Muldoon shook his head and dug into his bowl. Blowing across the spoon, he grinned. “I am now.” He chewed, swallowed, and took a big bite of corn muffin while his eyes teared up and his face turned red.
Pat and Mike laughed as Pat asked, “Hot enough?”
Big Jim wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve, scooped up another mouthful, and agreed, “Uh-huh.”
Static from the two-way radio on the table had everyone bracing. Muldoon grabbed the one he’d brought with him and answered. Before he finished speaking, the men were making a beeline for the stairs while the overhead alarm sounded. Pat double-checked that everything was turned off in the kitchen before following along behind.
He was the last one to the lockers, but it took only seconds to step into his boots and pull up his fireproof pants. He grabbed his hat off the top shelf and put it on his head as he ripped his turnout coat off the hook and ran toward the ladder truck that had the lights flashing, engine revving, and the men motioning for him to hurry.
Mike had grabbed Pat’s oxygen mask and tanks, knowing that Pat, as the designated cook, needed to secure the kitchen and wouldn’t have the time.
Pat nodded to Mike and asked, “What’s up?”
Mike looked grim. “Fire in the apartments over on Third Avenue.”
“Second one this week.” Pat shook his head. “Arson?”
His friend shrugged. “I’m sure they’ll investigate.”
Pat stared out the window, wishing his mind would blur like the scenery. It would be easier to keep thoughts of the Projects and the last fire he’d fought in New York City—or the recurring nightmare he dreaded—from resurfacing. “It might be a coincidence.” Was there really such a thing?
Ladder Three and Engine Three arrived on the scene together. There was one window on the top floor that had flames shooting out of it, while the others were belching black smoke. “The roof isn’t engaged.”
“Listen up,” Big Jim shouted. “We’ve got time to do a sweep, looking for a grandmother and two little kids. Garahan, you’re the can man. Snelling, you back him up. I’ve got the irons. Feeney, you’re with me.”
Pat reacted as he’d been trained. Carrying the can of water—and the six-foot hook he used to bring ceilings down—up eight floors with one hundred and fifteen pounds of equipment on his back was a piece of cake compared to what he’d done in New York. Being stationed at the firehouse that received calls from the Projects—the North Bronx—had been hard work—double the calls received in any other five boroughs. A bark from his lieutenant was all he needed to focus. Searching for victims and putting the fire out was a priority and all that mattered right now.
They followed Lieutenant Muldoon up the flight of stairs. Patrick was totally in the zone, racing up the stairs, the others right behind him. Visibility was nonexistent the closer they got to the top floor. Smoke inhalation was a silent killer.
Pat set the can and ceiling hook down and Muldoon handed him the Halligan Hooks (a.k.a. irons) hanging on to the crowbar and ax, so he was ready to take the door by force if necessary. Side by side, Pat waited for Muldoon to touch the door, checking for heat. “Minimal,” he shouted.
Pat nodded. Muldoon waited while Pat did what he was famous for, taking the door. He inserted the hooks and swung the ax, hammer side down, against them. The door splintered apart with one blow. He and Snelling would take the left; Big Jim Muldoon and Feeney would take the right.
Feeling their way along the wall, they searched for door openings and windows, mentally counting them along the way, estimating the number of feet in between. The first door he came to, he reached back and alerted Mike. They dropped to their hands and knees, hoping to find the two little kids and their grandmother.
Time was running out. They needed to find the victims before the smoke inhalation was irreversible. Finally he found the opening—a doorway—he’d been looking for and hit the floor so he would have a better chance of locating the little ones—children were often hiding in closets and under beds when fire struck.
Ignoring the weight of his gear and the heat of the fire licking through the building, he searched with his hands, praying that he or one of his team reached them before the black smoke claimed a life.
Now that they were inside the apartment, the minutes passed like hours, every tick of the clock in his head counting down the possibility of surviving the smoke inhalation. Pat was sweating bullets, half due to the heat and half due to the adrenaline rush as their search of the first room came up empty. Undaunted, they repeated the process in the next room—another bedroom.
