“Jimmy!” Randall cried as he stumbled back to his feet.
A large pine trunk pinned Jimmy’s body against the brittle forest floor, his body face down, not moving. Clumsily Randall surged toward his fallen friend, collapsing onto his knees as he halted beside him. “Jimmy! Damn it, answer me!”
A low guttural groan fled Jimmy’s lips just as Grant and Tommy surrounded them. Randall quickly rose to his feet motioning for help with the fallen trunk. The log was approximately eight inches in diameter—not terribly heavy—but awkward to handle as numerous small branches and sharp pine needles bit into their flesh. The three of them removed the timber with relative ease as adrenaline coursed through their veins. And after tossing the tree aside, the three attended to their injured friend.
“Stay with us, man; you need to tell us where you’re hurt”, Randall declared.
Jimmy’s breathing was shallow and erratic. Another animal-like growl escaped his mouth as he desperately tried to suck air into his lungs. “Can’t… feel my… legs”, he managed softly, panting.
Grant reached into his med pack for the small oxygen tank and mask, and like a well-oiled machine, the three men carefully flipped Jimmy onto his back making sure to keep his spine in alignment. Dark smoke and poisonous gases carried by the steady torrid breeze would asphyxiate all of them if they didn’t get out of there soon. Grant covered Jimmy’s nose and mouth with the mask and turned the valve on the oxygen tank to the left, allowing their injured brother to breathe clean air.
Tommy reached for his radio and informed Chief Handler that Jimmy was injured, reciting the approximate location of where the rest of the department would find them. “Help’s on the way, Jimmy”, he uttered reassuringly. “Just try to relax and concentrate on your breathing.”
Fuck! Why was this happening?
Randall knelt beside his best friend, carefully taking his vitals, inwardly panicking at the results. Jimmy was suffering from tachycardia—an increase in heart rate—and his breathing was still rapid and shallow. His hands were clammy and his blood pressure was slowly dropping. In other words, Jimmy was going into shock.
“This is one hell of a way to get out of digging up those flower beds, Jimmy. I told you I’d help out”, he teased, attempting to keep Jimmy’s mind off the pain and keep him conscious.
Dirty fingers slowly reached for the mask as Jimmy slid the plastic away from his mouth. He was still struggling to breath, fighting to draw air into his lungs as he looked into Randall’s eyes. “Please…”
“Don’t talk, Brother—just focus on breathing.” Instinctively, Randall tried to replace the mask, but Jimmy weakly swatted at his hand.
Feebly, he shook his head. “Take care of… Lana and… Conner… for me—”
“Huh-uh—don’t you dare! Don’t you dare start telling me goodbye! You hear me?”
“Tell Lana I… love her and… Conner. Tell… them I’m sorry…”
“No, Jimmy, stay with me, man! You’re talkin’ crazy—just breathe. No more talking”, he demanded soothingly.
“Promise… me, Randall. Promise me you’ll… look… after them.”
Randall briefly closed his eyes, knowing deep down his best friend wasn’t going to make it. Accepting the bone-chilling fact that he was moments away from witnessing Jimmy’s last breath. What he wouldn’t do to trade places with him—hell, this was supposed to be Randall lying here—not Jimmy. Not the man with a five-year-old son and loving wife.
Not Jimmy…
The next minute was torturous to watch. Jimmy’s breathing become more rapid, shallow.
Irregular.
His heart rate accelerated as his blood pressure plummeted.
In the distance, Randall heard the crunch of heavy, hasty footsteps as help arrived. “I promise”, he uttered as his vision clouded with moisture.
And as if Jimmy had been hanging on to hear those two words, he took one final breath. And then…
Silence.
Chapter 2
For as long as Randall lived, he would never be able to erase the image of Lana Phillips collapsing in his arms on her front porch as Chief Handler informed her that Jimmy had been injured—fatally injured. In an instant the color had drained from her pretty face as her body went limp with grief.
He held her while she wailed, gripping his shirt as though it were her only lifeline. And then as if a surge of strength erupted from her core, she straightened and uttered in a small voice, “How?”
