Falling for the Fireman

by Allie Pleiter

  Jeannie pulled a ham out of the freezer for supper, trying to ignore how the large white envelope seemed to yell at her from inside a drawer nearby. Scott belonged in that program, not Nicky. Nicky would be able to get his bearings if Scott would stop taunting him. She’d heard stories about parents who had to fight to get a bully recognized and dealt with, so it made her grateful Mrs. Hunnington and the rest of the school administration were acting, but they were acting against Nicky, too, weren’t they?

  “Still,” the envelope seemed to jeer, “there’s more.” More than Scott Collins and his crowd of “junior thugs.” Were they just exasperating what was already there, pulling Nicky’s anger to the surface? One thing was alarmingly certain: Nicky was pulling away from her at the worst possible time.

  He was, however, pulling toward Chad. It was good that Nicky was finally opening up to someone—and it stung that it wasn’t her—but it would sting far more when Chad betrayed that precious relationship by throwing him into some drastic, criminal intervention program.

  Jeannie wanted to raise her eyes Heavenward and yell, “Just get me outta here, Lord.” You love this boy, Jeannie made herself pray instead. You love him even more than I do. You made him before I made him. Teach me how to love him now. I don’t know what to do with him. Was it better he was lashing out, even if it was at her? Awful as it was to endure, was this at least healthier than keeping his anger bottled up inside? She’d endure a decade of this before letting him get labeled a deviant. I’m at the end of my rope, Lord. I don’t know what to do with Nicky. I don’t know what to do with Chad. I don’t know what’s best for the store or even for me. I want to believe You do, but I can’t see it right now.

  I can’t see the path. The lament echoed in her head as she wandered around the kitchen, mindlessly wiping counters in an effort to put something of her life in order. I can’t see it.

  You won’t see it. And he can. She stilled, frozen by the dreadful thought that Chad’s relationship with Nicky might indeed let him see things she couldn’t. Things she wouldn’t. Look at you, you won’t even open the envelope. Why is that?

  Jeannie stood there, her hand on the drawer handle, for what felt like forever. Be the parent. Henry’s words echoed in her mind. Slowly, Jeannie pulled the drawer open. Absurdly anxious that Nicky would come storming out of his room at any moment to accuse her of condemning him, she ducked into her room with the packet and shut the door.

  Sitting on her bed—which felt, just as Nicky had said, like someone else’s old bed—she eyed the envelope like the enemy it was. She picked it up with two reluctant fingers, gingerly, as if it contained beasts waiting to devour her son.

  Cold, clinical papers slid out, forms with boxes and bullet points. At first, all she saw were words like “offender” and “fire setter,” ones she’d thrown in Chad’s face. Worst were the descriptions of things like “pyromania” and “arsonist.” That wasn’t Nicky. Nicky wasn’t out to hurt people or cause harm; he was just angry and provoked.

  She read on, determined to disbelieve, until she reached the page titled “Characteristics of Firestarters.” Its contents stabbed at her mother’s heart, cruel and inescapably true. “Emotional release of displaced anger,” and “heavy peer pressure” did indeed describe what she’d seen in Nicky. “Single parent families with absent fathers” hit her like a physical blow. Yes, there were things that weren’t Nicky on these pages, but there were far too many things that were him.

  It was as if the oxygen in the room were thinning out as she read, making her light-headed and panicked. Chad had been right; there were too many similarities in here to ignore. He may not need the full-blown program, but he needed the evaluation. She could no more wish this trouble away than she could wish away a broken arm. Some part of Nicky had broken, some deep part of him needed shoring up, support beyond just a mother’s love. Or Chad’s affections.

  Tears of helplessness, of sharp-edged insufficiency, stole down her cheeks no matter how quickly she swiped them away. How sadly skilled she’d become at crying silently, sobbing in ways Nicky could not hear through the apartment’s paper-thin walls. She felt Chad’s broken-hearted lament of “I can’t get him there on my own” burn into her own chest. Jeannie was just thinking how glad she was Nicky had turned his stereo way up—she was too wounded to care what the neighbors thought tonight—when the doorbell rang.

