A Firefighter's Ultimate Duty

by Beverly Long

  Afterward, after many of the firefighters had left, she and Blade sat at the break room table. The firefighters had attacked it after the training, and now there were just a few items left in a few boxes. “That was so interesting,” she said, taking the second to last pastry out of the box. “I got some great photos. I don’t think people understand how much time firefighters and EMS spend training.”

  “Probably not,” he agreed, not sounding concerned. His damp-with-sweat hair was flat to his head, but he still looked very handsome. He was finishing a slice of homemade bread from a big loaf that someone had contributed. “They just expect that we’ll show up knowing what we need to do. It’s not that different from me going to the bank to borrow money and expecting the loan officer to be competent.”

  “There’s a difference between getting some paperwork right and saving lives,” she said.

  “Sure. Of course.” He took his last bite. “So today is the play tryouts.”

  “I know. Sophie was so nervous this morning that she was actually voluntarily talking to me.”

  “I don’t think Raven slept much last night. I heard her moving around in her room and she was rocking some dark circles under her eyes this morning, and I’m pretty sure it wasn’t makeup.”

  “Do you know when they find out?” Daisy asked.

  “It gets posted online tonight at seven.”

  “Oh, this could be a very good night or a very bad one,” she said.

  “We could always bribe the judges,” he said.

  Her head jerked up. “What?”

  “I’m kidding, I’m kidding.”

  She put down her plastic fork. “I get parents going crazy to help their kids. Because you do desperately want your children to have a good life, to do well, to have a future. I’d like to think that I wouldn’t lie or cheat or take advantage in some way. But I won’t deny that in the right circumstances it’s possible to see myself making a bad choice.”

  “I doubt that. Common sense would prevail,” he said.

  “And the rock-solid conviction that my luck is such that I’d get caught,” she said with a roll of her eyes.

  He laughed. “That and you know that the best lessons in life are the times you failed.”

  “This is a poor segue, but I met your ex-wife this morning,” she said.

  “I wondered about that when I saw the pastry box.”

  “She seems very nice.”

  “She’s pretty nice.”

  She waited, but he didn’t seem inclined to say more. She wasn’t going to push. If he wanted to talk about it, he would.

  They each chewed for a few minutes.

  “So I suppose you’re wondering why we’re divorced?” he said.

  “It’s none of my business.”

  “It’s not a big secret. If you’d lived in Knoware longer, you’d probably already know. It didn’t make the local newspaper but pretty darn close.”

  “What happened?”

  “She had an affair and left me for the other guy.”

  “Wow. I... I’m not sure what to say.”

  “Yeah. That seemed to be most people’s reaction at the time. But while I wasn’t happy about it, I also wasn’t that surprised. I knew she wasn’t happy. She didn’t like my job. So many odd hours and interrupted dinners. But I wasn’t about to give it up. Oddly enough, now that we’re not married, she’s much more tolerant of what’s required and works really hard to accommodate my schedule so that I get to see Raven. She married the guy she had the affair with. And I get along okay with him. He’s good with Raven. That’s all that really matters to me. I was surprised when she went back to work at the bakery. She probably doesn’t need to, you know. But I guess it really does run in her blood.”

  “As you say, odd how things work out,” she said.

  “What about Sophie’s dad?”

  She had expected the question. “He’s dead.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were a widow. I assumed divorced.”

  She had intended for that to be it. A simple answer and certainly no need for an explanation of Jacob. But that felt kind of slimy, as if she was benefiting from a false assumption on his behalf. “I got pregnant with Sophie when I was still in high school. My mother, a single parent, died before Sophie was born. Luckily, so very luckily, my grandmother stepped in and long story short, I managed to have a child, finish high school, and subsequently college because she was in my corner the whole way. Sophie’s dad and I never married. A few years after her birth, he was killed in Afghanistan.” She stopped, took a breath. “But I was engaged relatively recently. It...uh...didn’t work out.”

  “Your choice or his?” he asked.

  “Definitely mine,” she said. “I don’t like to talk about it much.”

  He nodded. “Does this failed engagement have anything to do with your response to the gift basket?”

  She wanted to tell him the truth, the whole ugly truth. But as nice as he’d been, she’d known him just a few days. Didn’t know that she could really trust him. Didn’t know whether he’d keep it in confidence. What if he shared it? What if Hosea Pratt heard the story? She’d had to leave one job because of Jacob; she didn’t want to have to leave another.

  She shook her head. “Oh, no. He’s moved on, I’m sure.” She looked at her watch. “I really should be getting back. I’m going to work another couple hours and then go home and pretend that I’m not on pins and needles until they make the play announcement at seven.”

  “You mentioned something before about a silent auction. I’m off the next two days. I could work on that.”

  “You’ll have worked a twenty-four-hour shift, so I assume that you’ll be sleeping tomorrow morning at least.”

  “Yeah. I’ll leave work around nine. If I can have until noon or so, that should do me.”

  “I would need to sleep until five in the afternoon.”

  “Nah,” he said, dismissing her concerns. “You get used to it. And I may even catch a few hours during the night if there aren’t any calls.”