Chief Handler cleared his throat. “The top portion of a pine tree snapped as the guys were hiking out of the brush. It fell approximately seventy-five feet—would’ve hit Randall—but Jimmy pushed him out of the way just in time...”
Lana stiffened in Randall’s arms when she’d learned the specifics about how her husband’s passing came to be.
“…The force of the impact caused internal injuries and… possibly severed his spinal cord… He, uh, complained he couldn’t feel his legs…”
Lana gasped, covering her mouth as another sob fought for escape. And then she turned her mournful gaze toward Randall, searching for truth?—regret? And something else he couldn’t quite pinpoint.
“…Jimmy saved Randall’s life, Lana”, Chief Handler declared soothingly, earnestly. “He’s the epitome of a true hero…”
Confusion settled upon her face for a moment, her forehead trenched, her lips parted. And as if suddenly realizing the man supporting her grieving body was the same man rescued by the throes of death by her late husband, her somber expression turned angry. Lana’s midnight-blue eyes swirled with fury, narrowing, focusing on Randall like two dangerously intense laser beams.
She raised her palm, striking his left cheek with such force his head snapped right, the crack of the blow echoing off the front porch with near-deafening precision.
Taking a step back, Lana turned her attention back to Chief Handler. “I want to see him.”
“I don’t know if that’s such a—”
“I want to see my hu-husband!” she sobbed.
Randall stared at his pale reflection in the small mirror adorned to the sun visor of his truck, straightening his black tie. He hated this shirt—his light blue, long-sleeved B.I.F.D uniform shirt. He was a casual kind of guy, more than happy to wear his navy department tee to work. His dress uniform had always been reserved for special events like the Winterfest Parade or promotion ceremonies. But today he was wearing it for a different purpose. Because today Jimmy would be laid to rest.
Inhaling a fortifying breath, he flipped the visor into position and slowly emerged from his truck. The parking lot of Apalachicola Christian Church was filled to capacity, forcing cars to line the narrow street in two parallel rows along the road’s edges.
The entire town of Butler Island was here to say goodbye and Randall had already spotted six fire engines from neighboring departments parked amongst a sea of cars and over-sized trucks. He’d bet his next paycheck that most of the firemen here had never clapped eyes on Jimmy Phillips when he was alive, but then again that’s how the brotherhood worked. Firefighters shared a unique bond and when one of their “brothers” passed, unexpectedly or otherwise, the posse came together to pay their respects to one of their own.
Forging through the crowded parking lot, Randall pointed his work boots toward the heavy wood doors at the front of the church, anxious and hesitant over his final goodbye.
Jimmy’s parents greeted arriving guests as they entered the historic brick building, exchanging polite, yet trivial, pleasantries. After all, what does one say to a grieving loved one?
How’ve you been?—or—Did you catch the game last night?—somehow seemed inappropriate.
Today would prove to be a day chocked full of hurdles, and as Randall stepped under the threshold he conceded that this moment was only the first of many.
“Randall”, Mrs. Phillips acknowledged as he stepped forward. She placed the palms of her hands on either side of his face and focused her watery orbs on his. “
It’s good to see you”, she uttered earnestly.
Randall opened his mouth, only to shut it moments later. Mrs. Phillips had lost her son—she was but an hour away from witnessing his casket being lowered into the ground—and she was happy to see him?
By all accounts it should’ve been him—today the crowd should’ve been gathered for Randall’s funeral. Not Jimmy’s.
His eyes skimmed over her features searching for contempt, anger, disgust. But ironically there was no trace of blame on her distraught face.
Only appreciation and… love.
“You, too”, he managed feebly. Suddenly uncomfortable with her praise, he stepped back out of her reach, offering Mr. Phillips his hand. Jimmy, Sr. firmly shook, placing his free hand on Randall’s shoulder. Unable to find his voice Randall tilted his head once in a hard nod and then set his sights on his fellow brothers already seated in the packed church.
