by Zoe Norman
I know what I need. My soul needs Charley. After crawling to my feet, I quickly brush my teeth again. God, puking is gross. I move through the house until I find my purse, digging through it to find my phone, and rapidly dialing Charley’s number.
Curling myself into a ball on the couch, I dial my best friend’s phone number. It’s early in Seattle, but I know that won’t matter to her.
“Livvie Lou? What’s up, love?” Her voice sounds like someone who has just been awakened abruptly in the early morning hours, but still makes me feel like she’s happy to hear my voice.
I grin. “Oh, Charley.” And before I know it, I’m sobbing.
“Oh shit, Liv! What happened? Is it Owen? I’ll fucking kill him!”
“Who’s that on the phone, babe?” I hear Marc in the background, groggy and half asleep.
“Oh, Charley, I’m so sorry,” I sniffle and try to regain my composure. I look at the clock on my phone and realize that it’s a little after five a.m. in Seattle. “I’m sorry. I know it’s early. Go back to bed. I’ll call you later.” I close my eyes, trying to muffle my sobs behind a hand closed firmly over my mouth.
“Are you fucking kidding me? No way!” I hear shuffling and her mumbling something to Marc, followed by the telltale sounds of a kiss. “Sweetheart, what happened? Why are you crying?”
I take a deep, staggering breath. “I, um... I have something to tell you,” I say, deciding to just jump in headfirst.
There is a long pause as she waits for me to finish that sentence. I hate long pauses.
“Charley, I’m pregnant,” I whisper barely audibly. My stomach roils again, but I manage to keep the bile down. I haven’t actually said this aloud yet, and my anxiety goes from a 4 to DEF CON 5 in a nanosecond.
There is more silence. Lots of silence.
“Charley, did you hear me?” I ask, the weeping starting again.
“Liv…I... I’m so happy for you.” I can hear her crying. Why is she crying?
“Charley? Why are you crying?”
“Oh, honey. You’re getting a second chance. Another chance. Jay wasn’t able to take away your happiness. I told you, sweetheart! I told you, and here you are.” She lets out another loud sniffle. “You’re going to be a mommy.” She takes a deep breath before continuing. “What did Owen say? I bet he’s over-the-moon happy. He’s going to be an amazing dad.”
My heart stops for a moment. Those few statements, just those few words, are…everything. I am getting a second chance. It hasn’t even occurred to me to think of it that way. When did I become so fucking selfish? Oh, and Owen. He would be an amazing dad. Assuming he even wants to be a dad. I need to tell him. It’s not fair that he doesn’t know. I know in my heart that I would never get rid of this baby, and if he’s going to leave me, it might as well be sooner than later. Why prolong the pain?
“Marc! Baby, come here! Owen and Olivia are having a baby! Can you believe it?!”
I feel the bile from earlier shoot up to my throat. What the...? Fuck no! Suddenly, Marc’s deep booming voice comes through the earpiece and I realize that she’s put me on speaker phone. “Let me talk to that son of a bitch! That’s amazing! Congrats, guys! Fucking brilliant!”
“Shit, shit, shit. Charley, NO!” I yell, sounding like the lunatic I am.
I hear some muffled words as she clearly takes me off speaker and covers the phone with her hand. The words are garbled, but the tone of concern is evident. Charley gets back on the line.
“Liv?”
“Charley, I…” I start to cry again and stammer out the words that are stuck in my throat. “I haven’t told him yet.” I realize that I’m cringing and curling into myself involuntarily, as if I’m expecting a blow—or at the very least a high-pitched screech—to come through the phone.
Silence again. Fuck.
“Liv…how does he not know?” She’s not yelling, and I’m not sure if that’s a good or bad thing.
“I…I, um… I haven’t told him. I realized I missed my period, so I took some tests. Well, a lot of tests.” My head bobs from side to side as I internally correct myself regarding the entire drugstore of pregnancy tests I went through before I let it sink in that I was pregnant. I sigh heavily. “Charley, we just moved in together. We haven’t had the kid talk yet. A little over a year ago, he was fucking everything that moves. Having this level of stability and commitment is a big deal to him. He wasn’t expecting it to come with kids so soon.”