  “How often does that happen?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “Not that often, truthfully. But maybe we could meet for lunch.”

  Lunch. That sounded awfully much like a...date. “I...uh...”

  “You know, to strategize the approach,” he said. “You could coach me on looking pathetic so that when I go into businesses and ask for a donation, everybody will pony up.”

  Handsome and virile-looking Blade Savick wasn’t going to be able to pull off pathetic. And he clearly wasn’t seeing this as anything but a means to a successful Spring Spectacular. “We’ll work on needy,” she said. “If we do a good job of showing the immense need, then I don’t think donations will be a problem.”

  “Pathetically needy. I’ll work on it,” he said. “Practice in the mirror.”

  “Maybe ask your daughter for some acting tips,” she suggested.

  “It’ll cost me,” he said. “In some way, at some time. Second gospel truth of parenting.”

  “What’s the first?”

  “Nobody sets out to do a bad job. But it’s harder than it looks.”

  She held out her hand. “High five to that.”

  He lightly tapped her hand with his, but it was enough that his heat transferred to her and warmth infused her chilled body. And just that quick, the thought that she wouldn’t need her electric blanket with him in her bed crossed her mind.

  “I should be going,” she said, standing up.

  “You don’t like the pastry?” he asked, eyeing her half-finished Danish.

  “No. Loved it. Just full.” She was the pathetically needy one.

  Chapter 12

  At six fifty that evening, Daisy was taping woodwork in Sophie’s bathroom. Sophie was on her bed, her headphones on. Both of them were doing a pr
etty good job of pretending that they didn’t have a care in the world.

  But she knew her daughter. And Sophie was tense as a cat who’d done the math and eight of his nine lives had been accounted for. Or that was what her grandmother would have said if she’d been there to witness the silent, restless tapping of Sophie’s fingernails on her duvet cover.

  Nana Jo had a bunch of those types of saying. If she thought someone was shady, he was lower than a snake’s belly. That was what she’d said about Jacob Posse. Not the first time Daisy had brought him to her home but certainly the first time Jacob had brought trouble to their lives.

  She wondered what Nana Jo would say about Blade Savick. She’d appreciate his sense of humor, his humility. Would like that he was actively involved in raising his daughter even if the marriage hadn’t worked out.

  Would she think that Daisy had been a fool for not confiding in him, for not telling him about Jacob and the crazy way he’d acted? Or would she think Daisy had been wise to not mix her current life with her past?

  Sophie sat up on her bed. “It’s 7:01.”

  “Then you best take a look,” Daisy said, holding her breath.

  Ninety seconds later, Sophie was dancing around her room. Leaping on and off her bed.

  “Calm down, you’re going to break a leg,” Daisy said. “Get it. Break a leg. Theater talk.”

  “The lead. The freakin’ lead,” Sophie said, ignoring her mother’s attempt at humor.

  “Language. And yes, the darn lead,” Daisy said, all smiles. “You’re supertalented, Sophie. I knew that you’d do well.”

  “And Raven, too,” Sophie said. “I’m glad. I wanted both of us to make it. Me more, of course.”

  “Of course. I’m glad she made it, too. She seems nice.”

  “Oh, Mom, do you really think it’s going to be okay. Here? In this place?” Her daughter was no longer laughing, but very serious.

  “I think it can be, Sophie. I think it can be very okay, maybe even really good. We just have to give it a chance.”

  * * *

  Daisy was getting ready for bed later that night when she got a text from Blade. Good news for our girls, it said.

  Perhaps you heard my big sigh of relief across town, she wrote back.

  He sent back a smiley face and added, See you at noon tomorrow at Gertie’s. She’ll be our first ask.

  That made sense, she thought. Gertie Biscuit was the caterer for the event. She recalled that when Blade had looked at the scant details that had been provided to Hosea’s assistant, his comment had been that the food, at least, would be good. She was anxious to get the menu decided.

  She heard Sophie giggle. She’d been on the phone with Raven Savick for over an hour. Daisy knew that she should probably walk upstairs and tell her to shut it down for the night. But she didn’t have the heart. There weren’t that many nights like tonight—where big dreams came suddenly true. She’d didn’t want to do anything to squash Sophie’s joy. If the girl was tired tomorrow, well, she could catch up with her sleep on Saturday.

  She sent a text to Jane, telling her Sophie’s good news. Then she turned off her light and thought about meeting Blade for lunch the next day. She realized that she and Sophie had something in common—both had something to look forward to. Five days ago, when she’d been chasing Sophie across the state, she hadn’t been sure that she’d feel this way again for a long time.

  * * *

  Blade got to Gertie’s early. It allowed him to snag a booth and a cup of coffee from Cheryl.

  “Waiting for Marcus and Jamie?” Cheryl asked.

  He shook his head. “No. Um... Daisy Rambler.”

  Cheryl gave him a look. “Who is Daisy Rambler?”

  “She’s new to town. Works at Pratt Sports Spot, and she’s my cochair for the Spring Spectacular.”

  “Is she nice? Or will we have to band together and run her out of town?” Cheryl asked.

  “This from the woman who used to carry bugs outside to set them free versus stepping on them in high school.”

