FEMA. That would mean leaving Waterford Fire. Uprooting my life. Relocating to DC. The position is definitely a step up from my role as a local firefighter. I could make a real difference to people in crisis all around the country. But I’d have to leave my hometown and start over.
“I know I caught you off guard,” Lieutenant Colonel Stymes says. “This position would open you up to a world of opportunities. You’d come in at GS-11 or GS-12 to start, based on your background. But you know how these things work. After a few years, you could be sitting in my chair or you might move to another role entirely. There’s a clear progression pathway open to you.”
“Send me the details,” I find myself saying.
“Yes. Good. I’ll do that. Text me your address on this same number.”
“You don’t have it?” He found my number—my private cell phone—he certainly has my address.
“Of course, I have it. But it’s better if you voluntarily send it to me.” He chuckles. “Still direct as ever, I see.”
“Yes,” I say. “I am.”
“Well, good. That’s one of the qualities that will make you a perfect fit. Your decisiveness and lack of emotional volatility will serve you well when faced with crisis management.”
I don’t respond.
“Well, I’ll let you go, Greyson. I’m sure we’ll talk again soon.”
“Thank you,” I say, hanging up the call.
I stand on the Kinkaids’ porch, my eyes tracing thesidewalk I walked countless times when I’d come here to call on Zach as a kid, and later as a teen. I wish he were here to give me his thoughts. Of all the people I ever knew, he was the one to push past my walls and get me talking. Well, him and Hallie.
My mind drifts back to that night in Munich, the one I’d think of whenever I needed a ray of hope in the middle of the desert. I still can’t believe she’s here, in Waterford, the girl I never forgot, even after all these years …
Nine Years Ago: Munich, Germany
Greyson
Hallie and I left the cathedral grounds and started walking, side-by-side, heading nowhere—together.
I didn’t believe in fate, but she felt so familiar, like I’d known her for years.
“Where are you from?” I asked her.
“Berlin,” she said with a laugh that lifted everything inside me like I had sucked a long drag from a helium balloon. “And before that, Provence. And Sicily. And Mykonos … Barcelona.”
“A genuine nomad.” A smile settled on my face.
“Nomad for a year,” she said. “I’m taking my gap year. When I get back, I’m going to go to college. And then I’ll be going into medical school. I want to become a world-famous surgeon.” She paused, smiling up at me through the muted grey of night. “Not for the fame. I don’t care who knows me. I just want to help so many people that my work becomes famous—famous for saving lives.”
“I bet you will,” I told her.
“I’m actually from Tennessee,” she said. “Knoxville.”
“Tennessee,” I said, shaking my head. “Me too.”
“You are not!” Her laughter echoed down the street, bouncing off buildings like the ping of a mallet on the keys of a xylophone.
“Yeah, I am,” I said. “Tennessee born and raised. I grew up in a small town an hour outside Nashville. Then we moved to Nashville my sophomore year.”
“I travel halfway around the world and I meet a Volunteer.”
“It’s a small world,” I said, believing it with my whole heart at the time.
“I guess so.” She was quiet for a beat and then she asked. “Where are you headed—after this?”
“We leave tomorrow morning on the train. I’ve got my first deployment. Afghanistan.”
