Slowly pulling back, she looks deeply into my eyes. “Thank you for my gifts. You don’t know how much they mean to me, or what you have done for me.” She places her hands softly on my cheeks, not needing to say any more because we shared our fears in bed the other night.
“I promise to wear my tie, but this Christmas, you gave me so much more. My greatest gift this Christmas was you.” Softly I kiss her plump, beautiful lips, probably for the last time like this. “You taught me how to laugh again, but more importantly, how to live.” I place my lips on her forehead and pour all she made me feel into the final kiss goodbye.
The noise of the boys arguing who is carrying which bowl to the table has Poppy pushing up off my lap. We know our stolen moment is gone.
The day after Christmas day, has always been a pajama day in our house. So, I’m standing here at the window in my flannel pants and t-shirt, watching Poppy load her bag into the car while a light flutter of snow falls around her.
I don’t know why I’m torturing myself, saying goodbye last night was hard enough. It’s not that I’ll never see her again, but as she worked so hard to teach me, life moves on.
Our Christmas bubble has popped.
Watching the taillights of her car driving down the road, I find myself licking my lips, and there’s only one thought in my head.
Is that really the last time I will get to taste my sweet Poppy…?
Chapter Eight
7 months later
POPPY
My feet feel so heavy in my boots. Earlier today was one of the most intense fires I have ever attended since I graduated from the training academy. Yet there’s no time to stop.
I’m sitting in the back of the ladder truck, quietly staring out the window just trying to process the last fire, when the radio that is a constant background noise calls out our engine number.
“Engine 25 and Ladder 19, three-story building fire on the corner of Watson and Apollo Streets. Unknown number of possible occupants inside, is a known homeless building.”
The call booms into the cabin of the truck, and Lieutenant Rosco hits the siren and lights as he responds over the two-way radio.
“Copy that, dispatch, Engine 25 and Ladder 19 on route. ETA five minutes.”
“That’s the old Xerox factory, isn’t it?” Dean, who we all call Volk when we’re on the job, shouts out above the sirens from the driver’s seat as he negotiates traffic to get us to the site as quick as possible.
“Yep, so oxygen masks ready,” Rosco calls to us. “Fuck knows what chemicals are still in that building from the old days of medical imaging machines they manufactured there,” He picks up the radio to relay the same information to Engine 25 that’s right behind us.
I didn’t think I had one ounce of energy left, but already, the adrenaline that was crashing as we left the last fire starts to perk back up, and I’m ready to go.
Someone’s life might depend on me being at my best, and this fatigue is what I train to push through, in preparation for days like this.
Before we have a visual on the fire, I can smell it. Which is crazy when we all stink badly in this truck of smoke from the last fire, but a raging fire has a different smell to it, and we’re tuned into that. Dean swings the truck into Watson Street, and we can already see the flames and smoke at the other end of the street. Cars are pushing to the sides of the roads the best they can so we can get through, and as much as I hate Dean these days, I have to admit he’s good at maneuvering this big truck fast through the tight spots.
I hate the sight as we get closer to the building. A column of dense black smoke rises from the top floor. There are people staggering from the doorway on the front of the building that looks like it was boarded up. But that board is now lying on the pavement, and everyone is trampling over it to escape.
“Shit,” I mumble as we pull to a stop, and Rosco steadily starts shouting instructions through the radio as we scramble from the truck, the other crew on the truck that’s pulled up behind us doing the same. Although it’s a matter of urgency, weknow not to go rushing into the building. We all know our roles, and Rosco reinforces them with his orders. We start grabbing equipment off the truck.
Fires are loud, wood exploding, structures are falling, plus the terrified shouting of people trying to escape. Or even worse, the panicking scream of someone who’s still trapped inside. We need to listen to it all to help us assess the scene quickly.
“Bert, you’re with me on the ladder for ventilation and entry. We need to keep the flames contained on that third floor as long as we can to give us time below it.” Rosco calls all of us by our nicknames that are usually short for our surnames, mine coming from Bertrum. It saves precious time when we’re calling out to each other in the middle of a fire and every second counts.
“Lee and Russ, search-and-rescue ground floor. Adams and Whits, you follow them and then move to search-and-rescue on the second floor, with the backup crews to join you when they arrive. Bert and I will cover the third floor. Volk, you’re on the ladder controls.” As I hear the words leave Rosco’s lips, I’m already up on the back of the truck waiting for Dean to get the ladder into position. We have several ambulances already here and assessing the people who are still stumbling from the doors.
Our battalion chief has arrived, taking over control of the scene from our station captain. Chief’s loud voice comes from where he’s standing on the ground below us yelling, “How many people are still inside?” But I can’t hear any answers as people are scrambling past him. The truth is, in a squatter’s building like this, no one probably knows.
“Locked and ready,” Dean calls above the sirens that are still filling the air from the backup trucks and crews that are on their way, but we’re running out of time. Fire moves so quickly, and if we want to have any chance of rescuing anyone on that top floor, we need to move right now. The thick smoke I can see comingout of the roof, meaning it would be so hard to breathe in there, tells me we might already be too late.
As soon as I hear the words, I’m scaling the rungs of the ladder with speed, but still conscious of doing it safely.
I’m usually the first one up the ladder because I’m fast. Being smaller and lighter than most of the guys on my crew, Rosco knows I can be up and start ventilating the building quicker than the others.