  Abby pushed through the door with a pint of ice cream and her craft box. “Mary Hunnington asked me to check up on you two. I’ll brought some of those new scrapbooking supplies I just got. We can make a page of Nicky’s detention and expulsion letters. Blackmail for future girlfriends you don’t like. Hey,” she said, peering closer at Jeannie’s eyes. “Whoa, you’re not okay, are you?”

  Usually, Jeannie welcomed Abby’s kooky sense of humor. Her ability to laugh at the worst of events had pulled them through some dark times. There was no glossing over this. “No. We’re not okay.”

  Abby deposited her things on the hall table and pulled Jeannie into a hug. “What’s wrong? I mean what’s wrong now?”

  With one last check of Nick’s shut door and blaring music, Jeannie motioned Abby into her bedroom. Once she shut the door behind them, Jeannie took a deep breath, feeling like she could barely form the words. “I need to…ask you something. And I need the absolute, unguarded truth from you.”

  Abby sat down on the bed, not even realizing she was right next to the condemning forms. “I promise.”

  Jeannie stood there, feeling bolted to the floor and ready to tumble over at the same time. The words came slowly, as if she were unearthing them from a deep, dark place. “Do you think Nicky needs…serious help?”

  Abby’s eyes began to fill with regret and tears. Jeannie felt herself spiraling down some dark tunnel, the same dark tunnel she’d tumbled down as Abby dragged her through the E.R. all those years ago. The same dark tunnel that started with the question, “Is Henry all right?” and hadn’t quite ever ended yet.

  “I think you’ve been unbelievably strong, Jeannie.” Abby’s sigh said the one word she hadn’t spoken.

  “That’s a yes, isn’t it?” Jeannie was crying now, clutching her borrowed bureau to stay upright.

  Abby looked down. “That’s a yes. He’s not okay, Jeannie.”

  She couldn’t hold the world up one moment longer. Jeannie sank down against the bureau and Abby flew off the bed to catch her in a fierce hug. “I want to go home,” she wailed into Abby’s shoulder, remembering how she’d wailed it in Abby’s kitchen the night Henry died. She’d come to be so jealous of that kitchen. Abby’s kitchen always hummed with love and smelled like sweet memories, and all she could think of right now was how much she hated the smell of this entire apartment. Even twelve of her new beeswax candles couldn’t conquer the stale atmosphere—and oh, how the thought of those new candles hurt right now.

  “Home’s on its way.” Abby rocked her like a child. “It’s just not here yet.” Abby’s tears made her feel less alone. “Come to the house. Stay as many days as you need to.”

  Jeannie pulled herself up onto the bed, taking in a deep breath as she listened yet again for the volume of Nicky’s music hiding her drama. “We both know that isn’t a real solution.” Maybe the real solution was in those horrid papers, but she wasn’t quite ready to go that far yet. “No. We’re stuck here. I just hadn’t planned on hating it so much, you know?” Funny, the truth that she was stuck, the truth she’d avoided for so long, was surprisingly quiet when it came. Simple, peaceful almost. “And Nicky, well, he hates it even more.”

  Abby snagged a tissue box from the bedside table and plunked it between them as she sat down beside Jeannie. “I know. I know.”

  “I’d pitch a tent in the middle of Sweet Treats’s studs and wires if the confounded occupancy permit could just come through.”

  “I know.” After a moment of quiet, Abby picked up the papers on the JFIP program. “What is this?”

  Jeannie summoned enough courage t
o give Abby a brief description of the prevention program. That, and a not-so-brief description of the fight she’d had with Chad over Nicky’s need to participate.

  “He has more courage than I do, and I’m your best friend.”

  “What do you mean?” She wasn’t thinking of Chad in very heroic terms right now, even if that was a case of “shoot the messenger.”

  “Okay, cards on the table. I’ve been thinking Nicky was in hot water for weeks, but I wouldn’t risk your reaction. Really, who wants to say that kind of thing to a mother? Me, I just kept praying you’d see whatever you needed to see in time. But Chad? He knew how you’d respond, and did it anyway. Because it was the right thing to do.” Abby’s voice got soft. “The right thing I was too chicken to do. How much must he care?”

