“We’ll figure it out,” he says. “Gianna is coming home from college, but I won’t see her until the weekend.”
“You don’t have the girls on Thanksgiving?”
“Nah,” he says with a shake of the head. “Lisa always gets them on Thanksgiving. I get them on Christmas Eve and every other Easter,” he explains. Propping up on his elbow, he rests his head on his hand and stares at me. “What about you? What do you do on Thanksgiving?”
Biting my lip, I don’t answer right away. For the last couple of years, Christopher and I have gone to Chris’s moms for Thanksgiving. It was his favorite holiday and Bea thought it would be a great way to honor him. In fact, she still sets a place for him at the table right beside me.
When things started to get serious with Jimmy, I confessed to the woman who would’ve been my mother-in-law that I was seeing someone. To my surprise, she wasn’t all that upset that I was trying to move on. She wished me well and asked me if I would be bringing my new boyfriend to Thanksgiving dinner, making it clear me and Christopher were still expected to share the holiday with her.
“We go to Chris’s parent’s house for Thanksgiving,” I confess. “It’s been a tradition since he passed.”
The expression on his face remains neutral as he nods.
“What did you do before?”
“Well, after we first got engaged, we started having the holiday at our house. Chris loved Thanksgiving. We would get up around two in the morning and go down to watch them blow up the balloons for the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade. Once that was over, we would go back home, and watch the parade on television while we cooked.”
“Sounds like a great tradition.”
“It was,” I say sadly. Realizing I’m naked in Jimmy’s bed talking about another man, I lift my eyes to his and frown. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I shouldn’t be talking about this now.”
“Hey,” he calls softly as his hand touches my cheek. “It’s okay to talk about him with me. He was part of your life, Melissa, and he’s your son’s father,” he pauses for a beat. “I think it’s beautiful that you share the holidays with his family. Especially for the sake of your son.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, tugging the sheet further up my body. Desperate to change the subject, I run my fingers through my hair and force a smile. “So, if you don’t have the girls what are your plans?”
“Work.”
I’ve always known our first responders work on the holidays, that they often forfeit time with their family to protect the public courageously. However, the magnitude of the sacrifice didn’t hit me until this very moment. I guess that’s what happens when a first responder isn’t just a faceless stranger.
“Do you always work the holidays?”
“We rotate mostly but I don’t mind working when I don’t have the girls. Back when they were babies, yeah, it sucked. I always tried to at least be off for Christmas but after Lisa and I got divorced, I found myself working more. Now, it’s different. My kids are grown and couldn't care less about turkey. Plus, a lot of the guys in my house are young, just starting their families. If I can help them savor those moments by putting in some time, I’m happy to help.”
If there was any doubt that Jimmy was selfless that statement would change my mind. He’s more than just a hero, he’s the man you hope for and if you’re not careful, he’s the man you’ll fall in love with.
Or at least that’s what Jimmy is to me.
Chapter Eleven
Lessons and Lies
As a firefighter, there are times when you roll up to a call and you know you’re too late, that it’s spread too far and too fast to save anyone safely. You call for backup, declare it a five-alarm fire and you and your men vow to work tirelessly to put it out or at least contain it, so you can go inside and start the recovery process. But it doesn’t always work out that way. Sometimes the whole thing blows up in front of your face and all you can do is watch as it happens.
The strongest structures.
The building's man thought would stand the test of time.
They came crashing down and there wasn’t a damn thing anyone could do about it. The world mourned, and man learned a lesson.
Steel melts.
Concrete turns to ash.
People die.
Hearts break.
Life is too fucking short to spend it living a lie.
You would think as a man who lived through one of our country’s darkest days, I would’ve taken those lessons to heart. I would’ve realized I wasn’t invincible and told myself building a relationship on a foundation of lies was only setting myself up for disaster.
