But when it came down to it, Faith and Mitch didn’t truly know each other all that well. It made sense that he’d get things wrong relationship status-wise.
So, as they both enjoyed their dinners, even without the need for a side dish or drinks, she made it a point to get to know the man seated across from her. They were friends, after all. If he considered Trinity a friend, then Faith definitely fell into the same category. And as neighbors, it would be nice to learn more about the other.
She asked him the one thing that had been on her mind since their first encounter weeks ago.
“Why did you leave your last firehouse?”
Everything about Mitch suddenly seized up: his posture, his movements, even his intake of breath that he didn’t appear to let out. His shoulders were tight, his jaw set, his eyes open glaringly wide.
“If you don’t want to say, I completely understand.” She tried to offer him an out. Obviously, the question made him more than uncomfortable.
“No, it’s fine,” he said unconvincingly. The tenseness faded, but only a fraction.
“Seriously, Mitch. You don’t have to tell me. It’s none of my business.”
“I made a split-second decision that ended up affecting someone in a very negative, extremely devastating way.”
It was vague, but Faith wasn’t owed the full details. Those personal traumas were Mitch’s to keep.
But then he kept talking.
“It was a multiple alarm fire in an apartment complex. Third floor. We had responded to emergencies like this before, but somehow, on that day, communication broke down. I thought my partner was right behind me. He was supposed to be. So, when I entered the smoke-filled apartment of an elderly lady, I made the decision to help her out of the building first. There was a younger woman in the apartment across the hallway. She had a broken foot and was in a boot. I recognized her. She was a checker at the local grocery store. Helped me out every week when I made a grocery run. She had her door open, but I couldn’t see any flames. Just thick, black smoke. I told her to get low. That my partner was right behind me, and he’d be coming for her. Told her to just hold tight and that help was on the way.”
Faith had never experienced a real fire. Sure, she’d burnt a batch of cookies or a piece of toast, but never directly dealt with a spark, let alone a blaze that required professionals to put it out. She couldn’t even comprehend the panic and fear involved in something of that magnitude.
“I finally made it out with the older woman,” Mitch continued, “but just as we got her to safety, the stairwell we’d been using to evacuate caught fire. The woman that I’d promisedto help had to wait another twenty minutes until she could be rescued by ladder from her apartment. She had severe burns all over her body. Burns that I could have prevented if I had just gotten her out when I was up there the first time.”
“Mitch.” Faith didn’t even know she’d done it until she looked down and saw her hand covering his, an instinctual gesture of comfort. “You have to know that wasn’t your fault.”
“But it was. I could have helped them both. Heck, I’ve trained with heavier gear on than what they would have weighed combined. But in the heat of the moment, I failed, and now that poor woman has to live with the reminder of my wrong decision.”
“I’m sure she’s just so grateful to be alive,” Faith tried to encourage him. “You still saved her, Mitch.”
Mitch shook his head, a heaviness settling over him. He tugged his hand free from hers and cradled his head, his thumbs pressing deeply into his temples. For a moment, his eyes shut as if he were either trying to block Faith out, or delve back into the memory, submerging himself in the past. She couldn’t be sure. And then he suddenly lifted his head and his face bore a new pain. One that made something sharp stab Faith right between her ribs, a catch in her chest that intensified the unease within her.
“Faith, it’s not that simple. I know I saved one life, but it came at the cost of another’s suffering. Every time I close my eyes, I see her face. Hear her pleas for me to rescue her. To come back for her. And then, there’s the constant replay of what I could have done differently. I should have made sure my partner actuallywasright behind me. I should have communicated better with my team. I failed everyone that day. My colleagues, myself, and most of all, an innocent woman who put her faith in my words. In my decision. I can’t shake that guilt. It’s a weight I carry around with me every single day.”
Faith wanted to say something to ease Mitch’s burden, but she knew better than to think words could absolve the deep pain he felt.
So, they sat there silently. Wordless, but not expressionless. Moisture collected in Mitch’s eyes, brimming his dark lashes. Faith figured it was as close to crying as the man ever got. He was so strong, so stoic. So perfectly composed. But not now.
“Did they ever find out what caused the fire?”
“They’d just had a bunch of rewiring done that wasn’t up to code. It started in the electrical room.”
It was the last puzzle piece that fully explained Mitch’s behavior. It all made so much sense now. His adamant adherence to procedures and his love of red tape. She’d been annoyed by it earlier, to put it lightly, but now it only made something within her own heart ache, an empathy growing where she’d once only felt frustration.
“I know I’m not the only firefighter who wishes they would have acted differently in a particular scenario. And I know there are many worse situations that have resulted in far greater tragedies. Honestly, I don’t know why I just couldn’t move past it. But switching firehouses—starting over—was the clean slate that I needed in order to continue to do my job.” He squeezed the back of his neck and rolled his shoulders, like he’d been carrying his guilt in his body every day since. “Maybe I’m running away. I don’t know. Probably. Maybe that makes me a coward.”
“You are not a coward.”
“You sure? Because I couldn’t face the guys at my old firehouse. I couldn’t look them in the eyes and guarantee that I could perform under pressure,” he said. A muscle in the back of his jaw pulsed. “And I don’t think I’m fooling anyone at this new firehouse, either.”
“Mitch, you are a hero.”
He barked a single, broken laugh, then tugged something out from his shirtsleeve. A colorful beaded bracelet skittered across the table, landing right next to Faith’s hand. She picked it up.
And then she saw it, the very word she’d just uttered strung in lettered beads right in the middle of the bracelet.
