It Happens All the Time

by Amy Hatvany

  “What do you say, babe?” he asked when I didn’t answer right away. “There’s no one on earth I’d want to build a life with but you.”

  The sincerity of his words melted away my hesitation. I threw my arms around his neck, and, in the process, almost toppled us both over onto the dirt. “Yes,” I whispered. “Yes, yes, yes.”

  He kissed me, and then slipped the ring on my finger. “It was my abuela’s,” he said. “I promise I’ll buy you something bigger and better when I’m a doctor.”

  I shook my head. “No way,” I said. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect. I love you so much.”

  “He sounds wonderful,” Doris said now, as I finished telling her the story. Her blue eyes stayed intent on me. “But you’re still not sure.”

  “Is it possible to be totally sure of anything? Or anyone?” I asked, more of myself than of her.

  Before she could answer, I heard my name called out from across the gym floor, and then turned to see Tyler striding toward us. “Hey,” he said, as he approached. He was in uniform; he must have just gotten off an overnight shift. We’d been spending a lot of time together since Daniel left, grabbing dinner or a coffee a few nights a week, after I got off work at the gym and before he had to be at the station. We watched movies at his place or with my parents at mine, laughing and talking like we had back in high school, before he’d taken me to prom. Being around him again made me feel comfortable. It made me feel like I was one hundred percent, totally myself.

  “Hey, you,” I said. “Everything okay?”

  “Oh yeah. Sorry to bug you when you’re working, but I was nearby.”

  “No worries,” I said. “Doris, this is Tyler. Tyler, this is Doris.” I glanced at the time remaining on her treadmill; I’d programmed it for fifteen minutes, and she still had three to go. I reached over and pushed the down arrow to slow her pace in order to return her heart rate to normal.

  “Nice to meet you, ma’am,” Tyler said, giving Doris a charming smile. Not for the first time since I’d been home, I found myself thinking how attractive Tyler was, how much more at ease in his skin he seemed to have become. I wondered if the younger girl he’d been seeing, Whitney, had had something to do with this, and was surprised to feel a barb of jealousy.

  “You must be the fiancé,” Doris said. “Aren’t you a handsome devil?”

  A shadow briefly clouded Tyler’s face, even as he kept smiling. “Just a friend,” he said.

  “My best friend, actually,” I said. “We’ve known each other since we were kids. And please don’t tell him he’s handsome. It’ll go straight to his already giant head.” I grinned, and Tyler laughed, reaching over to give my ponytail a light tug, a motion that sent a surprising, pleasurable shiver across my skin.

  “I see,” Doris said, her eyes darting back and forth between us. She looked at me. “Is it okay if I stop now, honey? I need to use the restroom.”

  “Of course,” I said, hitting the red button that stopped the treadmill belt. Doris’s cheeks were pink as she turned to take a step off of the machine, and as she grabbed on to one of the handlebars for support, Tyler stepped closer and offered her his hand.

  “Thank you, sir,” she said as she let him assist her onto the floor. She patted her short, silver hair and straightened her stance. “I’ll be right back.”

  “I’ll be waiting,” I said, as she walked toward the ladies’ locker room.

  “She’s a sweetheart,” Tyler said. “Have you been working with her long?”

  “Just started today,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. “So, what’s up?”

  “Well, you know Mason has been all over me about meeting you, which really means Gia has been all over him.”

  “Ha,” I said. “Yep.” I hadn’t been introduced to Tyler’s partner and his wife yet, because their daughter, Sofia, had been struggling with an ear infection that wouldn’t clear up, despite two rounds of antibiotics. Neither parent was getting much sleep, so socializing was pretty much their last priority. “Is the baby any better?”

  Tyler nodded. “She is. Enough that they’re going to get a sitter for her on Sunday night, for the Fourth. I guess one of their friends is having a party at his parents’ place out in the county. I thought maybe, if you want to go, you could meet them there.” He paused. “Unless Daniel is coming up and you’d spending the holiday with him.”

