The Firefighter's Thanksgiving Wish

by Anna J. Stewart

  “Why not?” She pushed the question free despite wanting to stay silent. “Roman, this is what you’ve wanted. It’s what you’ve worked for. It’s right there for the taking. Of course you’re going to take it.”

  He frowned, finally looking at her, but not with the expression she expected. “There’s no of course, Frankie. What about this? What about us?”

  She shrugged. “What about us? We’ve had one dinner, Roman. And okay, yeah, there’s definite chemistry between us, but we haven’t taken any vows. You need to do this.” That was all there was to it. He needed to take the job. He needed to leave. Even though everything inside her wanted to scream at him to stay.

  “Frankie, we need to talk about this. Without the sarcasm, if you don’t mind. We need to be honest with each other.”

  “I am being honest.” She swallowed hard. Or as hard as her tightened throat would allow. “You’ve been given a chance at your dream. I’m not going to stand in your way.”

  “What if I want you to stand in my way? What if I want you to tell me not to take it?” He turned and held her hands. “Tell me not to go, Frankie.”

  She couldn’t stop the tears from forming in her eyes. But she could stop them from falling.

  “I won’t do that, Roman. I can’t. No more than you’d tell me to come with you. Because you know I can’t. This is my home. And I will not be the reason you turned your back on what you’ve worked for or the promise you made to your father. It might not happen right away, but at some point you’d resent me for it, maybe despise me for it. And I’d hate myself for making you choose. You have to be the one to choose. It’s your life. Hey.” She brushed a finger across his cheek at the shock in his eyes. “It’s okay. We caught it in time. It’s not like either one of us is in love, right? We can walk away without being hurt.”

  Oh, but she did hurt. A hurt so deep she could feel it in her bones. But that would be her secret. For as long as she needed to keep it.

  “You know what?” She pulled away and stood up. “I’m going to head home. Better yet? I’m going to take a long walk on the beach. Alone,” she added when he struggled for his crutches. She leaned down and slipped off her sandals, dangling them from her fingers as she backed away. “I’ll see you at the station tomorrow, all right? Thank you for dinner.” Because she couldn’t resist, because she needed to touch him one more time, she leaned in and kissed him. “Goodbye, Roman.”

  She was halfway down the beach before she let the tears fall.

  * * *

  CHRISTMAS EVE BROUGHT with it the familiar selection of seasonal music drifting quietly through the station house. In prepping for this evening’s Feast of the Seven Fishes, his mother had thought of everything, right down to the musical ambience.

  Closing the door to his room and hobbling into the kitchen, Roman recalled how she’d arrived at the station that morning with even more of a spring in her step than usual, and a twinkle in her eye that would have rivaled the North Star.

  Ozzy and Jasper were now helping her with the final touches for the evening by setting up two banquet tables she’d conned out of Jake at the youth center. Near as he could tell, she was expecting more than a dozen people for the first feast she’d hosted in five years.

  “Are you going to wear that to dinner?” Ezzie halted next to him and stared. Their guests were due to arrive at any moment. Guests. At the station house. “Honestly, Roman. It’s Christmas Eve and you aren’t on call. Put on a tie, please.” She gave him “the look.”

  He returned to his room and sorted through his meager selection of clothes that fortunately included a navy suit and tie. The same suit he’d worn for his interview with the feds. He changed and returned to find his mother steaming vegetables. “You look nice,” he told her. “Is that a new dress?”

  “It is. I bought it for a cruise then didn’t wear it.” She spun, and the flare of the skirt had it lifting slightly. The dark green complimented her features, and the circle of embroidered poinsettias along the hem gave it that extra-festive touch. “There’s this darling retro shop back in Boston. It’s like being transported to the 1950s.” She touched the sharp-edged collar at her throat. “Oh, how your father would have loved to have seen you here in this kitchen.”

  “Only if you were here with us.” He missed those days, walking in on his parents while they cooked for the holidays. The way they’d feign embarrassment over being caught kissing over the simmering sauce or dancing to the music drifting through the house. He wanted that. With Frankie. Those spur-of-the-moment bursts of happiness and joy, wrapped up in each other, spinning about the kitchen. He’d been hoping he might have had that with her. Until she made it clear they wouldn’t.