Another long silence. Shit. This isn’t good.
“Wow, Liv. You really don’t give that man any credit at all. Who are you to decide when he’s ready to get news like this? He’s the dad. You have to tell him.”
Ouch. That stings. Rings true...but stings nonetheless. Charley is my biggest champion, but she takes no bullshit, and that includes taking none from me. The tone of her voice lets me know that she’s very, very disappointed in me.
“I, uh… Wow. I guess you’re right.”
“You need to tell him, Liv, and you need to tell him soon. If you’re worried about him being upset, I can assure you that your not telling him will get you a far worse reaction than telling him the truth. I haven’t known Owen for very long, but from what I see of him and what Marc tells me about him, he seems like a very stand-up guy. Give him a chance, Liv. He’s not Jay.”
And there it is. The real reason I can’t bring myself to tell him. Jay walked. Owen could walk. And it would destroy my world. It would destroy me if it happened again.
I spend the next hour processing all of this with Charley. I tell her what I’m afraid of, and she tells me all the reasons I shouldn’t be afraid. At one point, Marc comes on and apologizes for jumping in on our discussion. I apologize for asking him to not say anything until I can tell Owen. I know that infringes on their friend code, a friendship that far predates Owen and me, but he understands that I need to be the one to tell him.
Charley and I practice how I’ll tell Owen, and I decide that I’ll tell him tomorrow night. I’m spending the day with Laney, picking out a dress for her for a wedding she’s going to, and at night, Owen and I have plans to have a romantic dinner at home. It’s the perfect time for us to have this discussion. Charley is right—I’m being selfish by not telling him about this.
I hang up with Charley and realize that I’m a little excited to tell him our news. And for the first time since I saw those positive tests, I’m excited about this new life. I lightly stroke my stomach as I walk back into our bedroom to change.
“I think we might be okay, little baby.”
IT’S BEEN A BUSY day at the firehouse. I’ve been on three calls already, and it’s only four p.m. As soon as I started my shift at nine a.m., we had a call for a house fire. That alone wiped me out, but that was piggybacked by another brownstone fire where we needed to do CPR on a victim before evacuating him out of the burning building. And after that, we had a multiple-vehicle accident where, unfortunately, we had a casualty.
Just when I take off my bunker gear, another call comes in.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
After the second call came in today, it was mildly funny. The third call was annoying, and now, with this fourth call, I’m beyond irritated. I’ve barely had time to take a piss and eat half a sandwich.
Attention all units. Two-vehicle accident at Jamaica and Highland. Confirmed pin. One person trapped.
We listen to the call as we scramble back into our gear. I step into my dirty bunker pants and boots. They’re so filthy that they can practically stand up on their own. Next, I slide my arms into my bunker jacket, which is drenched with a mixture of sweat and musty water. I lift my nose at the stench but throw my head back in utter disgust as I get a whiff of my helmet. Holy shit, that’s awful! I don’t stink that bad, do I? I need to Febreze the shit out of all this stuff after I get back from this call. I stink. Plain and simple. No wonder Olivia refuses to launder my work clothes.
The location of the accident is one the Engine Company and
Rescue Company are familiar with. The spot isn’t far from our firehouse, and it’s at an intersection well known for being risky. There are no stop signs or lights on the main arterial, and for the vehicles crossing the street, it feels a lot like playing chicken on a good day.
The six men of my Rescue Company team and I load up onto the equipment truck and drive out to the scene. While the sirens blare, we get more information from the dispatcher about the accident. An SUV was T-boned by a delivery truck. The SUV was hit so hard it rolled and its driver is unconscious. The guy in the delivery truck is conscious but has a chest injury from the steering wheel and a possible concussion. The guys and I predetermine who will take what injured party. Saul and Tanner didn’t have to deal with the dead body from the last accident, so it’s their turn to handle the more difficult rescue this go-around. They’ll take the SUV while Matt and I tend to the other driver.
