And to some degree, it worked. In the last two years, I’ve handled family issues for sick or injured firefighters, but no deaths, and this situation with Lisa has tested my dedication.
When I told Cole I was quitting this volunteer position, it had only been a fleeting idea. But my mom’s accident and the loss of the café made me want to get as far away from fire as possible. It was the right decision. Especially since my role in my mom’s life will be changing drastically.
Lisa and I settle in at the table with her monthly bills and her laptop, but we barely get through the intro to the bank’s internet bill payment system when the babysitter returns with Lisa’s three kids, five, three, and six months. The two older girls are fighting over a toy, and the baby is crying.
“I’m sorry,” the girl says, holding the baby on her hip. “My mom called. She needs me to watch my little brother while she takes my little sister to the ER. She cut her knee on the sprinklers.”
Lisa looks shell-shocked, like she can’t handle one more thing. I stand and press a reassuring hand to her shoulder. “I’ll get them.”
I take the baby from the girl and bounce her in my arms, then set up the older girls, Rose and Hannah, in the family room with cartoons. When I return to the dining room still holding Ivy, Lisa is staring blankly out the glass doors, watching while the guys micromanage each other.
The vacant gaze in her eyes tells me she’s in no condition to learn how to pay bills online. As I sway with Ivy, her cries turn to mewls, then mewls turn to coos. Her head is against my shoulder, and her sweet, soft baby scent floods my senses.
The warm little bundle is a stark reminder of what I’ve always wanted but never got. I’m not sure I ever will. I don’t envy Lisa having to raise these babies on her own, but her husband lives on in her children. I thought I was over the disappointment, but it all floods back now, with this sweet innocent baby in my arms, making me wonder if I’ll ever hold my own.
“Do you still miss Evan?” Lisa asks.
I don’t think anyone’s ever asked me that. “Of course. Some days more than others. But the pain has eased with time. When I think of him now, I focus on the good memories and gratitude for having the time we had together. I won’t tell you the pain of losing them ever goes away, but I can tell you that it eases.” When she doesn’t respond, I ask, “How are you sleeping?”
“I have nightmares.”
My recent nightmare floods back to me. I must have some unresolved guilt for my repressed fantasies of Cole. Otherwise why would I think Evan wanted to throw Cole into the fire? Then the feel of Cole’s body against mine swamps me, and my gaze flickers to the glass doors again.
“I had them too,” I tell her. “They also fade with time.”
“Do you ever regret marrying him?”
Another question I’ve never been asked. “No. Never.” I let a beat of silence pass. “That’s a totally normal thing to wonder about. Are you having those feelings?”
“Sometimes, when the pain is so deep, I can’t breathe. When Kip used to tell me about a dangerous situation at work, I sometimes wished I’d stuck it out with my high school boyfriend. He became a CPA and moved to San Diego. It’s supposed to be one of the safest professions, you know? But then I heard he died in a car accident in rush-hour traffic. I guess you just never know.”
She turns her gaze on me, and the agony there is a familiar knife in my heart. “That kind of insecurity is hard to live with,” she says. “I can’t see myself ever being willing to risk it again, no matter what profession someone is in. But you can’t control who you love, right?”
I’ve never thought about that, but I think that could be very true.
“Is that why you haven’t dated, haven’t remarried?” Lisa asks.
“Maybe, without thinking about it. I mean, I didn’t think that’s what I was doing, but maybe, subconsciously. And it’s only been two years.”
Two excruciating years.
Lisa’s gaze goes distant again. It reminds me of my mom’s expression, and I decide we’ve all suffered enough for one lifetime. “Why don’t you try to get in a nap? I’ll watch the kids.”
Relief fills her gaze. “Really?”
“Definitely.” I look at the paperwork. “This doesn’t have to be done today.”
“Thank you.” She reaches out and squeezes my hand. “You’ve been so good to us. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
When Lisa disappears into her bedroom, I check on the little ones in the living room. Hannah is asleep on the floor cushions and Rose is lounging alongside her, gaze glued to the TV.
“Sweetie, your mom is taking a nap,” I say quietly. “Let’s try not to wake her. I’ll be in the family room if you need anything.”
“’Kay,” she says without looking at me, but the way her lids are drooping, I’ll bet she’ll be asleep in the next ten minutes.
I could put Ivy on the floor with her toys, but I don’t get a lot of opportunity to snuggle a baby.
I sit on the sofa, slide out of my flip-flops, and prop my feet against the edge of the coffee table. Then I rest the baby against my thighs so she’s facing me. She gurgles and blows spit bubbles. She swings her arms and kicks her feet. And she smiles. So many smiles.
This was probably a bad idea. I thought it would be fun to sit with a baby for a while, but I didn’t expect this bone-deep craving or the way she wraps my heart around her tiny finger.
She’s so blessedly oblivious to the gaping wound in her family. I hope she never knows that kind of pain.
I’m lost in the perfection of this tiny human when laughter draws my gaze outside. The guys are cleaning up and tossing on their shirts. All it takes is one of them to get ahold of the hose for the scene to become a comedy. They’re dousing themselves and each other, and in ten seconds flat it turns into a crazy competition where they’re all trying to get one up on each other. The hose gets stuffed in one guy’s shirt, then down another guy’s pants. Everyone gets squirted in the face. Miraculously, Cole stays relatively dry.
I smile at Ivy and use her hands wrapped around my fingers to wave her arms at her sides. “They never grow up, sweetie pie. Remember that.”
She thinks I’m funny, and chortles of glee roll out of her. I’m laughing along with the baby when Cole pushes the sliding glass door open and comes in. He’s dried off and shrugged back into a T-shirt, but I’ve already memorized every inch of his ripped torso.
“You all look like perfect candidates for next year’s calendar,” I tell him.
Every year, the guys pose for a sexy firefighter calendar. The profits of the sales go to a charity, but Cole’s girlfriend at this time last year, Bailey Pruitt, wanted to keep Cole all to herself and told him he couldn’t be in it. Cole bent to her wishes.
The guys called him a pussy, and I hated the way Bailey tried to control him, but I admired him for putting her wants above others. Bailey lasted four months, by my estimate, Cole’s longest relationship.
“Maybe we can get you in it this year,” I say. “Unless you rekindle things with Bailey, then there’s no chance.”
“I’m not re-anything with Bailey.”