Deep Haven [03] The Perfect Match

by Susan May Warren

  “How are you doing, Joe?”

  Slave driver stood against the sun, her outline putting Joe and Dan in shadow. “How’s Mona?”

  Joe straightened, wiping his brow. “Feeling good finally. Thanks for asking.”

  She smiled as if she hadn’t, only an hour ago, berated him for “killing” his victim by dropping the dummy forty feet on its head. “Liza told me you picked out names.”

  Dan shot Joe a look. “You have names?”

  “Maybe.” Joe ducked his head. “Mona has a small list she’s compiling.”

  Dan looked from Ellie to Joe and back. Since when did she know more about Joe’s life than his best friend did? Dan tried not to feel affronted.

  Joe turned to Ellie. “Are you done torturing your firefighters, or is there more fun on the agenda?”

  Ellie gave him a narrowed-eyes look, one that came with a smile that voided any malice. Why did Joe always get away with sassy comments? Fire Chief Ellie would flatten Dan with a scowl if he even hinted at being tired. Dan shook his head, turned away, watched the other firefighters gathering their duffel bags. Mitch Davis and two other firefighters, looking burly and not at all winded, stood in a clump, probably trying to decide whether to shower before heading out to Billy G’s Pub and Bowl.

  “No, I think that’ll be enough training today, Joe. Thanks for sticking in there,” Ellie said.

  “I gotta get home, then. Mona’s probably back and looking to fill my ear about her doctor’s appointment. She’s bracing herself for weight gain, and my job is to talk her down from the ledge.”

  Was that a giggle from Ellie? Dan nearly glared at Joe, who took off toward his bag of gear.

  Which left Dan standing with Ellie. She glanced at him. Her smile dimmed. “Uh . . . thanks, Dan, for your hard work today. How’s your shoulder?”

  It throbbed and felt like someone had used it for batting practice. “Oh, fine. Thanks. I know how to bounce.”

  Ah, a faint smile from the fire chief. It almost felt like the real thing. “You’ll be a great addition to the FAST team. Thanks for taking the position.” She turned to leave, but he reached out, hooked her arm.

  “Ellie, how are you?”

  She looked pointedly at his hand on her arm. He removed it but stood close enough to keep his question between them. “I’m fine.” She didn’t look at him.

  “Fine? As in ‘I just made it through my first week by the skin of my teeth,’ or fine like ‘Wow, I’m thrilled with my new job. What a cinch’?”

  She stared at him hard, as if debating which answer to give. Then with a loud sigh she shrugged. “Considering half my crew abandoned me at lunchtime and the other half thinks I’m Attila the Hun, well, I think things are about as terrific as they can be.”

  “I’m still here. And I’m pretty sure you’re not a Hun. At least you’re a lot less hairy.”

  One side of her mouth hitched up. “I shaved my beard off this morning.”

  Dan touched his chin. “Me too.”

  She really smiled now, and it felt like a fresh breeze. “Donning your pastor motif, huh?”

  “Yeah, well, gotta please the masses. Can’t show up at the pulpit looking like a hooligan.”

  She laughed. “Somehow I can’t picture you as the hooligan type.”

  He blinked at her. “Oh, really?” He knew his smile had dimmed, but his brain traveled back to only a week ago when she’d thought he was the local brute squad leader. “I’m glad to hear that.”

  A gentle, comfortable silence passed between them. She stuck her hands in her jacket pockets while the wind played with the caramel-colored strands of hair it had dislodged during the day. She wasn’t wearing makeup today—something he hadn’t missed, but now he noticed how much younger she looked without it. Standing here with the sun grinning down at them, he almost felt fresh out of high school, his entire world before him.

  “Hey,” he said through a bevy of swelling feelings, “why don’t you come to church tomorrow? Joe and Mona attend. And Liza.” He had his eyes on her reaction, hoping she’d say yes, but out of his peripheral vision he saw Joe digging through his duffel and grabbing his cell phone.

  Ellie rubbed her arms as if cold, and a faraway look entered her eyes. “Yeah. Maybe. What time?”