The moment I found out Christopher was Melissa’s fiancée I should’ve said something. I’m not even certain why I didn’t. It’s not like there was any cry of foul play on my behalf. I saved his life. If he had died that day, she would’ve never met him, and she wouldn’t have her boy.
I made that possible.
I gave her those years she spent loving him and while Chris gave her a son, I gave them both the chance to create him.
But what if she didn’t see it that way? What if Melissa looked at me and saw everything she lost? I didn’t want to be the salt on her open wounds. Here was this woman, sitting across from me at a diner—this beautifully broken woman and she wanted to move on with her life. She wanted to live for the future, not the past and she wanted to take those first steps with me.
I couldn’t tell her I knew her fiancée.
I couldn’t tell her because I was a selfish fuck who wanted her for myself.
Now, it’s been over a month since we had that conversation and Melissa is so deeply rooted in my soul, I can’t tell her the truth. I’m the man on the curb watching the flames crawl higher and higher, anticipating the moment the beams buckle on our relationship and I can’t help but wonder if it’ll happen sooner rather than later. Especially with her spending the holiday with Chris’ family.
I still have the letter Chris’ mother, Bea, wrote to me. She thanked me profusely for saving her son’s life and told me there was a special place in heaven for a hero like me. I wonder if she will think the same after she finds out I’ve been sleeping with her would be daughter-in-law.
“Yo, Casale,” Frankie calls, forcing me to shake the grim thoughts from my mind. “Are you going to cook the turkey or are we all going to just sit here and name the fucking thing? Maybe we can dress it up while we’re at it.”
“Contrary to popular belief, I’m not your bitch,” I mutter, diverting my eyes to the bird resting in a pan, waiting for me to dress it or rather season it. The damn thing should’ve gone in the oven an hour ago but we had a call. Thanksgiving is notorious for the turkey frying rebels and gas leaks. Still, despite anticipating the heavy call volume, I offered to cook a traditional Thanksgiving dinner.
I thought it would take my mind off the fact that Melissa was spending the day with Bea. Any moment the phone is going to ring, and the jig is going to be up. Melissa will confess she’s moving on, Bea will ask questions, my name will come up and boom, the truth will be exposed.
“Someone’s extra pissy today,” Frankie taunts. “Gabby giving you grief?”
“Nah, things are good with Gabby,” I tell him as I make my way towards the butcher block counter and the pathetic bird that will serve as dinner. Truth is, Gabby’s been amazing. Her first-quarter report card proved just how hard she’s been working at getting her diploma and I couldn’t be prouder.
Placing my hands on my hips, I stare mindlessly at the turkey before reaching for the paring knife.
“Ah, so that leaves the teacher,” he says as I take the knife to the bird, cutting one-inch slits over the breast. “I thought things were good.”
“Too good,” I mutter, grabbing a stick of butter. As I cut slices off and fill each slit, I recall the conversation I had with Frankie a couple of weeks ago. We had just gotten off a twenty-four-hour shift and were both wired. Gabby was sleeping at her friend
’s house and Melissa couldn’t get a sitter for her son. With all the girls in my life otherwise occupied, I joined him at Broadway Joe’s for a few beers.
I don’t know if I had one too many or if I was desperate to tell another soul the lie I was harboring but in the middle of a game of pool, I shared my secret with Frankie.
“She’s visiting his parents,” I reveal, lifting my eyes to his. “Apparently she spends Thanksgiving with them every year.”
“And you’re afraid she’s going to find out the truth.”
“It’s only a matter of time,” I reply with a shrug. “Bea knows my name. All Melissa has to do is find the courage to tell the woman that she’s moving on and I’m toast.”
“Dude,” Frankie starts, swiping a hand over his face. Tearing my eyes away from him, I go back to seasoning the turkey. “You gotta tell her.”
“And what do I say when she asks why I waited so long?”
“Fuck if I know,” he replies. “I’m still not sure you know the fucking answer to that question. I’m no relationship expert but I know enough to know the longer you drag this shit out the worse it will be. I mean, think about it, you saved her baby daddy’s life. At the end of the lie that should be all that matters.”