As we pull up on the scene, a crowd of passersby have formed around the intersection and asshole drivers are trying to pass through the accident area, too self-absorbed to be bothered with an accident. Meanwhile, a black Range Rover, similar to the one I drive, is upright but clearly has been rolled. The top is mangled and all the airbags have been deployed. Personal items are strewn about, and it’s eerily quiet despite the fact that there are a number of people around.
I strap my helmet on and yell to Matt that I’m going to stop traffic until NYPD shows up to manage the scene. Matt nods, grabs a duffel bag from the equipment truck containing medical supplies, and runs over to the delivery truck driver. Tanner and Saul grab their gear and run to provide aid to the driver of the SUV. From the looks of things, we may be pulling another dead body out of that Range Rover. That thing is mangled.
“Sir, you need to go back to your vehicle,” I instruct the annoyed gentleman who is insisting that he needs to get through the intersection that is now blocked by FDNY fire and rescue trucks.
“You don’t understand! I have a meeting with a prospective buyer in twenty minutes and if I don’t make this meeting I’m out one hundred and thirty-five grand. Now,” he says condescendingly, “get back in your truck and move it. These mangled cars aren’t going anywhere. Besides, isn’t there some law about obstructing traffic or something? This is a main arterial street!” Mr. Business man is starting to piss me off.
“Sir, I, nor any of my fellow firefighters, will be moving any emergency vehicles. This is an active accident scene and we’ll get you on your way just as soon as we can.” I’m trying real hard not to lose my cool with this asshole.
“How ‘bout I make it worth your time. Maybe Mr. Jackson would help change your mind?” he asks boldly as he reaches into his pocket to grab his billfold.
I laugh in his face. One, I don’t need his money. Two, he’s offering me twenty bucks when he’s about to make a deal for over a hundred bones? Seriously? At least try to make a real effort to tempt me. And three, it’s illegal. “Mister, a twenty-dollar bribe to let you through is not nearly enough money for me to lose my job over—so, no, I’m not moving the rig.”
“Fuck you!” he yells, flipping me off. “You think you’re some big shot playing firefighter and making the rest of us have a shit day just because you want to exert your authority. Some people need to be other places than waiting on you and your guys to get your shit together and let us through!”
“Shut the fuck up!” I shout back. I take a breath and try to bring down my blood pressure. “I understand you need to get to your meeting, man, but there’s at least one victim of this accident who won’t be going home at all tonight, so have a little goddamn respect!” I’m done with this jagoff. “I strongly suggest you get in your motherfucking car and pray to God that you or someone you love never need emergency assistance.”
As the dipshit sulks back to his car, I see someone in my peripheral vision running toward me. I turn and watch Tanner coming at me in a full-on sprint.
“Owen!” Tanner calls to me frantically. “It’s Olivia. She’s… She’s in the Rover.”
I shake my head and wait for Tanner to get closer. I must have misheard him. “What did you say?”
“Olivia. She’s in the Rover, Owen.”
Oh God, please no.
My knees buckle and I lose my breath.
“She’s alive but unconscious. Looks like her head is banged up pretty good and she’s got a nasty laceration across her left eye,” Tanner says breathlessly. “Her leg is trapped under the crumpled dashboard.”
I stagger to get my footing. This…this can’t be happening. Olivia? Is he sure?
“How…how do you know it’s her?” I ask as I abandon my post and we both start to run back to the crushed SUV.
“It’s her, Owen. I’d recognize that beautiful face anywhere.”
I approach the vehicle and am immediately stopped by Saul. I struggle out of his grasp and he grabs me by my bunker jacket.
“Let us work on her, Owen. We got this,” he pleads.
“Fuck that!” I yell. “Are you fucking out of your mind? She’s mine! She needs me! I need her.” I shake out of Saul’s hold and push my way through the wall of men with strength fueled by adrenaline and absolute fear.
And then I get my first glimpse of her. Olivia’s still body is sitting in the Rover’s driver’s seat. Her head is against the seat’s headrest and her neck is encased in a c-collar. I run the backs of my fingers down her cheek and pick out the glass from her brown hair as I try to maintain my composure. Her forehead is cut above her left eyebrow and the left side of her face is starting to bruise and swell. Dark, crimson blood drips down the side of Olivia’s face and along her neck, soaking her blue blouse. I stick my hand out into the mass of men and order for some gauze. Seconds later, I’m applying pressure to her cut.