  Joe flipped open his cell phone and immediately his face darkened. Something was wrong.

  “Ten-thirty service. Adult education is at nine-fifteen.”

  She made a mock painful face. “I don’t have any church clothes.”

  Oh, how he wanted to say something about her long johns. Some quip that might make her laugh or even forgive him for his offensive comment, but Joe’s expression had him off balance. “Wear your jeans. We’re a casual church.”

  “Really?”

  Joe now stood board still, his face twisted. Then, as if perceiving Dan’s gaze, Joe turned, stared at him. Joe was ashen.

  “Yes. Excuse me, Ellie, will you?” Dan hurried toward Joe, who listened into his cell phone, nodding, his eyes locked on his pastor. Dan felt a streak of fear at the torment in Joe’s expression.

  “I’ll be right over. It’s going to be okay, honey.” Joe closed his telephone, looked at it. He swallowed in an audible attempt to force back emotions.

  “What’s up, Joe?” Dan noticed that the man was shaking.

  Joe closed his eyes. In a voice so low it sounded more like a groan, he said, “Mona lost the baby.”

  Ellie watched the two men walk away. Something about Joe’s posture made her heart sink. Dan had his hand over his friend’s shoulder, pastorlike. As they’d been chatting—or was it teasing each other?—she’d seen his subtle shift from playful fireman to town minister. Concern filled his eyes, he frowned, and then his attention had snapped to his friend in need. All that focused worry had tugged at a forlorn place in her heart. She wondered suddenly what it would be like to be on the receiving end of such compassion.

  She shrugged it away and jogged over to Bruce Schultz and Craig Boberg, who were tossing their gear into large duffel bags. “Thanks a lot, guys. I appreciate your dedication today.”

  Bruce gave her a warm smile. “You surprised me, Chief. I didn’t know all that about hazardous materials. Don’t get many of those up here.”

  His words blessed her. She’d spent most of the week preparing her lecture on Hazmat procedures. In the big city, it was part of basic firefighter training, but she’d suspected that on the North Shore of Minnesota, the biggest hazardous-material event was cleaning up Main Street after the annual Moose Days Festival.

  “Thanks, Bruce. Hey, I’m putting together a new schedule. I’d like to staff the station 24/7 with an on-site captain and an EMT. I noticed on your experience that you’d taken an Introduction to Fire Officer course. I don’t suppose you’d consider taking a test to become captain? I need another capable body.”

  Bruce tucked his helmet under his arm. “I’ll think about it. How often are we on?”

  “I think you’ll be on once every four days. I’d sure appreciate it.”

  She left him and marched up to Mitch Davis and his group. Ernie Wilkes had stripped down to his jeans and was pouring water over his head. She averted her eyes. “I’m putting together a duty schedule,” she said to Mitch and went on to explain new staffing. “I’ll add you into the roster, okay?”

  But Mitch wasn’t listening to her. His gaze went over her shoulder, and a smile twitched his face. Two college-aged girls had jogged onto the track and were slowly making progress around the quarter-mile loop. Their eyes were fixed on the clumps of firefighters, beauty-queen smiles on their faces. Ellie rolled her eyes . . . firehouse groupies. She turned to deflect them when Mitch strode past her and fell into step with them.

  So she’d add him to the schedule. It would only increase his hero status. She shook her head and bid the other firefighters farewell. She heard a few making plans to meet at Pierre’s Pizza down the street, others at the bowling alley. No one mentioned a word to her. She tried not to
let that ping in an empty place inside.

  Hauling two of the rescue dummies to her Jeep, she opened the door and plopped them in. By the time she returned to the field to collect the hoses, the crew had dispersed . . . including Mitch and his two fans.

  She took a deep breath and sat on the grass. Franklin had jumped off the front seat of her car and now found his way into her lap. She rubbed his ears, twisting them gently between her fingers as she ran over the week’s events.

  She’d served one entire week as chief. No calls—well, except for a cat wedged under someone’s latticework. She’d managed to get the animal out with her pike pole without having to call out the squad.

