“You expect me to feel sorry for you? You posed in the Chicago Firefighters Calendar three years in a row. I don’t remember anyone knocking on my door.” He moves around the kitchen like he’s a professional chef. I guess in some ways he is since he’s the only one willing to cook for us during our rotation.
“I’m not asking for pity.” I stand to help him out as much as I can although my culinary skills are not existent. I was raised by a traditional Italian mama—you get the idea. It might be a little sexist, but it doesn’t make it untrue.
“What’s going on with you?” Patel asks.
“What do you mean?”
He glances over his shoulder at me while chopping up chicken. “You look like your mama just scolded you.”
“First off, I’m twenty-nine, my mom doesn’t scold me. Second, I’m fine, just tired of the same old routine.”
Patel stops what he’s doing, washing his hands and then drying them on a dishtowel before throwing it over his shoulder. “Maybe you need to speak to the shrink.”
I shake my head. “This isn’t about Hunter. This is just me approaching thirty and being stuck in the same damn routine.”
Patel is about ten years older than me. Married, three kids, a happy life. I think he’s had his shit together since he was eighteen. Whereas I still feel like I’m trying to get my shit together as I approach thirty. Ever since we lost Hunter at a fire, my life has felt less appealing, less meaningful.
Leaning against the counter, his gaze digs into mine.
“Shouldn’t you be finishing the dinner?” I eye the uncooked chicken.
“They eat when they eat. What’s the routine?”
I’m embarrassed to admit I brought this conversation on myself. I could’ve easily headed to the weight room with Donovan or sat and watched whatever the other guys are in the television room. It’s like a silent plea for help when you go to Patel with a problem. Everyone knows that.
“All the shift work and then doing jack all with the other forty-eight hours. I fill it up, but something is missing. I’ll spend some time with Cailin and Devin, but the labor jobs have been few and far between since I took some time after Hunter died.”
Cailin is Hunter’s widow. He was my best buddy in the firehouse and we ran a contracting business on the side together. After Hunter died six months ago, I’ve been trying to make an effort to go around her place and see if she or her son need anything. It has to be a hard adjustment for them and I want to help however I can.
Patel quirks an eyebrow at me.
“It’s not like that.” I know there’s more bite to my tone than he deserves, but I want to make it perfectly clear so that there’s no uncertainty.
“I think you don’t want it to be like that, but she’s sad and the baby needs a father and—”
“And nothing is going on. I’m just helping her out.”
He tips his head back, letting the subject go even if it looks like I didn’t convince him that I would never go there.
“Hunter and I were just getting our business off the ground. We’d planned to flip houses and now…”
I put the chicken in the frying pan, but Patel snatches the spoon away from me.
“You’ll burn it.”
“I was trying to help you.” I wash my hands at the sink.
He laughs because we both know he doesn’t want anyone’s help. “If your mind is on other things it won’t work out.”
I lean on the counter next to him because the firehouse can be like a sorority house at times, there are ears everywhere.
“Start it yourself.” He shrugs.
“What?”
“Start the flipping houses thing yourself. I’ve seen your work. What you did at my place was top notch. We get compliments all the time.”
I shrug and he knocks me in the shoulder.
“It was just flooring.”
“Yeah, and if I would’ve done it, it’d already be busting up at the seams.” He pours the curry in with the chicken, adding a few more spices to the mix while taking the lid off the pot of rice. “I’m serious though. You don’t give yourself enough credit. I get that Hunter was your partner, but you can do it by yourself, or find another partner if you have to.”
The flickers of late night talks Hunter and I had in this very kitchen during a shift come to mind. The business that was going to put money in our pockets so we could live well and keep on being firefighters. God knows the pay is crap, but we loved it. We’re both adrenaline junkies who never wanted to sacrifice our flexible schedule for some nine to five office job. He worried with Cailin and Devin that his salary wasn’t going to be enough and he’d ultimately have no choice.
“He was the numbers guy. The guy who was going to find and make the deals, keep us on budget. I was the hands.”
Patel eyes me again and shakes his head. “I never pegged you for a weakling.”
“Do I have to remind you of the beating your team took last week on the court even with home team advantage?” I smirk and he chuckles to himself.
“You underestimate yourself. Start small. Find a cheap house and go at your own pace.” Patel puts the rice in a huge bowl to feed anyone who’s sticking around. “You need my help to invest?”
“Nah. I’m good.” I wave him off.
“Are you sure because…”
I step away from the counter, digging in my pocket for my phone as it vibrates with a call. “I’m sure. Thanks, Patel.”
“Think about the shrink thing.” He uses his dad voice on me, but I look away, pulling my phone out as a distraction.
Cailin.
“Hey, Cailin,” I answer, purposely upping the happiness vibe in my voice.
“Devin and I were wondering if you’d like to come by Friday for dinner and a movie?”