  “I hadn’t thought about it like that. I think I was too busy being mad at him to realize this hurt him, too.” Despite all the frustration, a part of her welcomed his protective—overprotective—impulses. “I hate his suggestion and love him for it at the same time—is that possible?” Jeannie gulped, unprepared for the word love to slip out like that. Did he already mean that much to her?

  “Do you love him?”

  Jeannie pulled her knees up and hugged them. “It doesn’t really seem possible in so short a time, does it?”

  “You told me you fell in love with Henry on the first night. Why not now?”

  “Last night, on the riverbank, I felt so much.” Jeannie told Abby about the lanterns, whispering like schoolgirls sharing secrets. “When he kissed me, it was so strong it felt reckless. Unwise. Way too fast and furious for mature adults.”

  “Sounds like love to me.”

  “But so soon?” Jeannie shifted to face her dear friend. “Abby, it’s like his faith is springing back to life right in front of my eyes. He fights to be close to me, I can feel it. Up until today, he made me feel strong when too much in life makes me feel weak lately.”

  “Mom, can I have this ice cream?” Nicky voice came through the door, making Jeannie freeze and grab for the papers.

  “Sure thing, kiddo,” Abby called. “Take the whole thing.” The two of them listened as Nicky rustled through the silverware drawer. “For a spoon, not a scoop,” Abby whispered, and Jeannie felt the echo of a laugh bubble up inside her. “All of it straight out of the carton, I suspect.” They heard Nicky’s door slam shut and the music return to turn up again.

  “Nicky thinks the world of Chad. This will kill him.” Jeannie sighed, sure it would wound Nicky to have the man he so admired cart him off to some terrible program. Maybe there was no way around the initial pain. She thought of the way Chad had risked pain already, the way he’d laid his heart bare on the riverbank. That was the truest kind of courage, wasn’t it? Yes, she could love this man.

  Jeannie pulled herself up off the bed. “I need to make a phone call. You need to go home to Frank.”

  Abby gathered her into one last hug. “I love you, and I want the best for you and Nicky. You know that.”

  “I do. Thank you for everything.”

  Chad answered on the first ring. He’d never been so glad to pick up the phone in all his life. He’d been staring at it, practically sitting on his hands to keep from dialing Jeannie, and now he didn’t even wait for her to speak. “I’ll be there in five minutes. Less.”

  He didn’t know what the solution to their current situation was, he only knew he couldn’t stand to leave things the way they were. He needed Jeannie. He absolutely couldn’t abandon Nick to an easier path. He’d spent the past fifteen minutes praying fervently that God would show him the way out of this mess. Praying like he hadn’t in years. He thought prayer would come back to him slowly, haltingly, but no. Once he started it was like eight years of floodgates unleashed and Chad found himself pouring his heart out to Heaven.

  Jeannie grabbed his hand the moment she opened the door, but instead of pulling him into an embrace, she pulled him to the little area that served as a living room. “Explain to me,” she said in a hushed voice, pointing toward the loud music coming from behind Nicky’s door, “what will happen to my son if he goes into this program.”

  She’d read it. She’d read the listed characteristics of kids at risk and saw what he saw: that Nick was headed in a bad direction. How much pain was involved in a realization like that for a mother like her? That was Jeannie, finding her courage in the midst of so much pain. It only doubled the strength of his feelings for her. He challenged himself to spell out the highly detailed information in ways she could understand, keeping his thoughts clear and concise when his brain was racing in a dozen different directions. “Mostly, he’ll meet with counselors who know this subject inside and out. And he’ll talk with past teen offenders, kids who turned their behavior around.”

  “They’ll watch him, won’t they?” She chewed on a fingernail, and he noticed her makeup was all smudged. She’d been crying. He’d made her cry. Hadn’t he told himself last night how surely he’d break her heart?