  Ellie had to admit, nowhere did she know of a fire chief required to make house calls. She’d envisioned putting together training schedules, coordinating EMT services, working the budget, overseeing the maintenance of machinery, and commanding incidents. At least that was what she’d trained for.

  Instead, she’d spent half her time cleaning the firehouse until it shone, checking equipment, poring over files, assembling her crew into squads, and meeting with city officials. The other half of her time she’d been glued to the telephone, trying to prod the fire marshal to send up a fire investigator. In the end, she’d had to trek out to the Simmons place—this time armed with Steve Lund, her paramedic and friend—and gather evidence from the bathroom herself. She’d boxed it up, along with photographs and two witness reports, and sent it to Minneapolis. How they’d uncover the truth two hundred miles away baffled her, but she’d done her job and closed the case until they called her back.

  If she were honest, the high point of her week had been the daring cat rescue. It had been ages, two years at least, since she’d donned her turnout coat for a real blaze. Even though all she faced were a couple of nasty front claws and a worried elderly woman, the adrenaline had run through her veins like a shot of caffeine.

  She missed the action.

  Today, training with her men, she’d felt challenged, alive, passionate about saving lives. Today she felt like a real chief.

  And then Dan had to make her laugh. That, too, felt good. He’d mocked her in a gentle way, rekindling all those budding feelings of friendship from their encounter on the beach. And the fact that he hadn’t mentioned her mishap last Sunday had touched her. So maybe he was a man of his word. A man she could count on . . . at least in a fire.

  Could she count on his friendship too? Maybe she should hang up her shield long enough to find out. He seemed to respect her authority, and he hadn’t groaned once today, although she knew his shoulder had to be turning him inside out. He’d been the first to pounce off the grass, the first to invest in her discussion of Hazmat procedures, and although she avoided meeting his eyes, she saw him slug at least two other men who were whispering.

  She didn’t want to speculate on the topic of their low-murmured conversations.

  Yes, Dan had regained some of the ground he’d lost with his “take off your badge” statement. The next time he pushed his way into her life, if he did it gently, she might let him linger.

  Not too close, but close enough to ease the loneliness.

  As she leaned back in the grass, watching the wind push around the cumulus in a beautiful azure sky, she decided that maybe indeed it had been a good week. Not a cinch, but certainly well within her grasp.

  Perhaps she’d finally discovered the future that Seth had given his life for her to find.

  Dan paced the waiting room, going from one side of the brown carpet to the other. Occasionally he’d stop, lean against the window, and watch the shadows stripe the parking lot. The sound of his soda can tab as he flicked it kept him bound to reality, to the sound of the telephone ringing, the smell of medicine. Deep inside, however, he wanted to crawl away and sob.

  What could he say to his best friend, who right now was in one of those curtained-off rooms down the hall, holding his wife’s hand as she gave birth to their stillborn child? The news felt like a line drive to Dan’s chest, so all he could do was pace, hoping he could dredge up some comforting words from the well of pain in his soul.

  He closed his eyes and groaned. “Help me, Lord.” His inadequacy made him want to scream. Here, the moment when his dearest friends needed him the most, he was about to fail them. He didn’t have glorious words that would lift them beyond sorrow. He had only his own grief, his own questions. His own snarled emotions clogging his chest.

  Scripture ran through his head—words from the Lord that might offer solace. “Take heart, because I have overcome the world.” Or “We know that God causes everything to work together for the good of those who love God and are called according to His purpose for them.” Or even, “I know the plans I have for you. . . . They are plans for good and not for disaster.” But they seemed somehow inadequate, despite their truth. How did he console a woman who hadn’t been able to hold her firstborn child, hadn’t named it, hadn’t felt its tiny fingers curl around hers? How did he tell Mona that everything would be all right when deep in his gut he himself wondered?

  Sometimes he didn’t understand God. Why did He allow us to hope and love, only to yank it away? It was in these bleak moments that Dan had to grab a death hold on his faith. On his belief in a good and loving God. Was it Isaiah who said, “If you do not stand firm in your faith, you will not stand at all”?