On wobbly legs, he drifted down the single aisle toward the front of the crowded room, his eyes briefly landing on Lana’s ghostly-pale face. Her eyes were tired and sunken and red, and she appeared to be several pounds thinner than she had been days earlier, her black dress hanging loosely on her small frame. The moment her gaze landed on Randall her eyes quickly averted to the young man standing beside her: her five-year-old son, Conner.
He was dressed in his Sunday best: A pair of navy trousers and a matching navy vest, his sandy-blond hair gelled and spiked in the front just like Jimmy’s.
“There you are—I saved you a seat”, Kendall uttered softly as she wrapped her arms around his neck.
Randall swaddled her body with his arms, feeling her heave beneath his hands. And when he started to pull away she held him tighter.
“I can’t stop thinking about how this could’ve been you”, she mumbled as her voice cracked. “When you left for the fire you were so upset and—”
“Shhh.”
“The last few days have been a nightmare”, she whispered.
“I know.” That was putting it lightly.
The music faded as the preacher took to the podium, signaling the beginning of the ceremony. Taking his hand, Kendall led Randall to their seat along the second row, next to Ty and the rest of the department.
The preacher began by thanking the crowd on behalf of the family—for the meals, beautiful flowers, heartfelt cards, and condolences. Randall’s eyes traversed the front of the church, skimming over droves of floral arrangements and wreaths in scores of color combinations flanking both sides of the white casket. To the right, a wooden tripod showcased a large picture of Jimmy, flashing his signature ear-to-ear grin, reminiscent of happier times. And to the left lay Jimmy’s bunker gear, positioned as it would be at the fire station, ready at a moment’s notice for him to put on.
Movement at the podium snagged his attention as the preacher stepped aside, allowing Chief Handler to proceed with his prepared eulogy. The man looked every bit the fifty-eight years he was as he nervously shuffled his index cards. In fact, Randall inwardly acknowledged Chief had probably aged another ten years in the last four days alone.
“How many ways can one praise a hero?” Chief Handler began. “How many ways can one say ‘thank you’ for saving another’s life? The truth is: there is no number. There aren’t enough sunrises and sunsets in this lifetime.
“Jimmy Phillips loved being a firefighter. He joined our department ten years ago at the age of nineteen, fresh from the academy and wet behind the ears. The first year of any probie firefighter’s career is a rite of passage: learning the procedures, training… and in Jimmy’s case: fine-tuning his prank abilities.”
The guys from the department chuckled softly, recognizing the playful side their fallen brother possessed.
“No doubt about it, he was a hardworking, levelheaded, skilled firefighter with a particular fondness for practical jokes. In fact, that’s how he earned the nickname The Joker…”
Randall’s eye’s shifted toward the row in front of him where Lana and Conner sat, bravely listening as Chief Handler praised Jimmy for his service. Conner sat surprisingly still for a five-year-old, and he couldn’t help but wonder if the boy fully grasped the concept that his daddy wasn’t coming back. The thought sent a piercing jolt through his chest. Conner was going to grow up without a father…
Damn it, Jimmy. Why couldn’t you be more selfish?
Why did you have to push me out of the way…?
“…There’s only one thing Jimmy loved more than his life at the firehouse… and that was the two of you”, Chief uttered softly as he turned his gaze toward Lana and Conner. “Let me assure you, you were the loves of his life. His eyes shined bright when he spoke of the two of you…”
Randall allowed his gaze to settle on Lana as Chief continued his heartfelt eulogy. From where he sat, he could see a portion of her profile. Her stone-like, vacant expression gave nothing away. It was as if her body was here, but her liveliness and vitality were gone—like her spirit had died along with Jimmy.
Lana’s weary eyes bored into the glistening white casket as if she could will Jimmy’s lifeless body to resurrect. Her long, light brown hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail and she wore a simple strand of white pearls and matching stud earrings. She looked every bit of the grieving widow she was.
A twenty-seven-year old widow…
Damn it!