I head up the stairs into the sleeping quarters of our house with my bag over my shoulder. Every time she calls me here, it topples on another layer of guilt and grief. Probably because this is where Hunter’s and my friendship was born. This is where he told me he met Cailin and that there was something different about her to him. Where we planned the flash mob for his proposal. Where I saw his eyes fill with water when he announced that he was going to be a dad.
“Sorry, that’s the night I’m going out with the lucky woman who won me tonight.”
There’s silence on the other end and I hate the fact that she’s upset.
“Maybe I can stop by after,” I offer.
“Nah. If all goes well, you’ll be lucky, too.” I can tell she doesn’t mean what she’s saying, but I’m not calling bullshit on it. Patel’s warning is ringing through my head and I can’t say I haven’t worried myself that she’s looking for something I can’t and won’t offer. The loss is still fresh and she’s clinging to anything and anyone she sees as security right now.
I promised Hunter that if anything ever happened to him that I’d make sure she and Devin were good, and I don’t go back on promises.
The brunette from the charity event flashes through my head again. I’m not sure why. If I’m honest, her shyness and timidness annoyed me. I’m not sure what my type is, but someone who agrees with every fucking thing I do and say sure isn’t the one for me. Lately, that’s all I’ve been getting.
“I can give you a call,” I say.
“Okay.”
The alarms go off in the building.
“A fire?” she asks. “Be careful,” she says before I answer. She knows the drill.
“I will. Talk to you soon.”
“Text me after?” Her voice lowers and I know she’s remembering the night Hunter was no longer able to do so.
“Will do.”
I click the phone off and head down the stairs to put on my pants.
As I jump on the truck and we race out of the station, I push all my concerns to the back of my mind. Safety is number one when we’re on a job and I can’t afford to be distracted.
3
Madison
I sit in my c
ar outside my childhood home. The weeds are as tall as the broken windows that are now replaced with plywood. The cement stairs are crumbling and slanted, making it a danger just to step foot in the house.
The need to make this a home others will love burns inside of me. One that a family will cherish and a neighborhood will smile upon. It wasn’t my happily ever after, but it will be someone else’s.
A black sedan pulls up right behind me so I turn off the ignition and step out of my car with my legal pad in hand.
“Miss Kelly, I’m thinking I deserve an extra percent on my commission for getting us in here so fast.”
My Realtor, a man in his fifties with a heavy gold chain around his neck, his wrists and his pinky finger adorned with the same, is good at what he does and he’s negotiated some amazing deals for me in the past. Especially when I’m going up against some of the most bullheaded developers in the area. Small fish in a little pond doesn’t even cut it when it comes to describing me. They want the buck and I want to pull out the beauty.
“Hey, George and I’ve told you to call me, Madison.”
He holds out short and stubby fingers for me to shake.
We do some quick small talk and then it’s on to business as usual as he walks up the sidewalk I used to play childhood games on like Step on a Crack and Break Your Mother’s Back.
“As you know, it’s a three bedroom, one and a half bath. Basement, small kitchen. Yard is decent. It’s up for auction next Tuesday.”
“The last thing I need is a bidding war.”
George opens the door and the foulest smell has us using the collars of our shirts to cover our noses. Staring down at the junk filled floor has me thankful I wore my boots.
“I have to say the commission checks are nice but looking at houses with you always makes me want to shower after.” George stays by the front door.
He always does and it doesn’t bother me. The first time he showed me a house there was a rat that had drowned in one of the toilets. It was already decomposing and explained the smell, but he was fighting his gag reflex that entire showing.
“Call the fire department if I don’t come back in fifteen minutes.” I put on my face mask and head through the front area to the back.
I dig through the massive amounts of newspaper and magazines on top of an old dining room table. Stepping through more floor rugs that are wet and soggy doesn’t leave a lot of hope for the floorboards.
When my parents and I lived here, everything was bright and cheery. My mom would grow plants on the ledge by the front door. Herbs in small planters in the bay window of the kitchen. The smells of freshly baked cookies or pot roast were second nature while I was out playing in the yard.
Then the bad start to seep into the good. The days my mom never got out of her bed. Or the fights in the kitchen where spaghetti sauce ended up splattered all over the wall.
The bones are good in this house and has loads of potential. I refuse to let it be the ugliest house on the block.
Heading back to the front door after one quick pass through the top floor, I find George typing away on his phone, still as a statue.
“This is it,” I say when he glances up at me.
“Are you sure? I think this might be the worst you’ve ever taken on.”
He’s right. I’ll be digging into my savings and probably won’t make nearly the profit I usually do, but I remember why I turned to flipping houses to begin with. The money at the end is nice, but it’s about bringing out the best of what’s already there, not building something shiny and new like a developer would.
“I’m sure. I just have to beat out Oswald. They’d cut corners and make a steal on this property.”
“Yeah, I always steer my clients clear of his places.”
We exit the house and I stand on the porch that I fear could cave in at any moment. I take a moment to look around my old neighborhood, staring at the houses up and down the street.
I don’t understand.
“How can it be just this house in such disrepair? They have flowerbeds.” I point to the house directly across from us. “They have a gate surrounding their front lawn.” I point to two houses down.
