For me, when we’d gotten the news that Dad had died out on a fire, I’d thrown myself into being the best dad and husband I could be. We didn’t have Chloe yet. Bailey was about a year old, and Abs was about four, I think. Actually, come to think of it, that’s about the time that Britt had taken off for a while and we’d taken that separation. And when she’d come back, I’d worked like hell to make things better, to make her want to stick around.
Back then, I believed people had good hearts and good intentions. I believed Britt when she swore she was better, that everything would be fine. That we would be fine. That our family, our girls, mattered to her as much as they did to me.
I don’t have that same faith in people anymore.
But, maybe that’s the bitter, soon to be divorced single dad in me.
The radio I have clipped to my belt goes off, and the familiar voice of one of the local dispatchers comes through. I’m up and moving before she finishes the call, and I look up to find Nate moving, too.
“Hey, new guy, get your turn outs on, and do it quick. Climb into 1311.”
Tommy does as he’s told, dropping the almost perfectly coiled hose and following both Nate and myself to one of the engines still inside the garage.
There’s a fire alarm going off at the bowling center a few miles away. We both know this could either be a real fire, or another false alarm like ninety-nine percent of the calls we get out to this center are. Their damn alarms are always going off, but we hustle, donning our turn out gear and then we’re pulling out of the bay door in the tanker rig within sixty seconds.
It takes us less than five minutes to get to the center, and when we get there, Nate and I look at each other, eyebrows hiking. Nearly all the employees are standing outside, doors propped open wide with brick pavers, smoke billowing out of them.
But what catches our attention is the arcade claw machine that’s sitting out on the sidewalk, engulfed in flames.
What the actual fuck.
We’re out of the engine and moving as soon as we pull up close enough, and we get to work. First, we haul it further away from the building and the parked cars. It doesn’t take much to put the fire out, but how the hell did a stuffed animal claw machine catch fire to start with?
We’re talking with the employees that discovered it on fire when a dark red pickup truck with a light bar across the top pulls up next to us, and Chief slides out of the driver’s door. He steps over to us and I grunt, “Seriously, it’s your fucking day off. You didn’t need to race over here. How far over the speed limit were you going?”
“What’s a speed limit?” he asks out of the corner of his mouth, and I snort, shaking my head as he takes over questioning the employees about what happened and what they saw. The owner of the place joins Clay and tells him he’s checked the security footage. Turns out some idiot teenager shoved a lit cigarette intothe machine and the synthetic fur on the stuffed animals went up like kindling.
The machine is still smoldering, so while Chief takes down all the info about the teen, Nate, Tommy and I haul it further across the parking lot to get it out of the way. We monitor it for a little longer, until we’re sure it’s out completely, before we head back to the station, and Chief climbs into his truck and heads himself back to whatever jobsite he hightailed it from to get here.
I leave Nate and Tommy to handle taking care of the trucks and head back into the office to type up the report, then leave it on Clay’s desk. By the time five o’clock rolls around and it’s time to go pick up the girls from my mom’s, all I want to do is pick them up and go home.
I’m not that lucky, though, because tonight is family dinner, and Mom will beat me senseless if I try and skip out… again.
Pulling my truck into the driveway, I’m surprised to see Joel’s bike is already parked next to Mom’s sedan. Climbing the wooden steps that I’m a little ashamed to admit are in need of repair, I’m reminded that I don’t come around often enough.
I need to do more.
I’ll wrangle Joel to come by and help me repair these steps. I grip the railing and give it a wiggle.Fuck. And this railing that’s a little too loose for my liking.
I can hear the girls chattering away before I make it through the screen door, and the smell of roasted vegetables and grilled chicken greet me. My stomach rumbles. Shit, I’m hungrier than I thought.
When I enter the kitchen, I find that Chloe is perched, cross legged, on top of the kitchen counter, elbow deep in what I can only assume is some kind of dough. Flour dusts her clothes and all over the countertop around her dough pile, and there’s a smudge of it across her cheek and forehead, like she touched her face at some point.
Bailey is standing at the opposite counter, tongue sticking out of her mouth as she concentrates on pinching an already rolled out dough disc into a pie pan. Joel stands next to her, giving directions.
Even Abigail is helping, peeling apples at the kitchen sink. It’s impressive that she’s not holed up in the spare bedroom to be antisocial.
Mom has her back to me when I come in, so I walk up behind her and lean down to kiss her cheek in greeting. “Hi, Mom. Smells amazing.”
“Daddy!” Chloe crows, looking up and spotting me finally. She beams a grin over at me and I step over to her to look closer at what she’s working on. The pile of dough is lumpy and unevenly moist in some places and heavily dusted in flour in others. “I’m making the dough that’s going to go on top of the apple pie! See?”
I nod appreciatively, and hum, “That looks amazing, Chlo.” Then I risk a glance over at Mom.
I must not hide the worry from my face well, because she just shrugs and smiles, then continues rolling out a different piece of dough with a wooden rolling pin. Probably the piece that willactuallygo on the pie after Chloe’s lumpmysteriously disappears. So strange how that happens.
“How was that call out to the bowling center today?” Joel asks over his shoulder, and I move closer to him and Bailey. “Another false alarm? I got the tone, but we were delivering a couple side-by-sides up over the bridge. There was no way I was gonna make it.”
I laugh then, leaning my hips against the counter next to Bailey and crossing my arms over my chest. “No, actually. One of their arcade games caught fire. It was nothing. Easy peasy. Even had the new guy help out.”