  “Whatever’s been eating at you, either spit it out or chew it up,” Ezzie ordered. “Tonight’s a night for celebrating new life, a new year. The joy of the season. Not Ebenezer Scrooge’s worst qualities.”

  He managed a smile at that. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Oh, and Roman?” Ezzie touched her hair. “Whatever screwed things up between you and Frankie? Please fix it. I’m not losing that girl now that I’ve found her.”

  Roman couldn’t help but laugh. “Yes, ma’am.”

  He hadn’t anticipated that a little over an hour later, he’d find that his mother—with Ozzy’s and Jasper’s help—had transformed the station house into a winter wonderland of lights and color. Frankie had done a job all on her own, but his mother just took it to the next level, including wrapped presents under the tree and a long, cloth-covered table beautifully set for eighteen.

  Frankie was darting around the kitchen, following his mother’s instructions as Roman straightened his tie. He froze when he saw her, laughing and teasing his mother as they worked together, arranging platters of fish and pasta. She didn’t get the lecture about the evening’s dress code since she was on duty, but he entertained himself with thoughts of what she might have worn had circumstances, and work shifts, been different. The entire station house smelled like they’d been dropped into the middle of an Italian village, and there, on the back counter, sat a lasagna ready for tomorrow’s dinner.

  The clattering of canes and a distinctive walker alerted him that the entire Cocoon Club was on the premises. He spotted them in the open bay door, arms loaded with plastic containers of food, including some crooked cupcakes with candy-cane frosting and sugar cubes with thin laces of frosting to replicate ribbon. The entire group—from Penny, wearing what had to be an actual sequined-tree shirt, to Delilah in all her floral finery, Eloise, Elliot, Harold and Marty followed closely by Myra—looked ready to celebrate.

  “Sorry we’re late!” Myra announced. “We had to pick Alice up at the hospital. Look at her new wheels!” She stepped aside as Marty and Harold fought for steering power over Alice’s wheelchair.

  “Alice.” Roman ignored doctor’s orders and set aside his crutches, leaning down to look her in the face. “You gave everyone quite a scare, young lady. How are you feeling?”

  “Much better, thank you.” Alice beamed. “Everyone’s been treating me like a queen. Including your mother. Merry Christmas, Roman.” She covered his hand with hers. “I’m spending tomorrow with Abby and her family, but I wanted to spend tonight with this special one of mine.”

  “We’re thrilled you could come,” Frankie said, avoiding Roman’s eyes as she swept past with a platter of fried calamari. “Come take your seats, everyone. Dinner’s just about ready. Oh, here, let me take those.” She plucked up containers and carried them into the kitchen.

  When his mother emerged and gave him the stink eye, Roman nodded and Ezzie went to entertain their guests.

  He closed the kitchen door behind him. “Frankie, we need to talk.”

  Frankie froze, just for a moment, but didn’t look back at him.

  “No, we really don’t. People leave. And you’re just the next one. I don’t know why I thought i
t would be any different.”

  “Because I am different. We’re different. Frankie. Frankie, stop.” He caught her hand as she passed. “Please. I want to make this decision with you, not in spite of you.”

  “There’s nothing to decide. You’re going to get everything you’ve ever wanted, Roman. I envy you that, but I’m not going to stand in your way.”

  “But I’m not getting everything I want. I want you, Frankie. I love you.”

  She tugged her hand free, eyes sparkling like emeralds. “You do not. You can’t. We don’t know each other well enough—”

  “I knew the second you spilled coffee down your shirt the day we met.” It was true, he realized, and as he accepted it, he felt a calm descend. One that he embraced with his entire being. “What good are my wishes coming true if I can’t share them with you?”

  “Don’t do that. Just...don’t.”

  “Don’t what? Tell you the truth? Frankie, why is this so hard for you? Why can’t you admit you have feelings for me?”