  “Nope,” I said. “He has to work. So it’s a date.”

  “A date, huh?” Tyler said, raising his eyebrows. His green eyes twinkled and we held each other’s gaze for a moment longer than we normally would. I had a sudden giddy feeling in my gut. What the heck is that about? I wondered. Am I flirting with him? Is he flirting with me?

  Doris reemerged from the locker room and made her way toward us. “I’ll pick you up Sunday at six?” Tyler said, before she arrived.

  So I did the only thing I could manage—I nodded, let him hug me, and then watched him walk away.

  Tyler

  “She called it a date, huh?” Mason asked as he pulled out of the station parking lot onto the street, flipping on the lights and siren of our rig. “Sounds like you might actually have a chance with the girl.”

  “Maybe,” I said, trying not to get my hopes up too high. Spending time with Amber since she’d come home from school was everything I’d wanted it to be. Even though we worked opposite hours—my swing shifts to her early mornings into the afternoons—we still found a few evenings a week to go on runs together and then grab sushi for dinner, or just hang out at her parents’ house or mine. We talked and laughed like we had when we were in high school, before the night my confession of being in love with her threw up a wall between us that had never quite gone away.

  There was no sign of that wall yesterday, when I went to see her at the gym. She was bubbly toward me—flirtatious, even—and when her eyes locked on mine, I couldn’t deny the arousal I felt, or the heated flush I saw rise in her cheeks. Maybe being away from Daniel was exactly what she needed to figure out how she really feels, I thought as I left her on the gym floor with her client. Maybe spending so much time with me is showing her that marrying him would be a mistake—that she would be happiest if she chose me.

  Now, it was just past eight on Saturday night, and dispatch had called for all units at the station house to get to a multicar accident on I-5 near the Fairhaven exit. Several other firefighting and medic teams were already on the scene—my dad’s likely included—but there were so many injured, they needed more. A tanker truck had jackknifed when the driver in front of it slammed on his brakes; the domino effect of crunching metal and broken windshields quickly took over all of the southbound lanes. Multiple car fires and possible fatalities had been reported—not a great way to begin a shift, even on the best of days. And today certainly didn’t fall into that category. Despite how well things were going with Amber, I’d still woken up that morning with what felt like a giant stone settled on top of my sternum. My entire body was shaky; my hands trembled, and I had no idea why. There was no rhyme or reason to when anxiety would hit me—no inciting event or emotional precursor. It just showed up, dug in its claws, and threatened to take over.

  Mason turned a tight corner, carefully edging his way around the inattentive drivers who didn’t pull to the side of the road to get out of the ambulance’s way, finally managing to get on the onramp heading south. The freeway was a parking lot; we’d have to drive along the shoulder. My partner flipped the siren on and off a few times to encourage the cars in front of us to pull to the side so we could change lanes and get where we needed to be. “Out of the way, dumbass!” he yelled. Every minute we weren’t on the scene, another life could be lost.

  The thick ache in my chest pulsed as I looked down the road and saw the enormous plume of black smoke rising up from where we were headed. “Damn,” I said. “Looks bad.” The words stuck in my throat and came out sounding strangled.

  Mason gave me a quick, worried look out of the corner of his eye. “
You okay?”

  “Yeah,” I said, drumming my fingers on the tops of my legs.

  “You sure? You seem kinda jumpy.”

  “I’m sure. Ready to get to work,” I said. Calm down, I told myself, curling my hands into fists, digging my nails into my palms. Just do your fucking job.

  As we inched down the side of the road, we listened to the scanner for more information from dispatch, but none came through. “Unit forty-nine, approaching the scene on I-5 south,” I said into the radio.

  “Heard, unit forty-nine,” the operator said. “Firefighters extracting multiple vics right now. Do not approach the vehicles. I repeat. Do not approach the vehicles. Fighters will bring vics to you.”