His breathing unit chimed, indicating he was now on borrowed time, as his gloved hand connected with a tiny sneaker. Seconds later, he was pulling a child into his arms and retracing his steps.
Conserving his air, he kept it short and sweet. “Got one,” he called out as the little one in his arms coughed. Seconds later, Mike echoed the call. With their precious burdens in their arms, they made their way back to the stairway—their escape route. Help was waiting. The EMTs were on the scene, ready to take the children and administer first aid.
Thanks. His silent, one-word prayer was acknowledged as the little girls started to cry. “Takes a lot of lung power to cry like that,” Mike said, following Pat back inside.
“Amen,” Pat said aloud.
“We’ve got the grandmother,” Muldoon’s voice sounded in Pat’s ear. “She’s unconscious. Feeney’s bringing her down. Let’s finish the sweep of this floor and get this fire put out.”
Hours later, the men were back at the firehouse, shuffling into the kitchen. Pat reheated the chili and the men were able to finish the meal this time. When he pulled out the ice cream and served the apple crisp, the men erupted into cheers.
“You guys could be bought with a gallon of ice cream,” he grumbled.
“I’m not a cheap date,” Snelling quipped. “I’m holding out for heavy cream.”
Pat chuckled and nodded toward the fridge. “I put a quart in the fridge this morning.”
Snelling tilted his head to one side and stared at Pat. “So you want to move in with me?”
The good-natured ribbing that followed was just one way that the men released some of the adrenaline they’d stored up fighting the fire. Pat grinned and shook his head. “Despite what you’ve heard, I’m not that easy.”
Muldoon reached for the bottle of Red Hots and poured the cinnamon candy over the top of his ice cream-covered dessert.
“I’d hate to be your stomach,” Pat said.
“Never get sick though,” Muldoon told him. “Hard for germs to live in all that heat.”
He and Snelling were on autopilot cleaning up. Three hours later, the alarm sounded again and Pat knew this shift was going to stretch right into the next one. “Get a move on, Snelling.”
“Right behind ya, buddy boy.”
Chapter 3
Energized, Grace was on the road and headed toward home. The Pistol Annies came on the radio and she cranked it up to sing along.
With the window rolled down and her favorite music testing the limits of her speakers, she was smiling as the breeze ruffled her newly cropped hair. She felt lighter in spirit. Was it because she had the whole weekend to play with her nieces and nephews? The prospect of catching up with her best friend? Maybe it was because she’d been working nine-hour days and needed a break. Or maybe it was just because she was headed home.
Even though she loved her apartment, home would always be the Mulcahy farm on Peat Moss Road. She saw the sign for Route 40 and took the exit. She was making good time, singing along with Taylor Swift, nearly on autopilot the closer she got to Newark, Ohio, because from there, it would only be forty-five minutes more to Apple Grove.
She turned off Route 13 onto Eden Church Road and crossed the railroad tracks watching for Goose Pond—there! On her left. She passed by Goose Pond Road, the first street that could take her to her family’s home, and slowed down so she could see the ship’s mast standin
g tall in the middle of the McCormack’s field.
God, she really missed spending time with Kate. The excitement of seeing Kate and Honey B. began to build as she turned left onto Dog Hollow Road and slowed down approaching Main Street. She signaled to turn right. The street was quiet, but it was normal at eight o’clock at night in Apple Grove. She pulled up in front of Honey B.’s as door to the shop flung open and Kate and Honey B. stepped outside.
“It’s about time you got here,” Kate said.
Grace got out and slammed the door shut, hurrying over to hug her friend. “Oh, I’ve missed you.”
“Let me look at you,” Kate insisted, easing out of their hug to study her friend’s haircut.
“Not bad for an amateur.” It was Honey B.’s turn to hug her. “I can fix you up in about an hour.”
Grace eased out of the hug. “An hour? I didn’t think it was that uneven.”
Honey B. smiled, taking Grace by the hand. “It’s not, but we have some catching up to do. Come on.” She opened the door to her shop and tugged Grace inside.