“She’s going to hate that I lied.”
“It’s her right. You’re a fucking fool for keeping something so innocent under wraps,” he mutters. “Still, if she means anything to you, you got to grab your balls and tell her.”
Shoving the bird in the oven, I look over my shoulder at him.
“Of course, she means something to me. If she was just another broad, I wouldn’t be beating myself over this shit.”
“You meet the kid yet?”
Closing the oven, I straighten up and cross my arms against my chest, giving Frankie a quick shake of my head as my response.
That’s another thing. Melissa has been really careful with our relationship in regard to her son and I respect that. The boy hasn’t had a male figure in his life other than his two grandfathers and not a single memory of his father. I don’t fault her wanting to be sure the man she introduces to her son to is worthy of the honor and isn’t a lying sack of shit.
“No,” I answer. “In the very beginning, she brought up me meeting her son but said she wanted to make sure we were on solid ground. I was going to tell her to bring him to the Christmas party.”
Every year the firehouse throws a big Christmas party for the families. We cater food and rent those inflatable bounce houses. Santa Claus comes, and every child gets a present. I figured it would be the perfect setting to meet her son.
“Casale,” Gary calls as he pops his head into the kitchen. “Your phone has been going off for the last five minutes.”
“Shit,” I mutter, feeling my sweatpants for my phone.
“Man,” Gary calls, lifting an eyebrow. “If your phone was in your pocket do you really think I would be standing here telling you it hasn’t stopped ringing? What the hell is wrong with you?”
I don’t have a chance to answer him as he steps into the room and tosses my phone at me. Catching it on the fly, I turn it over and stare at the screen, noticing the six missed calls from Melissa.
“Gabs?” Frankie questions.
“Melissa,” I correct. Somberly, I rub a hand over my face.
“Well, are you going to call her back?”
Desperate to delay the end, I shake my head and pocket my phone.
“What for?” I say as I turn my back to him.
Grabbing the cleaver and a bunch of carrots, I begin to slice and dice vegetables, knowing it’s only a matter of time before Melissa does the same to my fucking heart.
Chapter Twelve
The Man I’m Thankful For
The car was packed, and we were just about to get on the road when Christopher started to complain his stomach hurt. I didn’t think much of it at first and figured he overdid it on the pancakes this morning. It wasn’t until he threw up all over the backseat that I realized he was sick. Immediately, I pulled onto the shoulder of the interstate and held him outside the car as he continued to vomit. On top of that, he was burning up.
Once I was sure there was nothing but bile left in his belly, I strapped him back into his seat and made a U-turn. On the way to the emergency room, I called Bea and told her we wouldn’t be coming for Thanksgiving dinner. Being the doting grandmother, she was, she offered to meet us at the hospital but I insisted it wasn’t necessary and told her I’d be in touch.
In five years, I can count on one hand how many times Christopher has been sick, and every time is just as frightening as the first. No mother wants to watch their child suffer and more than that, no mother likes feeling helpless. It’s probably the reason I called Jimmy.
For the first time since Christopher was born, I had someone in my life to share the highs and lows of parenthood with. I had someone to lean on, someone I could rely on that wasn’t my sister or my mother. Someone to listen as I freaked out and assured me I was overreacting.
Or so I thought—he didn’t answer any of my calls.
Figuring he was out on a call and didn’t have his phone on him, I left a message telling him I was headed to the hospital with Christopher. By the time I pulled up to the emergency room, I still hadn’t heard from him and I couldn’t suppress the ping of dread churning in my gut. It came often, mostly the nights when Jimmy was working, and I wondered if it would ever go away if I’d ever get used to the fact that the man I was falling in love risked his life every day he put his uniform on.
