“You know,” he starts, “Captain Kendrick wasn’t married when he died.”
I already see where this is going. “Your point?”
“He chose us as his family. The station and the crew. But he was alone.”
“He wasn’t alone. He had us,” I reiterate.
“At night? When he went home to that empty house? After rough calls when he needed—” James shakes his head. “I’m not sure having us was enough.”
“It’s enough for me.”
“Is it?”
I don’t answer. Can’t answer. Because the truth is, I don’t know anymore. The job, the crew, the routine, and the adrenaline used to be enough. However, lately, I feel the slow creep of an itch that’s so deep under my gear that I know I won’t be able to scratch it. It’s the kind that refuses to go away, no matter how much I ignore it. It’s like I’m waiting for something I can’t name.
Not Vincenza, though. Definitely not her.
Feeling defensive, but not able to get away with questionable penalties, I say, “Captain Kendrick was married once. His wife died young. He never dated anyone after that.”
“Spent the rest of his life alone, maybe lonely.”
“Or he spent it focused on what mattered. The work. Saving lives.”
“And who saved him?”
The question is like a brick of ice between us. I don’t have an answer for that either.
We finish practice and head our separate ways. I’m halfway to my truck when my phone buzzes.
Vincenza Sorrentino: Just sending a friendly reminder about our meeting tomorrow at 8 a.m. to discuss the Fireman’s Ball timeline. Conference Room B.
I grimace.
Me: Can’t make it at 8 a.m. Department meeting in Carson City.
Three dots appear immediately, indicating she’s replying.
Vincenza Sorrentino: I’ve been trying to schedule this all week.
Me: Work priority.
Vincenza Sorrentino: When are you available?
Me: Monday?
Vincenza Sorrentino: That’s four days away.
Me: I’m aware of how calendars work.
The dots appear again. Vanish. Don’t come back.
Realizing that my comment was a little harsh, I toss my phone onto the passenger seat and head home.
Alone.
I’mon duty for an overnight shift. Oreo meets me at the door, tail wagging like I’ve been gone for years instead of hours.
“Hey, boy.” I scratch behind his ears. “Did you have a good day?”
