The kids are seated in the bleachers when we arrive. Their excited chatter escalates at the sight of us. Greyson walks over to a man in a crisp white shirt, slacks and a tie. I join them.
“Mr. Sutherland, Mark,” Greyson says. “This is Hallie, the new rookie at the station.”
It may be the most words I’ve heard him string together since I met him.
“Hi,” I say. “Nice to meet you.”
Mr. Sutherland extends his hand. “Mark Sutherland, principal of J. Q. Adams. Nice to meet you, Hallie. My wife will beso jealous. She’s been dying to meet the new woman on the crew.”
I smile. “Well, I hope I get to meet her sometime.”
Greyson stands next to me, his arms folded over his chest as if he’s just barely enduring all these social pleasantries. This man. I could host a talk show beside him and he’d stand there like a life-size cardboard cutout of a hot firefighter. Principal Sutherland seems unfazed by Greyson’s lack of engagement. He must be used to it.
“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” Principal Sutherland says. “I’ll introduce you and then you can present. When you’re finished I’ll come back up to dismiss the kids back to their classrooms.”
After Principal Sutherland quiets the children, he says, “And now I’ll hand things over to Lieutenant Stone and Firefighter Collins. Let’s give them a warm J. Q. Adams welcome.”
The kids erupt in cheers because they can. It’s like the unleashing of a sound cannon. The squeals and applause, cheers and stomping of feet reverberate off the tall rafters and walls. Teachers make shushing gestures, and the crowd of children eventually subdues enough for us to present.
Greyson does the bulk of the work. His whole demeanor changes when he addresses the kids. It’s like the lifting of a curtain at a play. All anyone saw was a velvet drape, and now? Now he’s all animation, engagement, storytelling and heart.
My skin prickles. The shift is so sudden and jarring, it knocks me off balance. I force myself to focus on my role as fire safety instructor instead of attempting to decipher the confusing paradox that is Greyson Stone.
“You’re old enough to know that fire is dangerous,” Greyson says with a warmth and respect that has every child’s eyes honed in on him with full attentiveness. “We’re not here to tell you not to play with matches. You already know that, don’t you?”
Heads bob in acknowledgement. No one has the impulse to be unruly. That’s how commanding he is—how in charge and stable. It’s like his presence is this ballast and everyone around him is waiting to hear whatever words drip from his full mauve lips so they can align themselves with his instructions. I’ve never seen anything like it. I wonder what my mom’s dog would do if Greyson ever met him.
I picture Greyson saying, “Down, Daddy,” and practically burst into laughter on the spot.
“How many of you have younger sisters or brothers?” Greyson asks.
A good portion of the room raises their hands.
“So, you’re a leader in your home. That means, if there’s ever a fire, you can help everyone stay safe.”
That’s a huge responsibility, but when I look out across the faces on the bleachers, backs straighten and chins lift. They’re rising to Greyson’s expectations.
Surprisingly, Greyson steps back, making room for me and introducing me so I can teach a portion of our presentation.
“This is our newest firefighter at Waterford Fire, Firefighter Collins. She’s going to tell you about how to exit safely in a fire, the importance of smoke detectors and alarms, and how to help firefighters if they come to rescue you.”
I take over, aware of Greyson’s eyes on me the whole time I run through checking doors for heat, staying low under smoke, and meeting at a designated safe zone.
We close with the age-old acronym of R.A.C.E. and then we call up a few volunteers to demonstrate and practice the Stop, Drop, and Roll method for extinguishing flames if they are on your body.
Principal Sutherland takes the mic, thanks us, and then excuses the children back to their classrooms when we are finished.
I promised Mia I’d try to stop by the door of her classroomto wave at her before I leave the school, so I tell Greyson, “I have a quick stop to make. Can I meet you at the truck?”
His brow furrows just the slightest, but he nods. Curtain’s closed, folks. Show’s over. He’s back to being all surly and aloof.
We walk out of the auditorium side-by-side, I turn down the hallway in one direction while he continues toward the main doors. I’m about ten feet away from him when he pivots and says, “Good job, Collins.”
I can’t even turn to look him in the eyes. He’ll see my shock and the way his words melt straight through me like a pat of butter in a warm pan.
“Thanks,” I say over my shoulder.
Then I walk to Mia’s classroom and peer through the window cutout in the door. She sees me and waves, practically vibrating in her chair with excitement. Her teacher, Mrs. Goddard—Noelle, as she insisted I call her—notices Mia and turns toward me with a smile. I smile back, then head out to join Greyson in the truck.