George shrugs. “You know the city. There’s no rhyme or reason. Sometimes someone elderly dies and they have no family to take care of their assets or their families want to hang on to it until the market goes up, but they don’t maintain it.” He takes the steps down and turns on the sidewalk, staring back up at the house.
“Yeah, I suppose so.” We continue down the walkway and he moves to shake my hand but turns it into a fist bump instead.
“Let me know when you’re ready to list.”
I fist bump him, laughing out loud. “Thanks, George.”
I arrive home and open the door to my house to find Lauren flying down the stairs. She puts her finger to her lips and sneaks into the hall closet.
A second later, a half-dressed Vanessa stomps down from upstairs. There’s no urgency in her steps, but her eyes are bouncing all around as she descends.
“What is going on?” I ask.
“Lauren gave that Bianco guy my number.” She raises a hairbrush in her hand. “Now I’m going to beat her to death.”
I raise both eyebrows. The two fight like sisters and I think I’m the middle child.
“You might want to reconsider. Cristian could be the one to answer the 911 call.”
She pretend swats at me with the hairbrush but I just laugh at her.
“I’m starving.” I head to the kitchen, cringing at the sound of furniture sliding on the hardwood floors. “Do I need to remind you that I still need to sell this place at some point?”
“Don’t worry. Those nifty felt pads you bought are doing the trick,” Vanessa calls out.
I open the door and investigate what’s in the fridge.
“Come out, come out wherever you are,” Vanessa says in a singsong voice from the other room.
Did I say I was the middle child? I meant the mother. I’m like the damn guardian of these two women.
“Put the hairbrush down and we’ll talk,” Lauren says, and Vanessa must try to follow the sound of her voice because I can hear her running toward the foyer.
Lauren’s small enough to hide behind the vacuum in the closet and Vanessa would miss her.
Cracking open a soda, I pour it into a glass and raise my voice so she’ll hear me. “I don’t get what the big deal is,” I say to Vanessa. “Go on one date with the guy. I can’t say enough good things about Cristian.” I sit on the stool at the breakfast bar so I have a bird’s eye view into the entryway and watch her continue to play this childish game of hide and seek.
“He’s got two strikes against him. One, he wears a badge. Two, he honors the badge.”
“Wouldn’t that be the point of his job…to do it well?” I sip my drink.
Vanessa crinkles her brows. “It’s admirable and I’m sure the girl he ends up with will love that about him. I’m not that girl.”
“No one said anything about marriage. It’s a date. For charity.”
Vanessa opens up the hall closet, jumps in front of the opening and pushes back all our coats. “Hah!”
Lauren’s not there, which means she’s snuck off to a different hiding spot now.
“Damn you!” Vanessa hits the back of the brush on her palm.
“Back to you being upset that he has your phone number…” I say, trying to understand her issue.
“He called me today. He didn’t text, he called.”
“The nerve of the man.” I sip my drink, grabbing a banana from the counter.
“Who calls anymore? It’s desperate if you ask me.”
“Or considerate,” I offer.
She rolls her eyes, moving to the bathroom doorway now. “You date him then.” She raises both eyebrows before stepping into the bathroom.
If only my heart didn’t skip a beat when I look at his brother.
“Oh, that’s right.” She peeks her head o
ut. “You love his brother.”
“No, I don’t.”
She heads back into the bathroom and I can hear her opening and closing the cupboard doors. Meanwhile, a crawling Lauren still dressed in her scrubs finds refuge behind our kitchen island. Again she puts her finger to her lips like we’re six and this game actually means anything.
“I saw the twinkle in your eye.” Vanessa enters the kitchen, her long blonde hair half curled and half straight, and I realize she must’ve been in the middle of getting ready for her night. She either has a date or she’s off to her mystery job. I really hope the two aren’t combined together.
“There was no twinkle. Sure I had a crush on him in high school, but hello, I’m nine years older and wiser now.”
“Wiser how?” Vanessa sits down at the stool next to me because this is Vanessa. She’s grown bored with the game whereas Lauren would play for the rest of the night—she’s that competitive.
“Wise to the fact that my life is not a movie where the ugly duckling turns into a swan and gets the handsome prince. This is reality and you date within your level.”
“Level?” Vanessa grabs my soda and takes a sip.
“You know fives with fives, eights with eights. Sure maybe there’s a seven and six somewhere together. Tens only go with sixes when they want something from them.”
Vanessa’s face falls to a frown. “And what do you think you are?”
It’s a test. I’m sure of it. “A six.”
“A six?” Her mouth hangs open.
“Is there an echo in here?”
Vanessa slides off the stool and stands in front of me. “Stand up,” she demands, using her authoritative voice she inherited from her father.
“I’m eating.”
She cocks her head to the side.
I roll my eyes and stand.
“Go stand in front of the mirror.” She points to the gold-framed mirror I found at a flea market and re-finished into an antique looking mirror someone would pay hundreds for at Pottery Barn.
Vote Then Read: Volume I Page 205