  “Because you aren’t safe!” She slapped a hand over her mouth as if wishing she could take the words back. “Because you walk into the fire.” Her voice broke. “And one day you aren’t going to come out.”

  “Oh, Frankie.” There it was. The fear of losing him, so visible in her eyes he hurt for her. “Frankie, none of us are guaranteed another day. Look what happened with my father. He was a firefighter for years, but that isn’t what killed him. You can’t predict anyone’s future. Not mine. Not your own. I love you, Frankie Bettencourt. And I’m confident enough to say you love me, too.”

  “Do not.” She lifted her chin.

  He grinned. “Yeah, you do.”

  “Doesn’t change anything. You have to take that job, Roman.”

  “Why? Because it makes things easier for you? Because it’s simpler for you to give up rather than fight? I hate to tell you this, Frankie, but if it comes to choosing between that job and you...”

  The station alarm blared.

  “Fire reported, 1434 Monarch Lane. Two-story structure. Please respond.”

  Frankie swore, ripped open the kitchen door and dived for the desk...that wasn’t there. “Where’s the radio?”

  “Here!” Ozzy yelled, already responding. “BH engine one responding. ETA two minutes. Requesting backup from engine companies—” He rattled off the other towns. “Frankie?”

  “Paging the team now.” She sent out the mass text. “I’m sorry, Ezzie.” She hurried past them. “Have dinner without us. What are you doing?” she demanded of Roman as he whipped off his jacket and undid his tie.

  “Coming with you,” Roman said.

  “Absolutely not. You’ll be in the way.” She shoved past him and into her gear in record time. She, Ozzy and Jasper were sprinting to the engine.

  Roman stood in the bay, watching them load into the engine. He barked out last-minute instructions as they pulled out onto the street. They hit the siren and were gone.

  Leaving Roman standing there. Alone.

  * * *

  “WHAT HAPPENED?” FRANKIE demanded of Luke once she got the engine parked in front of the onetime pub and mayor’s office. The sheriff, along with his deputies, Matt and Fletcher, held the growing crowd back, shop owners and residents drawn to the spot by the sound of the sirens.

  “Not sure. Esther Rosenblat called it in. She saw flames in the window about fifteen minutes ago. Frankie,” Luke said, his gaze shifting to where Ozzy and Jasper were yanking the hose free. “It’s bad. The gas lines, the age of the structure—this place is a tinder box.”

  “I know.” She’d been at the town meetings where a committee had been pleading to either tear the building down or refurbish it. Both requests had been dismissed as too costly. Which was part of the reason Gil had chosen it as his temporary office—to prove them wrong.

  “We’ve got engines coming in to help.” She looked over as Kendall screeched the department SUV to a halt behind the engine, Sebastian, Kurt and Calliope’s husband, Xander Costas, spilling out, each of them suited up.

  “Hook up the hoses!” she ordered, pointing to hoses on the truck then the hydrant. “Luke, keep doing what you’re doing, but we need to keep these people back. As far as you can get them. If a gas line’s involved...”

  “Way ahead of you. Matt found the gas line and turned it off. But there’s no telling how much is in the building already.”

  “Great. Good. I need Fletcher,” she yelled over her shoulder as she raced back to her team.

  “Understood. Fletcher! Suit up! Kyle!” Luke yelled to the teen standing in the crowd. “Hop to, you’re with us. We want everyone back at least two blocks. Go!”

  “On it.” Kyle sprang forward and ducked under the tape Luke had stretched to keep the people away and began pushing the growing crowd farther from the fire.

  Another SUV pulled up behind Dwayne. Anger zipped through Frankie, knowing instantly who it was. “What are you doing here, Roman? I don’t have time—”

  “No, you don’t. I’m not useless, Frankie. I can coordinate from out here. Give me a helmet and radio. And get me someone who knows this building. Xander! I could use your help.”

  Frankie looked at the building and the flames licking behind the windows. “This is bad.”

  “I know.” His nod was short, but she saw the concern in his eyes. Concern that proved why firefighters shouldn’t get involved with one another. Any objectivity had disappeared.

  “Frankie!” A woman across the street called and waved to her. “Frankie!”

