She’s angled toward her daughter, lips parted as if she’s about to say something. To soften Penny’s statement, or to pivot out of the topic. But nothing comes out except a little exhale that holds the weight of the world. She blinks fast, and when her gaze flicks up to meet mine, it carries so much rawness I almost break the eye contact.
“Yeah,” I say, still looking at Lily. “Your dad was a hero.”
Lily shakes her head and lowers her gaze. Like she would’ve preferred an alive coward to a dead hero.
“My dad was on the news once for rescuing a dog that had gotten stranded on the 405 at rush hour. He dodged cars, scooped up the dog, and got a standing ovation from the drivers. Did you ever rescue any animals?”
“I once went on a call for a raccoon stuck in a vending machine. But all it got me was an anti-rabies shot.” The story makes Penny giggle, and even Lily’s lips quirk up.
She opens a sterile packet of scissors and tweezers and unwraps the wound. When she glances up at me again, some of the turbulence has gone from her gaze. “This has healed nicely,” she says, inspecting the line of stitches.
As she gets to work, a crease forms between Lily’s brows, her lips pursed. Her hands snip the tiny knots and tease the thread out with the tip of the tweezers. She’s beautiful when she’s in her element.
And without the scrubs, wrapped in an oversized sweatshirt that keeps slipping off one shoulder when she leans forward, she’s even harder to look away from. The casual intimacy of it—her in comfortable clothes, me in her home, the three of us sharing stories—twists into my heart like a corkscrew. Knowing I can sit at the edge, but never fully reach for them.
The final tug stings, making my hand twitch. But I welcome the physical pain; it grounds me against this thing burning inside me.
“Sorry.” Lily notices my discomfort. “The last one is always tricky.”
“Mom fixes people at the hospital all the time,” Penny says proudly. “One time, she helped a guy who had a fork stuck in his foot.”
“It was a barbecue tool,” Lily clarifies. “And he was scratching inside his cast.”
“Creative,” I say, grinning.
“Stupid,” she corrects.
Penny’s stomach growls. “I’m gonna set the table, Mom.”
“Thank you, sweetie.” Lily wipes down my arm, then covers the fresh scar with a small square of adhesive gauze. “Done. You’re unstitched.”
Dread spreads in my chest that I no longer have an excuse to linger or visit regularly. They have to eat, and I have to go back to my lone, sad apartment, have dinner alone, and then lie in bed, counting the spins of the vent in my bedroom ceiling. I really should get a TV.
I nod, swallowing the words I want to say. That I think about Lily constantly. That I could’ve found Emily some other way at the hospital. But I went to the ER at the end of Lily’s shift because I hoped to bump into her. That her daughter is amazing, smart, witty. And I’m in awe of what a fantastic mother she is, especially while doing it alone. That I understand why she’s keeping me at arm’s length, and I respect it, but fuck, it’s killing me.
“Thanks, Nurse Finnigan.” I smile at her instead. “What’s the verdict? Will I live?”
“As long as you don’t do anything stupid,” she teases me. “Like run into any more falling beams. Leave the gauze on for the night. It’ll heal up fine.”
Yeah, the flesh in my arm has knitted back together, but it’s the expanding gash in my heart I worry about. No medical trick can fix that.
Our eyes meet, and everything else falls away—the barriers she’s built, the rules I’m trying to respect, the ghost of her past that stands between us. It’s just Lily and me, tangled up in a silence that says all the things we’re not allowed to. But then she blinks, and her guards come back in place.
I stand, flexing my arm, testing the new bandage. “I should get going.”
Lily nods, rising with me. “Right.”
She walks me to the door, her steps slow, as if she’s in no hurry for me to leave either. Or maybe that’s wishful thinking.
“Thanks for the medical care,” I say, pausing at the threshold. “And for taking me to see Emily today.”
“You made her so happy with those flowers,” Lily says. “That was… really sweet of you.”
“I keep my promises,” I tell her, holding her gaze maybe too intently. “Always.”
Her eyes shine, and her mouth twists in a troubled grimace. “Might not be always up to you.”
Right.No firefighter can promise to make it home.