When it was slow, and after I tucked Christopher in, Jimmy and I would stay on the phone for hours. We’d talk about anything and everything until a call was dispatched and he had to go. The first time it happened, Jimmy told me to go get some sleep, and we’d talk again in the morning. However, I quickly learned it was impossible to fall asleep when you knew your man was fighting a fire. I waited an hour, thinking I had given him ample time to do his job, before I called him back and got his voicemail.
Fearing the worst, I paced the floors and waited for him to return my call. I even went so far as to turn on the news, sure that if something had happened, they would interrupt Jimmy Fallon to bring me the grim news.
Two hours later he called, and my heartbeat finally regulated. After that, Jimmy knew to call me after every run and if by some chance I fell asleep, he texted me, letting me know he was safe. I don’t like to think about September eleventh for my own personal reasons but sometimes, I wonder what it must’ve been like for his ex-wife. I can only imagine it being one of the scariest days of her life.
“Ms. Moscato, I’m Dr. Kravitstein, the pediatrician on call tonight.”
Well, that’s a mouthful.
“I’m going to give him some Motrin to bring the fever down and start him on an IV drip to keep him hydrated. We’re also going to take a culture and test for strep but, I’m thinking it’s viral. Did he have his flu shot this year?”
“Yes,” I say, running my fingers through my hair as I stare at my sleeping boy. The poor kid is as white as the sheet he’s lying on.
“Alright, we will admit him for observation and work at bringing that fever down,” he says, studying me thoughtfully. “Would you like a blanket or a pillow?”
“No, I’m fine,” I reply, wrapping my arms around myself as I force a smile. “Thank you.”
“Very well, I’ll get a nurse—” his voice trails as a nurse steps into the room. “Oh, speak of the devil and the devil appears. Can you get our little patient some Motrin and start him on an IV?”
“Yes,” she replies, turning her attention to me. “I’m sorry, Ms. Moscato, there is a man named Jimmy Casale outside. Did you want me to let him in?”
Shock coursed through me as I divert my eyes to my sleeping son. Jimmy and I haven’t really discussed him meeting Christopher just yet. While I’m sure this thing between us is the real deal, I’m not sure how to introduce my son to the man in my life. I want to be respectful
of Chris and preserve his memory, but I also want to share my greatest blessing with the greatest surprise of my life.
Before I can over think it too much, I tell myself a few minutes with Jimmy won’t hurt matters. Christopher is sleeping and if he wakes, I’ll just tell him Jimmy is a friend who came to see if he was okay.
“Please do,” I say, surprised at the hoarseness of my voice.
As I take a seat in the chair beside the bed, the doctor and nurse exit the room. I grab my purse and pull out my phone. I don’t have any missed calls but then again, I also don’t have service here. Putting my phone away, I lean over the edge of the bed and press a gentle kiss to Christopher’s hand, noting he still feels as if he’s on fire.
“You’re going to be just fine,” I whisper.
“Melissa,” Jimmy’s gruff voice calls from the doorway.
Lifting my eyes, I drop my son’s hand and stare at him. Dressed in his bunker gear, sans his helmet, he slowly rakes his eyes over me before turning his attention towards my son. It’s one thing for me to show him a picture and watch his lips quirk as he takes in my baby. It’s another to watch him stare at him in flesh and bone.
“I got your voicemail,” he says, keeping his boots firmly planted in the doorway. “How’s the little guy doing?”
“The doctor thinks it may be strep. He’s keeping him overnight,” I reply, cocking my head to the side as I let my eyes travel the length of him. Noticing the brown bag in his hand, my eyebrows knit together as I point a finger towards it.
“What’s in the bag?”
Seeming to remember the bag in his hand, he glances down at it for a moment before offering me a lopsided smile.
“I figured since you missed Thanksgiving dinner, I’d bring it to you,” he says, lifting the bag. “Turkey and all the fixings,” he continues. “It’s not my best work but if you throw some gravy on it, it’s not all that bad.”
“You brought me dinner,” I whisper.
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