  “Bugs are one thing. New people, well, that’s different.”

  “I don’t think you’re going to need to worry about Daisy. She’s...um...she’s—”

  Daisy walked through the door of Gertie’s looking fabulous in her pretty blue coat and knee-high black boots. Cheryl turned and looked. When she turned back to look at Blade, she was smiling.

  “As I live and breathe,” she said, almost under her breath.

  “What?” he asked, not taking his eyes off Daisy who was crossing the small café. He stood up.

  “As I live and breathe, I think I’m seeing a woman who can make Blade Savick speechless.”

  There was no time to answer, to deny, because Daisy was at the table. “Hi,” she said, looking at Blade.

  “Hi,” he said, thinking maybe he wasn’t speechless, but he did feel a little breathless.

  “I’ll give you two a minute with the menu,” Cheryl said, backing away from the table. “Not that you don’t know it by heart, Blade,” she added. Then smiled at Daisy. “I’m Cheryl, by the way. Can I get you something to drink?”

  “Coffee, please,” Daisy said.

  “Cream or sugar?” Cheryl asked.

  “Just black.”

  “I knew that,” Cheryl said with a quick look in Blade’s direction.

  “That was odd,” Daisy said, once they were alone.

  “Yeah, that Cheryl. She’s an odd one,” Blade said.

  Daisy sat down. “Cute place. And pretty busy given that it’s not the busy season.” She did air quotes around the last two words. “I really can hardly wait to see the difference in this place once the tourists arrive.”

  “Locals try to stay away,” he said. “And even though the crowds might give me hives, there is something about the biscuits and gravy here that make it worth the risk.”

  “Breakfast served all day,” she mused. “So what I think I’m hearing is that I might want to go with that over my typical tuna or turkey sandwich.”

  “Not telling you what to do,” he said easily. “But you’re going to be jealous when you see my plate.”

  “Fine. Convinced.” She put her menu to the side.

  Cheryl returned with her coffee. Daisy ordered a small biscuits and gravy with a scrambled egg on the side. Blade ordered a large with two eggs over easy.

  Cheryl walked away. Daisy picked up her coffee. “Please don’t take this question the wrong way. I like breakfast as much as the next person and I’m looking forward to the biscuits and gravy, but... I wasn’t thinking a breakfast buffet for the Spring Spectacular.”

  “Don’t be fooled. Before Gertie opened Gertie’s Café here some twenty years ago, she was a chef in a big hotel in San Francisco. Her husband, who sadly has passed away, designed and hand built boats. My friends Marcus and Jamie and I all worked for him for several summers when we were in high school. Sometimes she would cook dinner for us. It was amazing. And she’s done a lot of these events in Knoware. Always really good, regardless of whether she’s cooking dinner for five or five hundred.”

  “You sound very fond of her.”

  “I am. Her husband always called her Gertrude Grace and said that he was the luckiest son of a gun ever to have married her and somehow managed to keep her. She’s cooked for lots of famous people, but she never brags about it. She won’t disappoint.”

  That was a big relief. Food wasn’t the most important part of a successful event, but it was a pretty darn important part. “Have you given any thought to the menu for the Spring Spectacular?”

  “Uh...no.”

  Maybe she was just going to have to take this piece and run with it.

  “I imagine Gertie has a few ideas. We’ll snag her once the lunch rush is over. But right now, we eat,” he said, motioning at Cheryl who was carrying a tray their
direction.

  She set the plates down and refilled their coffee. “I’ll check back,” she said.

  “It smells delicious,” Daisy said.

  “Yeah.” Blade pointed to her eggs. “So you eat your eggs scrambled?”

  “Mostly.”

  “Me, I’ve always been the over-easy or over-medium type. If I’m making a sandwich, I cook them over hard,” Blade said.

  “You know how to cook an egg sandwich?” she asked, as if she could hardly believe it.

  “Funny,” he said. “But I can’t abide an egg straight up. Don’t like them looking at me.”

  She dropped her fork onto the table. Jacob had eaten his eggs that way. And had described them in exactly that manner when he’d ordered.

  “Something wrong?” Blade asked, his look intense.

  She looked down, as if her fork was the most interesting thing she’d seen in a long time. “No. Why would it be?”

  He didn’t answer, and she reluctantly forced her gaze to meet his. He shrugged. “Just asking.”

  They both started eating and didn’t talk again until they were finished. Blade pushed his dish to the side. “I think I’ll see if I can get Gertie’s attention.”

  He slid out of the booth, all long legs and easy swagger. She watched him walk to the counter. He was nothing, absolutely nothing, like Jacob. It was just a weird coincidence that he’d described sunny-side-up eggs in the same manner.

  Four minutes later, he came back, laughing and smiling at something the woman at his side had said. She was probably in her early seventies, but she moved easily. Her hair was gray, her eyes were blue and military dog tags hung from a chain around her neck.

  “This is Daisy Rambler,” Blade said when he got close. “Daisy, this is Gertie Biscuit.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Daisy said, scooting over in the booth to make room for Gertie on her side. She pulled a business card from her purse and slid it across the table. “Breakfast was delicious.”