“Hi there, I’m Victoria and I’m a firefighter. We’re going to get you out of here. Can you grab my hand?”
She wedges her shoulders under the bed as far as she can before the tank strapped to her back prevents her from going any farther.
“That’s it, hold on.”
In seconds, she pulls the two terrified kids from under the bed.
“Mask back on,” I order as I firmly grab onto the little boy, hoisting him on my arm.
When we burst out of the exit a minute later, we hand off the children to the waiting medics and their frantic mother, who’d left them sleeping less than half an hour before to run an errand. I’m sure CPS will be involved, but that’s not my wheelhouse. I’m supposed to get them safe, it’s their business to keep them that way.
I clap Vic on the shoulder, who is heading back inside.
“Good job, Newbie.”
She throws back a grin.
“Good to be back.”
Trin
“I don’t like eggs.”
I glance over at Tucker, who rolls his eyes.
“Pops, you asked for eggs for breakfast, remember?”
My father’s watery eyes turn on me, and once again I’m stunned to see any recognition lacking from them. I might as well be a stranger on the street.
“Don’t like them,” he repeats firmly, and I barely manage to rescue the plate when he sends it sailing across the table.
“I’ll eat them, Gramps,” Tucker intervenes. “You can have my Pop-Tarts.”
He takes the plate from my hold and hands the package to my dad, who quickly rips it open and shoves one of the pastries in his mouth.
It was supposed to be a treat for my kid. Well, more like a bribe if he promised he wouldn’t give me grief his first couple of weeks at his new school. I don’t usually buy that kind of stuff, but it’s getting harder to keep junk out of his diet now Tuck is fourteen and in high school.
“Kid, did you put your homework in your backpack?”
“Yeah, Mom,” he drawls mockingly.
Such attitude. It’s a good thing he still comes looking for a kiss before he goes to bed, or I’d swear the sweet little boy I remember him to be was an illusion. Tucker was a dream kid, right out of the gate. I’d been blessed, given I tackled motherhood on my own. The kid made it easy. Rarely ever put up a fuss, always ready with one of his big grins, but this last year I started seeing the changes in him. Little things at first, Momma was replaced with a more impatient Mom and he started locking the bathroom door in our old apartment. Then came the defiance, the poor marks, the arguments, and finally the skipping of classes I found out about at the end of his last school year in San Antonio.
When my sister called not long after and told me she needed help with Pops, it didn’t take me long to pack up our apartment, grab my kid, and point my aging Jeep home to Durango, hauling all our earthly possessions in a rented U-Haul trailer. Luckily there wasn’t much, I tend to live sparse, a leftover from my traveling days.
That was a little over a month ago. It was a bit weird at first, moving back into the house I grew up in with Pops and my baby sister. Almost like old times, except for Tucker of course. Mom died when we were ten and seven, so it was just the three of us until my sister graduated high school eleven years later. Pops retired that year at fifty-seven—after thirty years with the fire department—and I finally flew the coop.
Journalism, that’s where my heart was at, and I’d worked my ass off since my own graduation to save up enough money to get me through college. I got into the University of Texas in Austin—one of the better journalism programs in the US—then settled in San Antonio and never really looked back.
My sister, on the other hand, never even moved out of the family home. She went to college in Durango while Pops was off on bucket list trips and cruises until he got tired of traveling. Then a few years ago he was diagnosed with early dementia and his condition has declined progressively.
Which is why I’m back home. My son has the same bedroom I had when I was a kid, and I am downstairs in my father’s old study. It’s far from ideal, but the house is big enough we don’t trip over each other, and I need to be here to help my sister get back on her feet.
A kitchen chair scrapes the floor and I look over my shoulder at the clock. Almost time for Tuck’s bus. I quickly shut the water off and dry my hands.
“Better get ready, kid,” I tell Tuck, who is just walking away from the table. “Hey. Dishes in the sink, please.”
He grumbles something indistinguishable but walks back to get his plate and cup. I hide a smile when he stops to bend down and kiss my father’s cheek.
“Later, Gramps.”
“Later, Tuck,” Pops answers with a smile, before his eyes slide back to the window he spends most of his days staring out of.
Tucker is the only one he consistently recognizes. He gets me confused with Mom frequently and the rest of the time he doesn’t know who I am.
I quickly wash up the last of the dishes as I listen to Tuck’s heavy feet pound up and then back down the stairs.
“Have a good day at school,” I call out, biting back the disappointment at the lack of a goodbye kiss for me when I hear the front door open.
“Better run, kiddo,” I hear my sister’s voice say.
I grab a clean mug and pour her a coffee before turning around to find her crouching beside our father’s chair. He doesn’t even acknowledge her.
“How was your first shift back?”
I walk up and hand her the coffee.
“Thanks,” she answers, taking the seat beside Pops as I pull out the chair Tuck was sitting in. “It was good. I was supposed to just do a ride-along to get a feel for things but there was a three-alarm fire at the Econo Lodge on Main about ten minutes into the shift, and I was put in right away to help evacuate the guests.”
“No shit.” I smile back at her, knowing how much Vic missed her job the past two years. “Talk about getting thrown in the deep end.”
“Yeah.” She grins widely. “It was awesome.”
Chapter 2
Trin
I boot up my laptop and open the column I’m working on for a monthly women’s magazine.
It’s my bread and butter in between the freelance investigative articles I write but unfortunately comes with a deadline. Not easy to adhere to when Pops’s days are difficult to predict, but my editor at HerWorld is adamant about timely submissions.
I met Franka Schneider two years ago, after the magazine bought a piece I wrote on women in law enforcement from the press syndicate I’m listed with. The article pulled a great deal of attention and then Franka wanted a sit-down with my agent and me to discuss an exclusive column for their monthly publication.
I’d always preferred to stay in control of my own time, which had worked well for me being the single mom of a young boy, but with Tuck hitting double digits I started thinking more about the future. It wouldn’t be that long before there’d be talk about things like college and I had been so focused on getting through today, I never really planned for tomorrow.
Their offer was interesting and provided me with a secure income for our day-to-day living, but still allowed me to earn extra selling some freelance work. The extra income is funneled straight into a college fund for Tuck and a 401K for me.