  The music died down a bit from the hallway, and they both glanced back toward the bedroom door. He had to be careful here, but still he wouldn’t deny her the truth. He took her hand and led her into the kitchen, farther away from Nick’s earshot. “It’s completely confidential, but I won’t lie to you. If he goes through the program and still gets himself in a fire-setting situation, things will be…set in motion.” Jeannie cringed, and Chad felt his heart twist. “But the success rate of JFIP is high. It works. He’ll learn the consequences of fire-setting before he does it again. That’s half the problem here—these kids don’t think about the consequences. They don’t get that others can be hurt, that permanent damage can be done.”

  She looked at him. “Our home and business burned. How can he not know fire does damage?”

  “I think he does, somewhere inside. The anger is just tangling up how he thinks, confusing his impulses. Things boil up inside him until he can’t keep a lid on it.”

  Jeannie leaned wearily against the counter, wrapping her arms around herself and closing her eyes. “I’ve prayed and prayed over him, over us, to keep us safe, to heal us and now this.”

  “I think,” Chad said carefully, “this is the answer to that prayer. This is an early intervention program. I’m not signing him up to hang out with arsonists. He’s going to be meeting with other kids who have his struggles. There’s nobody at school or church who can really identify with what he’s going through, Jeannie.”

  “We do. We’ve been through fire losses, both of us.”

  “We share his circumstance, but not his response. I meant what I said about your candles and his matches—fire’s like grief. It hits people differently.”

  “But he’s better for talking with you. Isn’t that enough? Do we have to brand him ‘at risk’ like this?”

  Chad took Jeannie by the shoulders. “Nick means the world to me, but I’m in over my head here. I can’t stand by if there’s something, anything out there that can do for him what I can’t. I promise you, I’ll be beside you every step of this, I’ll watch over the process, make sure Nick gets every advantage.”

  “They’ll know at school.” They way she said it, he guessed she was imagining a file with “FIRESTARTER” scrawled across it in alarming red letters.

  “Not necessarily. The staff doesn’t know now, and they don’t have to—although it’s better if they do. As for the other kids, the programs are on successive Saturdays, two towns away, so none of his friends will know unless he tells them.”

  She eyed him. “You can’t guarantee it won’t get out.”

  Here was the painful truth. Confidentiality was a goal, a highly held ideal, but he couldn’t guarantee no one would ever know. The janitor who’d found the ashes already had his suspicions. People talk. The small-town stereotype didn’t come out of nowhere. “No, I can’t. But I like that risk a lot more than I like risking he does something serious that we can’t fix.”

  “He’ll be angry.”

  “H
e’s already angry, Jeannie.”

  “He’ll hate me. And you.”

  “You’re his mom. And I’m not going anywhere. We’ll get through it.”

  He watched her fist her hands for the battle ahead. “I’ll go get the papers. We’ll tell him together.”

  “Nicky?” Jeannie knocked on his door. He didn’t answer, but then his music was loud enough that he likely didn’t hear it. “Nicky?” When another rap produced no response, she pushed open the door to an empty room. Nicky was nowhere in sight. The October breeze from the open window tufted out the olive-colored window curtains, giving her a full view of the fire escape, and the realization of what he’d done slammed into her.

  She knew. She dashed to her bedroom where she knew what she would find—Chad’s envelope, crumpled and empty. She had no idea how or why he’d gotten into her room without her noticing, but none of that mattered now. Why, why had she left that envelope out on the bureau?

  Chad was quickly behind her, his worried glance flicking back and forth between her and the envelope. “He saw these. Chad, he saw these and now he’s gone.” Funny how she’d thought that access to the fire escape would give Nicky an extra measure of comfort. What a tumble of mistakes she’d made at the worst possible time.

  Chad backtracked. “He can’t have left, we’d have heard him.” She followed his steps down the hall to Nicky’s room, only to hear him moan when he saw the open window. “Oh, no.”

  Jeannie rushed to the window, peering out into the courtyard. It was empty, save for a crumpled piece of paper rolling to the corner, blown by the wind. There was no doubting now: Nicky had seen the papers and run.