  And yet, despite Dan’s head knowledge of a sovereign God, he knew what it felt like to have life swirl down the drain and wonder why God had pulled the plug.

  Why, in all the pivotal moments of life did he feel as though his words, his training, vanished? He wanted to do something vivid and substantial, to say powerful things that changed lives. He wanted to be like Stephen, who in the face of his accusers preached a sermon and died a death of boldness. Or have the ministry of Paul, passionate and wise for the sake of Christ, all the way to Rome. But no, all Dan could do was crush his Coke can and fumble with half-remembered verses.

  How he longed, just once, to be used by God in a mighty way. To change a life.

  Memories of Leo flogged Dan as he stared out the window. Why hadn’t Dan told the man exactly how he felt watching him trash his future and discard his family? For that matter, why hadn’t Dan run after Charlene when she had given him back his ring? told her that he was wrong, that yes, he could still love a woman who wanted to risk her life day in and day out?

  Except, could he? His knee-jerk reaction to Ellie’s profession told him he hadn’t advanced too far from his stance fifteen years ago. How he wished he could snatch back those words and his brilliantly offensive request that she discard her identity to be worthy of him.

  He felt like a cad. Part of him had wanted to jump in his car, race after her, perhaps toss rocks at her window, then hit his knees until she forgave him. Instead he’d stood bound in the clamp of mixed emotions, watching her drive away.

  His love wasn’t enough to stop his fiancée from leaving him for a life of adventure. Why did he think he’d fare any better fifteen years later?

  Still, he wanted another shot at Ellie’s friendship. After today’s defection by half the fire crew, she had to be nursing some wounds. Despite her don’t-mess-with-me demeanor, she needed someone on her side, if not to support her, then to watch her back.

  He’d heard enough slander from Mitch to know any misstep on her part and he’d run Ellie out of town with the dogs. But to be her friend, Dan would have to wait. Hope for sometime when her defenses weren’t at DEFCON 5, when her soot-streaked face wasn’t turning his brain to mush.

  And when his dearest friends didn’t have tragedy breathing down their necks.

  Turning, he threw the soda can into the receptacle, then wandered to the reception desk. Roxie, one of the night nurses, had just come on duty. He asked about Mona.

  “I’ll see if she’s ready for visitors,” Roxie said.

  Dan didn’t know the Native American woman well, but he recognized compassion in her eyes. There were few people in Deep Hav
en who didn’t know Mona. Her loss would have rocked her friends and family had they known about the baby.

  So why hadn’t she told them? Dan had mulled that over more than once. Although he and Liza knew—and obviously Ellie from her question about names—Mona had made a point of keeping her joy to herself.

  Was it her fear of this very thing? Dan knew about Gabe, Joe’s younger brother, and Gabe’s Down syndrome, but Joe and Mona wouldn’t delay their announcement because of fear, would they?

  He braced his hand on the counter, suddenly sure of his deduction. He endured another wave of grief as he realized that their worst fears had probably materialized.

  Roxie set down the receiver. “Yes, you can go back. The doctor is finished.”

  Dan trudged down the hall, walking the green mile back to Mona’s room. He could hear voices, and as he drew closer, he heard Joe telling Mona that he was proud of her, that she’d done well. Dan didn’t know much about miscarriages, but he suspected it wasn’t a painless event. He slowly pulled their curtain back.

  Mona lay on the bed, a thick cotton blanket up to her chest. She wore a hospital gown, and sweat pasted her blonde hair to her temples. Fatigue hung under her eyes in bags, but she attempted a quivering smile. Dan’s heart lurched when her eyes filled with new tears. The redolence of death saturated the room.

  Joe’s jerky smile portrayed his attempt at composure, but his red, puffy eyes betrayed a man on the bitter edge of anguish.

  No words came to Dan. How could they? Please, oh, Lord, help me minister to them.

  Dan took Mona’s hand. His throat felt so thick he could barely push out words. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

  Then, not knowing what else to do, he dropped to his knees beside her bed, rested his forehead against her hand, and wept.