“Surprise!”
Grace stopped short. “Meg? Cait? What are you doing here?” Before they could answer, Grace was surrounded and being hugged.
“What a wonderful idea, Gracie.” Miss Trudi Philo patted Grace’s hand. “You Mulcahy girls have always been generous to a fault.”
“I’ve baked you a cherry pie to take home with you,” Mrs. Winter said. “Such a clever girl.”
Grace looked from two of Apple Grove’s movers and shakers for the last sixty years and wondered what the heck they were talking about. She stared at her sisters, who shrugged. Finally the shock of the moment started to wear off and she was able to focus on the smiling faces standing in a circle around her.
“Somebody better start talking,” she said, looking right at Kate.
But it was her sister Meg who answered. “Apple Grove’s first annual Love Locks cut-a-thon.”
Grace felt her jaw go slack as her sister’s words sank in.
“Right after you talked to Kate,” Meg said, “Kate called Honey B. and me—”
“A conference call,” Honey B. interrupted. “So much easier than talking to one person, hanging up, and repeating the same conversation all over again with someone else.”
“But I didn’t—” Grace began, only to be interrupted by her other sister, Cait.
“Meg and I have been braiding our hair forever to keep it out of the way. What’s the point of having long hair if you always keep it tied up?” Cait wanted to know.
“And then sometimes, a woman just needs a change,” Honey B. added, fluffing the ends of her hair.
That’s when Grace noticed a number of the faces crowding around her were girls ranging in age from ten to twenty years old. They all had their hair pulled back in a ponytail, ready for the cut-a-thon. Humbled by their generosity, she felt her eyes well up with tears.
“You ladies are amazing. I know Stacy at Love Locks will be delighted to accept your donation.”
“Good,” Kate said, “because it is all going under your name.”
“My name?” Grace had no idea what was going on in her friend’s mind. “Why?”
“Because you had the foresight to see the need and fill it. You told me,” Kate began.
“And Kate told two friends,” Honey B. added.
“Who told two friends,” Meg continued.
“And word spread,” Cait said.
“And here we are,” little Christina Doyle finished. Her smile was catching.
Grace bent down and tugged on Christina’s ponytail. “Then let’s get this show started!”
“Wait!” Kate called out as excited voices filled Honey’s Hair Salon. “Rhonda’s not here yet.”
“Is she getting her hair cut too?” Grace asked.
Kate shook her head. “She’s taking pics and doing the write-up and putting it on Apple Grove’s website. We’re hoping to encourage other towns in Licking County to join the fun and help out a very worthy cause.”
Grace was humbled by the overwhelming support of the ladies in her hometown. Kate hugged her tight and told her to smile. The clicking sound of someone taking a picture had her looking up in time to see Rhonda Beaudine from the Apple Grove Gazette grinning at them.
“This is going to get the ball rolling and people for miles around wanting to join in the fun.”
“Did you know that Honey B. is donating her time tonight?” Meg asked.
Grace grinned. “You totally rock, Honey B.”
Laughter filled Honey B.’s shop. Time flew by as the ladies chatted while Honey B. snipped off ponytails in every color imaginable: flame-bright red, strawberry blonde, auburn, brunette, light brown, and dark brown.
While Honey B. finished styling the new haircuts, Rhonda snapped pics and kept tapping away on her tablet. “I’m going to do a few pieces,” Rhonda told Grace, “and send them off to Stacy. She can decide which ones to use on her website and which she wants for future press releases.”
“Thank you,” Grace said.
“I already have short hair,” Rhonda explained. “This is my contribution.”
A half hour later, the group was ready for their photo. “Honey B.,” Rhonda called out, “you stand in the middle. Everyone hold up your ponytails and smile!”
When the ladies started cleaning up, Rhonda turned to Grace. “Please make sure you get everyone’s name. I don’t want to take a chance that I’ll be working on this at midnight and forget to mention anyone.”
“Anyone have a piece of paper?”