  “Copy that, dispatch,” I said. “Unit forty-nine, out.” I glanced at Mason, who had gotten us as close to where we needed to be as we were likely going to get, about a hundred feet from the tanker, which was now lying on its side. Behind that, I saw the source of the black smoke: at least five cars in flames, countless yellow-jacketed fighters spraying water and chemical fire retardant everywhere, in an effort to prevent gas tank explosions. I knew one of those fighters was my father, but it was impossible to tell which he might be. My heartbeat thudded in a wild rhythm with the added pressure of possibly running into him, having to perform my work under his scrutiny. He’ll be too busy doing his job to care about yours, I thought. Get over yourself. Get your head in the game.

  “Let’s hit it,” Mason said, jumping out of the driver’s side door and running toward the back of the ambulance. After a deep breath, I followed him. We grabbed the gurney and our supply bags, weaving through the cars trapped by the blocked lanes. The thick gray clouds that filled the sky began to spit raindrops; I hoped it would pour and help extinguish the flames.

  “Over here!” one of the firefighters yelled, spotting the two of us coming their way. He pointed and, as we approached, I saw a young man lying on the cement, half of his face burned away. His skin was red-blistered and scorched all the way down his right side, ending just below his knee.

  Oh, Christ. My stomach lurched, and my mind immediately flashed on the memory of being in the burn unit with Curtis. The smell of roasting flesh. The way his nose and both ears had turned to ash. I’d been around other burn victims since then, but something about this one—paired with the anxiety-spiked adrenaline already raging through my blood—made me feel dizzy and weak.

  “You got him?” the fighter yelled as Mason dropped to his knees next to the young man and began taking his vitals.

  I gave the fighter a thumbs-up sign but didn’t speak. Damn it. Get your shit together, Hicks! I swallowed and tried to steady my breathing.

  The fighter ran back toward the smoldering cars, and I saw several other paramedic units on the other side of the disaster. They must have come from the south.

  “Ty!” Mason yelled. “You need to get a line in, now!”

  I realized I was still standing there, staring at the burning cars, leaving my partner to fend for himself. I dropped to the ground, kneeling on the other side of the young man Mason was treating. I heard my father’s voice, echoing inside my head: Man up, Son! The victim’s eyes were closed, but he was moaning, rolling his head back and forth. The rest of his body didn’t move or respond to stimulation.

  “We need to get him on a board,” Mason said. “Could be a spinal.”

  On a three count, I rolled the man carefully onto one side so Mason could slip the yellow backboard beneath him. The man shrieked when we eased him down, startling me so badly, I almost dropped him.

  “You sure you’re okay?” Mason asked again, his dark brows furrowed.

  Hands shaking, I bobbed my head once. “Sorry.” I grabbed what I’d need for running an IV from my black bag while Mason checked the man’s pupils. The victim screeched again, a howling, animalistic sound. Thunder cracked, the sky opened up, and the rain began to pour.

  “He needs pain meds and fluids,” Mason said. “Hurry up. We need to get him stable.”

  I nodded again, but the smell of the man’s cooking flesh rose up and I was thirteen again, standing in Curtis’s hospital room in my father’s angry presence, feeling like a disgrace. The anxiety that had been coiling tightly within me, stockpiling inside my chest all day long, began to unwind, gaining speed until it spun out of control.

  Before I knew it, I had dropped the tubing and the needle onto the wet cement. “I can’t do it,” I whispered, shaking my head. “I can’t.” My heart jackhammered and the contents of my stomach twisted. I felt certain I was going to vomit. Again, my father’s voice: Only newbies and pussies puke.

  “What the fuck?” Mason said. He grabbed the necessary tubing and needles from his own bag and came around to the man’s undamaged side, pushing me out of the way.

  I watched my partner work, my own skin feeling as though it was peeling away from my body, as the victim’s had, all his nerves exposed. I felt too disoriented to stand, but I forced myself upward, groping and grabbing on to the back of my partner’s shirt for support, which almost toppled both of us over.

  “Get off me!” Mason said, pushing me away. “Jesus, Ty! What’s wrong with you?”