  “Hoses are up and running,” Kendall called, taking the lead with Sebastian while Fletcher, now wearing protective gear, along with Kurt, circled around the other side of the building. Flames crackled into the night. Smoke drifted up and over the town, blocking out the moon and stars.

  Frankie eyed who had called to her and rushed to the woman. It was Katie Enderlin, the mayor’s assistant. “Katie, what is it?”

  “I think Gil’s in there. He was getting the last of the files. Wanted everything out before tomorrow. I left around six, and he was on his way over. I’ve tried to get him on his cell, but he isn’t answering.”

  “Okay, thanks.” Frankie cursed. The last thing she expected was for someone to be inside. She grabbed her facemask, shoved on her helmet. “Roman? We might have someone inside.”

  “Who?” Xander asked.

  “Gil Hamilton.”

  “The fire’s spreading fast,” Kendall said into her intercom. “It’s running hot, too.”

  Time slowed. Frankie looked up at Roman and, through the plastic between them, saw he understood. “I have to go in.”

  He nodded, his jaw tense. “Kendall, wet down that door. Xander? Ozzy? Frankie’s going in. I want you two on RIC. You wait here and go in if she needs you.”

  Xander glanced at Ozzy, and they nodded in understanding.

  “Frankie?” Roman grabbed her arm. “Stay safe.”

  She grinned behind the mask. “Always.”

  Frankie hurried to the front door and stood in front of the hose for a good few seconds before she busted the door open and stepped inside.

  Heat blasted up and around her, gobbling up every bit of oxygen she had. Staying low, Frankie walked through the first story, kicking in doors to check for Gil.

  Debris and ash rained down as the roof caught. Chunks of wood and ceiling hit the floor. Convinced the main level was clear, Frankie ran for the stairs, noting the stream of water hitting the back of the structure from where Ozzy and Sebastian were.

  She knew, as her foot hit the second-story landing, that the building would be a complete loss. They’d keep the fire contained, and thankfully there was enough space around the structure that the flames shouldn’t spread. That there was no wind on this Christmas Eve seemed a particular blessing. Controlling her breathing, staying low,
Frankie checked each room she passed, feeling the seconds tick away the closer she got to Gil’s office.

  As she reached his doorway, thick plumes of smoke erupted. She couldn’t see anything. Her eyes watered, but she focused on taking slow, even breaths despite the hammering of her heart.

  “Gil!” she screamed, scooting into the room and waiting. She heard a faint sound. There! Behind the desk. Near the open windows. Smoke billowed, and a figure sagged. “Gil!” Frankie was at his side in seconds. He collapsed onto the floor, his face covered in soot. He blinked at her, tried to open his eyes. She could see a gash on his head, blood trickling down the side of his face. A chunk of the ceiling had fallen on him. “Can you walk?” she yelled.

  He nodded.

  “Anyone else inside?”

  “N-no.” He choked.

  “Okay. Lean on me!” She ducked down, slipped his arm over her shoulders and half dragged him to the door.

  The fire had gotten stronger. She could feel the heat under her, surrounding her. Gil coughed a cough that sounded as close to a death rattle as she ever wanted to hear. He clung to her, and she hoisted her arm around his waist to keep him upright.

  “Frankie, where are you?” She could hear Kendall’s voice in her ear. Then Roman’s. The front of the building was engulfed. She’d have to find another way out. Down the stairs. One, two at a time. Gil sagged, and she felt him losing consciousness.

  “Hang on, Gil. Don’t you dare do this to me. You and I have our fight to finish.”

  Ten steps left. Nine. Eight. The wood beneath her creaked. Cracked. Broke apart. She dived forward. The second her feet lifted, the stairs disintegrated. The roof crumbled. Her head went light as the fire screeched closer.

  Roman was right, Frankie realized in a flash. Anyone at any time, in any way, could lose their life. Firefighter, accountant, pharmacist. Roman, Ozzy...or her.

  But it was too late. Too late to fix what she’d turned her back on. Too late to tell Roman what he’d dared her to say. That she loved him.