The doors open and my team walks through, a somber group today; so unlike the rowdy hell raisers that I’m used to. Here to pay their respects to the man that had led them through so many fire calls, the man that had been a boss, a friend, a father to every single one of them.
Cal stops in front of me and we shake hands, his eyes darker than usual as he nods to me. I know he’s suffering. He was the last man out of that fire, heard the snap of the snag that had come down, he was the one that had seen firsthand my dad’s final moments. Knowing there was nothing he could do to save my dad had broken something inside of him. I clasp his shoulder tight and he grips my elbow hard, our conversation silent, before moving inside.
Rowan and Jacob both step forward then, shaking my hand and then Zach’s, before moving into the room with Cal as the rest of my crew files through, shaking our hands and offering gruff words of solace and respect. I’m barely conscious of saying something to King about how proud my dad was of him and Jacob this season. I just feel so damn disconnected from everything. Like I’m here, but not.
My chest aches by the time the last of them filter through, that burning, twisting agony back full force. Jack squeezes my shoulder as he comes through the door last. I nod once in acknowledgment, my throat too tight to speak.
The minister from the local church steps over to us then, letting us know that it’s time, and Zach makes the announcement to please take a seat inside. Those in attendance wander through the doors, filling the rows and rows of chairs.
My crew takes up two rows by themselves. I stride to the front and take my mom by the shoulders gently, leading her tothe front row. Zach and Joel sit on either side of her, each in their dress blues, clasping her hands in theirs. I step to the very front of the room, turning to those assembled in front of me. I clear my throat.
“On behalf of my family, I would like to begin by thanking everyone that is here today and for those that have sent their condolences. The outpouring of love and support have been both comforting during this time and have been a reminder of the impact that my dad had on so many others. On behalf of my crew, we thank you for the support of the community, while so many others are grieving, too.”
I clear my throat, swallowing down that emotion that clogs it, and continue. “My dad loved this job, the work he did, the lives and homes and forests he saved, year after year.All people are created equal, only a few become firefighters, he’d told me once, and it had stuck. He died doing what he loved; fighting for those that couldn’t, and protecting those that he could. We will honor his sacrifice, honor his bravery in life and his heroic death.” I bow my head, clearing my throat again as unmanly tears sting my nose and eyes. “Thank you.”
I take my seat to the left of Zach, and my mother reaches across Zach’s lap to clutch my hand in her own. My eyes collide with hers, those blue eyes that are so much like mine rimmed with tears, her lips wobbling. “He loved you boys—loved this—so much. This is how he would have wanted to go.”
And finally, the tears slide down my own cheeks as I see in those eyes the thing she won’t say; that she wishes he had lovedherthat much. Wishes that he had loved her enough to stay.
I vow to honor my dad, his bravery, and his sacrifice to the best of my ability.
Because honor is all I have in the wake of my grief.
PRESENT
That was too fucking close.
My stride is steady as I exit Bakersfield Hospital, but my shoulders are tense, my mind heavy.
Scrubbing my hand over my face, I exhale as I step out into the warm May sunlight, crossing the parking lot to my truck. I reach up and spin the brim of my ball cap around on my head so that the brim is shading my eyes.
Goddamn, these motherfuckers are making me go prematurely gray.
We all know the risks of this job, but dammit, it doesn’t make seeing it with our own eyes any less terrifying. To watch your crewmate, your brother, writhing in pain or hooked up to machines and bandaged head to toe… it’s sobering. That Skykomish fire was brutal, and it will be a long time before I get the vision of King stuck in that ash pit out of my head.
Reminds us all that we’re not invincible, and the beasts we fight out there are stronger than we are, more ruthless, and far more diabolical.
King will be fine, though, even if he has some healing to do yet. Pulling out of the parking lot, I snort a laugh. If Violette Taylor has anything to say about it, that man will be just fine. She’s too stubborn to let him be anything less than okay, and King is too head over heels for the woman to disappoint her. Even if neither of them realizes it yet. They’re both whipped.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, so I fish it out and slide my finger across the screen to answer. “Yeah?” I’m not a man of many words. Sue me.
“Lunch at Shifty’s?” Callahan, my captain, asks without preamble.
I glance at the clock on the dashboard. It’s still early afternoon, but why not. Fuck it, I could use a drink after seeing King in the hospital. “Sure.”
“Ten minutes?” he asks.
“Yep.”
Twenty minutes later we’re seated shoulder to shoulder at Shifty’s Bar, our local watering hole that I’m a little ashamed to admit is more of a second home than my own house is. We each have a platter of hot wings and beers in front of us, and we’re quiet while we eat. He’s my brother in every sense of the word except for biologically, and we’ve been working on the same crew together for years.
“How’s King today?” he asks around a swallow of his beer.
“He’s fine. Getting discharged later,” I answer, taking a drink of my own beer. I rest my forearms against the edge of the bar and stare down at my plate. “Fucker is lucky.”
Cal sighs, licking the sauce off his fingers and nods. “Yeah, I know. Scared the shit out of all of us, man. It was like Jacob all over again.”
I nod without saying anything, because that’s exactly what it felt like.