  I couldn’t speak. I could only feel the terror pushing through my blood like a toxin, poisoning every cell.

  Mason stood up, grabbed me by my biceps, and squeezed them, hard. “Tyler!” he shouted. “Look at me.”

  I blinked heavily, then lifted my gaze to my partner’s. My body trembled and my chest heaved; I could barely catch my breath.

  “I don’t know what’s going on,” Mason said, giving me a quick, violent shake. “But it needs to stop. Right. Now.” He let go of one of my arms and grasped my chin instead. “Do you hear me? I need you to help me get this man to the ER.”

  I shook my head, unsure if I could do what needed to be done. My partner’s voice sounded distant, muffled and cloudy inside my head.

  “Goddamn it, Hicks!” Mason smacked my cheek with his thick fingers. The sting of that impact was finally enough to jar me out of my foggy state, enough to get me to stumble over to the injured man’s feet and lift him, with Mason’s help, onto the gurney. Though I was still trembling, I met Mason’s steely gaze with my own. I can do this. Just try not to breathe in too deeply. Ignore the smell. Save this man’s life. My heart still pounded.

  “All right then,” Mason said, guiding the gurney back through the maze of cars to our rig. Once we got the gurney secured in the back of the ambulance, Mason radioed ahead to notify St. Joseph’s that we were on our way with an accident victim. Then he held the keys out to me. “You drive. Okay?”

  I looked at Mason, then allowed my eyes to dart back toward the injured man. There’s no way I can treat him, I realized. Not when I’m feeling like this. I’d probably make a fatal mistake. I could kill him. I snatched the keys from Mason’s hand and jogged around the vehicle to the driver’s side, steeling myself against any thought but the need to deliver this man safely to the hospital.

  I started the engine, glancing behind me to make sure Mason was inside and ready to go. “Punch it,” my partner said as he wrapped a blood pressure cuff around the man’s uninjured arm. Fortunately, the pain meds Mason had administered had kicked in, and the man was finally—mercifully—silent.

  I put the vehicle in reverse, and the cars around the ambulance shifted out of the way so we could turn around and drive north in the southbound lanes. With the tanker truck still blocking the road, it was the only way off the freeway. I gripped the steering wheel as tightly as I could, taking in deep breaths through my nose and blowing them out through my mouth to try to steady my erratic pulse.

  My right foot longed to press down hard on the gas pedal, to push the ambulance’s speed up and up and up; to feel that sense of relief when the adrenaline in my bloodstream finally dropped, then leveled off. But with all the cars around us, there was no way to go faster than five miles per hour. There was no way for me to get relief.

  “You doing okay up
there?” Mason yelled over the sound of the siren.

  “Yeah!” I managed to reply. I hunched over the steering wheel, maneuvering around the last few cars that were preventing us from reaching the exit. I drove the wrong way up the ramp, staying perilously close to the edge of the shoulder, honking the horn and swearing at the few drivers who still would not get out of my way. “Move, goddamn it!”

  “We’re almost there,” Mason said, sensing that I needed some reassurance. “You got this, brother. Everything’s cool.”

  Buoyed by my friend’s support, I felt a surge of confidence. My jerky pulse slowed, and my breathing began to regulate. Less than five minutes later, I pulled into the ER ambulance bay, jumped out of the rig, and helped Mason deliver the burn victim to the doctors and nurses awaiting us there.

  Walking back to our vehicle a few minutes later, Mason clapped a hand on my shoulder, then let it go. “You had me worried back there, man,” he said with a frown. “What’s going on?”

  I shrugged, unsure how to articulate a proper response. What would my partner think of me if I told him the truth? That I was riddled with anxiety, and had some sort of PTSD flashback when I saw our burn victim?

  “I’m fucked up,” I finally said, thinking that was as honest as any other statement I could make.

  “All right,” Mason said as he climbed into the driver’s seat of our vehicle and I settled into the passenger’s. “So what’re we going to do about that?”