” I told him, unconsciously biting down on the tip of my tongue until I tasted blood just inside my lip.
“You look fine.” Chief Davis said, and it took me a moment to realize that he was kidding. But the kidding tone didn’t last for long. His eyes were still on my face, searching mine for a hint of something—anything—that would reassure him. But I couldn’t bear to meet his gaze.
“This stuff happens, right?” I asked with a nonchalant shrug. “People die. Children die. It’s all part of being in this field.”
“Yes.”
“Yet, somehow, I had no idea how much it would hurt.”
“None of us do until it happens.” Chief Davis folded his arms and leaned back against the wall, clicking his tongue gently. “Not one single person on this crew, or any other crew, for that matter, is fully prepared for what comes with this job.” He nodded as though reminding himself of this fact. “You can hope you’re prepared for it,” he continued. “But when that first call comes, and the blood of someone’s life is on your hands, it’s nothing you can prepare for. Ever. And it doesn’t get easier.”
“Right,” I said. “We just learn to cope better.”
“Yes.”
A short silence settled between us then, and I closed my eyes, pushing a breath of heavy air through my teeth.
“What about fitting in?” I asked him. “Does fitting in ever get easier?” I gave a slow shake of my head, migraine throbbing.
“Fitting in,” Chief Davis repeated. “You mean here?”
I nodded, which only made my headache worse. “It doesn’t seem to matter what I do, right or wrong, they hate me,” I told him. “They don’t want me here. And I knew that. That’s the worst part. I knew from the beginning, but it doesn’t make it any easier.” I chewed my bottom lip again, ignoring the metallic taste, refusing to let the bubble of tears inside me float to the surface. “They don’t want me here because they think I can’t do the job, and maybe they’re right.”
“You think so?” Chief Davis asked, and I shrugged, but the memory of the crew’s insults rang in my ears, bouncing around my head, making me doubt everything I hadn’t questioned before.
“I almost lost my shit out there, Chief,” I told him, my voice catching. “I almost broke down on that call. Nobody else did. Everyone did their jobs. But I—I almost lost it.”
“Do you believe no one else in this department has never ‘lost their shit’ on the field?” Chief Davis asked. I opened my mouth to respond and then faltered. I couldn’t see it, not even a little bit. The men on my team were brave, composed, and fearless. I was nothing compared to them, and they knew it.Iknew it.
“The entire town hates that I’m here,” I said. “People who saw me grow up, old teachers and parents of my childhood friends. I’m going against everything they know, and they hate it.” A single tear slid down my cheek, and I wiped it away abruptly, hoping he hadn’t seen it glistening on my skin. I hated to cry when I was angry. Everyone mistook it for sadness.
“I’m sure that’s not true,” Chief Davis said, and I laughed bitterly.
“Chief, my father won’t even speak to me, my fiancé is avoiding me, and the crew hates me.” I met his steady gaze, the burning lump in my throat growing. He held my eyes for a moment before looking away, pondering something.
“Did you know I became a firefighter in nineteen seventy-one?” he said. His lip twitched, just slightly, but he didn’t smile.
“I know.” I nodded. “Just after my dad joined the crew in nineteen seventy. He said you were one of the best recruits to join this department. It was a part of you, in your blood.”
“Yes.” Chief Davis looked at me again, focusing his chestnut brown eyes on the tired lines on my face. “I was the first black man to join the department. And people hated it.”