He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but when his eyes returned to the podium, Chief Handler was gone, replaced by the preacher as he said a few words in closing.
Guess Lana wasn’t the only one that’d slipped into a daze during the ceremony.
The preacher slowly abandoned the podium and descended down three steps, wandering toward the side of the church embellished with brilliant stained glass. There were a few moments of silence while he made the transition and then the familiar sound of three musical tones, like the ones heard at the fire station when dispatch alerted the department with an emergency, came over the loud speaker.
“Last call…” The dispatcher began. “Last call for firefighter James Phillips, Jr.”
Chief Handler’s voice came over the loud speaker. “Firefighter Jimmy Phillips, Jr. has answered his last call and has entered into eternal rest… He will be missed—”
“No!” Lana wailed as she covered her mouth, rocking back and forth on the pew. “No! Please… d-don’t leave us! No!”
Hearing her desperate plea, her heartbreaking sobs, was more than Randall could bear. This was his fault—he was the reason this woman was experiencing unspeakable agony.
Randall was to blame.
Standing, he quickly stepped into the aisle, wiping his palm down his face as he scurried toward the exit. There wasn’t a dry eye in the room as Lana’s breakdown continued.
He needed to get out of here. Now.
Bursting through the heavy wood doors, his strong façade cracked as the emotions from the previous four days rushed over him—through him.
Damn it, Jimmy… It should have been me…
A single hot, wet tear slid down his cheek as he climbed into his truck and started the ignition. He needed to get away, needed to be far from prying eyes.
Needed to grieve for his best friend on his own terms. Alone.
Squealing out of the packed parking lot he glanced at the gauges along the dash. He had a full tank of gas. Good. He’d head East on I-10.
His destination was unknown.
His return date: yet to be determined.
Chapter 3
Lana Phillips quietly closed Connor’s bedroom door, torn between falling to bed in a heap of exhaustion, or enjoying the silent solitude that followed tucking her five-year-old in bed.
Well, maybe “enjoy” was a bit of a stretch, and the “silent solitude” was anything but peaceful.
It’d been roughly five months since she’d buried her husband. Five months since the weight of the world fell solely upon her shoulders. There were bills to pay, groceries to purchase, school functions to att
end, and a myriad of other duties to perform. She was now a single parent—a twenty-seven-year-old woman attempting to raise a boy into a man.
All by her lonesome.
Conner hadn’t quite adjusted to life without Jimmy. Guess it was safe to say neither of them had.
She worried about her little boy. She tried to make extra time for Connor, but that was problematic considering she was now assuming the roles of both mommy and daddy.
Trudging into the kitchen, Lana snatched the bottle of white zinfandel she’d opened last night from the fridge and filled her wine glass half-full—or rather, half-empty. Yeah, that sounded better—sort of summed up her life the last five months.
Half-empty.
Taking a sip of crisp wine, she drifted into the living room. Jimmy was her high school sweetheart: her first boyfriend, her first real kiss, her first… everything. He’d been a senior when they began dating, Lana a freshman.
She still remembered every detail of the day they’d met. She’d been walking down the crowded halls of Butler Island High when someone had bumped into her from behind, causing Lana’s books and papers to scatter recklessly along the speckled linoleum floor. Dodging droves of feet scurrying by, she began gathering her belongings, aware that the delay would likely make her late for her third period algebra class.
Unexpectedly, a good-looking blond with broad shoulders and delicious milk chocolate eyes swooped down to her rescue.
“You all right?”
“Um, yeah… Just a little embarrassed, I guess.”
His laughter was warm, soothing—no hint of ridicule what-so-ever. “Well, good to know even pretty girls like you get embarrassed from time to time. Here you go”, he remarked as he handed her a stack of books.
“Thanks”, she uttered, rising to her feet. Mirroring her movement he stood as well, his six-foot frame towering over her. It was then she noticed his jersey. “You’re a football player”, she stated flatly. Weren’t jocks supposed to be mindless, arrogant assholes?
Rescue Me (Butler Island) Page 2