Rhonda shook her head at Grace. “Join the new millennium and invest in the latest technology. You’ll never need another pencil.”
“But I don’t want to lose any more skills,” Grace explained. “I already let the computer balance my checkbook and send my checks electronically.”
Rhonda shrugged. “Makes life easier if you ask me.”
“I’m of a mind to agree with Grace,” Mrs. Winter chimed in. “I had to learn how to keep a checkbook when my husband passed. It’s not a skill I intend to give up.”
“I’ve been arguing with my grandnephew about updating my accounting and inventory.” Miss Trudi frowned over at Meg. “Why he thinks I need to do all of that folderol when I get by just fine with the system my grandmother used is beyond me.”
Grace struggled not to smile; it wasn’t wise to get on the wrong side of Miss Trudi when the octogenarian was on a roll about something. “It works well for some people.”
Ms. Trudi merely harrumphed and shook her head. Well, Grace thought. That’s that.
By the time she’d finished the list, her sisters had already helped Honey B. set the shop to rights.
“Do you and Peggy need help over at the diner?” she asked Kate.
“Peggy and I closed up.”
“All set up for the morning shift,” Peggy added.
Everyone said their good-byes, leaving Kate and Grace to walk over to Grace’s car. “How do you do it, Kate? Getting up that early every day—it’d drive me crazy.”
Kate’s smile seemed sad. “Grandma took over the diner from her mother-in-law years ago. Then it was Mom’s turn. It burns you out if you let it. Deep down we love the cooking and the baking, so it’s hard to let it go.”
“Have you ever thought of doing something else with your life?” Grace asked. “Like moving away from Apple Grove?”
Kate laughed. “Admit it, you miss spending time with the old biddies and gossips you grew up with.”
Before Grace could open her mouth to deny it, Kate continued. “You miss your grumpy Gus of a father. Where else can you get pot roast like here at the diner? And how the heck can you sleep in a place that’s never quiet?”
Grace was tired and didn’t want talk about her reasons for leaving—again—with Kate right now. “We agreed to disagree when I moved to Columbus. Remember?”
Kate waved her hand in the air, dismissing Grace’s words, but Grace decided to let that s
lide, saying, “Night, Kate.”
Driving past Goose Pond, Grace drew in a deep breath of summer air. She could detect the scent of water, fresh-mown grass, and the heady scent of the lilacs that grew by the south end of the pond.
She smiled, remembering the midnight escapades she and Kate had shared—climbing out of their bedroom windows and meeting at the pond. They never got caught, but she had a feeling Kate’s parents and Grace’s dad knew what they’d been up to. They’d left buckets of tadpoles behind the barn at Kate’s farm and over at Grace’s house, they’d left a bullfrog that had escaped from where they’d stashed him in the old horse trough by the corral.
Memories of childhood always had her wishing she’d had more time with her mom, but there were plenty of memories with her sisters and their father to fill in the hole left behind after the drunk driver had taken Maureen Mulcahy from them.
Shoving that thought aside, Grace focused on the here and the now as she turned left onto Cherry Valley. She didn’t need to see the stand of weeping hemlocks to know that Peat Moss Road was on her right; their distinctive scent blew in through her open window. By night, that stand of trees resembled immense monsters, hunched over just waiting to pounce on her and Kate when they were kids. Now they were simply sentinels guarding the street that led to her family’s home.
Grace pulled into the driveway and parked before realizing she wasn’t alone. Her car door was yanked open and she was pulled into a fierce hug.
“Why did you stay away so long?”
Her words were muffled against her father’s chest. He pulled back from her and asked, “What?”
She laughed and reached up to kiss his cheek. “Gotta pay the rent—and it was only two months.”
“How’s life in the big city?”
“Noisy at night.”
“Hah!” His booming voice always reassured her as a child, and it did so now. “You need the harmony of peepers and a hoot owl to serenade you to sleep.”
“I really missed you, Pop.”
He bent to kiss the top of her head before easing her out of his arms so he could point to the trunk. “I’ll carry your bags.”
Welcome Back to Apple Grove Page 3