A hundred thoughts run through my mind in a matter of seconds. Why did this happen? Where are the guys with the Jaws of Life? Where was she coming from? Are the EMTs here yet? Thank God she was in my SUV and not her little Mini Cooper—things might have been much worse. I need to call her parents and tell them that their daughter’s been in an accident.
As the cut above her eye starts to coagulate, I place a clean piece of gauze to her head and secure it temporarily with medical tape. All I want to do is take her in my arms and hold her, tell her that she’ll be all right, though I don’t know who I’m trying to reassure—Olivia or myself. I don’t know the extent of her injuries just yet, and the worst-case scenarios come to mind—internal bleeding, any number of brain injuries, a broken leg perhaps… What I do know is that I’m not losing her. Not today. Not ever.
“Olivia?” I manage to squeak out through my tight throat. I clear it and try again only louder. “Olivia, baby, wake up. It’s me. It’s Owen. I’m here, baby. I’m here to take care of you. You’re going to be all right.” I quickly swing around towards Saul and Tanner, who are running toward us with the Jaws of Life. “Run, goddammit! Run! Get her out of here!” I yell, gripping the door of the Rover and frustratingly shaking it with all my might, willing it to open so I can get at my girl.
“Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!” the rest of my team shouts in unison. The shaking of the car causes the Rover to rock, which causes Olivia’s head to loll back and forth. I stop immediately and am promptly pulled away from the door by the back of my jacket.
Tanner and Saul arrive with the Jaws of Life equipment, and I stand aside as the men work on extricating Olivia from the vehicle. The massive clippers slice through the metal of the SUV like a hot knife through butter. As they cut away the twisted metal, I yell over the noise of the machine, constantly reassuring Olivia that she’s going to be okay. She likely can’t hear me, but it’s more to keep myself sane while I wait. If I keep telling myself that she’s going to be okay. She’ll be okay. Right?
Piece by painstaking piece, the firefighters clip and saw until, finally, the lid of the vehicle can be lifted off. I assist with removing the top and place it to the side while another team of men disentangle Olivia from the car, ev
entually laying her on a backboard. They strap her down and splint her leg. All I can do is watch helplessly from the side. She’s bloody and mangled. Dried blood is in her hair along with shards of glass. I stand watching, my hands in my hair, struggling to keep it together.
As the EMTs roll Olivia to the ambulance, I walk along the gurney, giving the EMTs her age and weight. I confirm that she’s not on any medications and otherwise in good physical health. My speech is frantic and I’m trying to give them as much information as I can. As I’m barking at the EMTs, Olivia’s eyes fly open. They’re as big as saucers, all-consuming fear etched in them.
“Baby…” she groans somewhat incoherently. “Baby!” she screams, this time much clearer. Her strapped-down hands flail frantically.
“I’m here, Olivia. I’m right here,” I say, trying to sooth her.
“No. Baby! Baby!” she calls out again.
I grab her hand, push the hair from her eyes, and lean over her so she can get a clear view of my face. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
No sooner than she flashed awake, she’s out again.
“Mr. Maxwell?” a nurse calls out quietly into the private waiting room at the hospital. It’s a nurse I know and have had interactions with at the hospital before.
I stand up from my chair and chuck my cup of cold coffee into the garbage. “Hi, Jamie.”
“Hey, Owen. How you holding up?”
“I’ll be better when I see her and talk to her doctor. I just got off the phone with Olivia’s parents and had to break the news to them. That was gut wrenching. They’re on their way, so…”
“Not a problem. I’ll let the nurse’s station know to be expecting them. Come on,” Jamie says, putting a hand on my shoulder. “I’ll take you to see her now.”
As Jamie leads me down the hospital corridor, I feel the eyes of visitors and hospital staff alike. Still wearing my bunker gear, I know I stick out. I nod nervously at the people who catch my eye and take off my helmet before stepping into Olivia’s room.
