Nick gave him a huge grin, as if nothing in the world could touch him now that he had come to some kind of understanding with Savanna. “I’ve been totally into her ever since I started working here,” Nick said.
“Really? I thought…” Fletcher didn’t finish that.
“That I was interested in Hadley? Yeah, so did Savanna. Funny story,” Nick went on, and told a long and detailed story that Fletcher didn’t actually pay attention to. It all came down to this: It was all Savanna, all the time, and any extra attention to Hadley was for the purposes of getting in on the good side of the best friend.
Fletcher was not sorry to hear it. He hoped Hadley wouldn’t be disappointed.
“I kind of thought Savanna hated all of us on principle,” Fletcher said, making sure to smile so Nick didn’t get the wrong idea.
“Yeah, well, I guess I had to show her that the tough guys have a softer side.” Nick gave him a truly smitten smile.
“I think that’s great,” Fletcher said. What he didn’t say was that the benefit for him was that maybe Savanna would be distracted by how much she liked Nick that she could forget, at least a little, how much she seemed to despise Fletcher.
But now, with a table laden with goodness and everyone expressing gratitude, Fletcher could even give Savanna Deveraux the benefit of the doubt.
Fletcher got in line after all the families had served up. He filled a plate with meat and potatoes, rolls and butter, and a tiny scoop of sweet potatoes for color. He sat beside his mom and told her some terrible jokes he’d read online. He oohed and aahed over every bite, telling everyone around the table that this was exactly the kind of meal you could expect when Rose Gates was cooking dinner.
Savanna told a funny story that had Nick cracking up, and she even spared a few smiles for Fletcher. Everyone was around the long table, talking and laughing when the alarm rang.
All of the firefighters leaped up from their meal and ran to the engine bay. Savanna hustled to the desk to check her computer. The crew had left the engine ready, as always, but everyone on the team felt a little off. It took only a few seconds more than usual to gather everybody into their places, but there was more than the usual feeling of discomposure about the call.
Everyone seemed nervous. Jumpy. Unprepared.
Fletcher strapped in and pulled the engine out into the driveway while the team took their places.
As they sped through nearly empty streets, Nick sighed and muttered, “I mean, come on. It’s Thanksgiving.”
Fletcher knew what he meant. This kind of thing wasn’t supposed to happen.
Every call, every response to an emergency had the possibility of ending in tragedy, but there was something sacred about family dinner on this day, something untouchable and American that felt violated by a fire. In every way, it was just wrong.
Fletcher drove through the edge of town and into the new constructions. Lights were coming on in houses and on porches. The flash of the engine lights played against homes and trees as they sped past.
They arrived at the new neighborhood where the woods used to be, the sky darkening from smoke. Two adjacent houses were pouring smoke, and the whole neighborhood, filled with houses nearly touching each other, was in danger of igniting.
They could lose the entire subdivision.
Fletcher knew he shouldn’t let his mind go there. He couldn’t. But as families filed out of homes, some standing around watching their neighbors’ houses burn, Fletcher felt his grip on his emotions slip. Instead of seeing structures, he saw bedrooms and basements and treehouses.
The chief made assignments and each firefighter rushed to do his job as quickly and efficiently as he’d trained for years to do.
Fletcher watched the chief speak quickly to the family, who assured him that all people and animals were out of the house. Chief pointed to Red and then to Fletcher, each of whom understood the job he was expected to do from the signal. Fletcher focused on each drop from the hoses, each puff of steam, each smoking section of wall. He pushed, he fought, and before long, the burn was secure.
A total loss.
As Red and Fletcher stepped out of the muddy, grimy structure, they checked in with the chief, who instantly pointed them to the next house. Other stations had sent engines, and the street was filled with firefighters, engines, and onlookers. Fletcher only had time to wish that everyone out of uniform would find somewhere else to be entertained when he was signaled inside by a leader from a different station.
He’d been assured again that no people or animals remained inside, so when he went upstairs as directed and saw someone slumped against a closed bedroom door, he knew it must be another firefighter.
He called into his headset, but there was no response. Either the man was on a different frequency, or he was unable to reply. Fletcher shouted into the headset again, asking for assistance, but heard a buzz of feedback that told him it was his sound that was bad. He was on his own until he could take off his helmet and speak to someone face-to-face.
Without another thought, Fletcher secured the area and then picked up the unresponsive fireman, slung him over his shoulders, and carried him down the stairs.
He kept trying to call over his headset that he had a man down, and by the time he reached the front yard, he found an EMS crew prepared to take the fallen fireman. Fletcher couldn’t see the man’s face and didn’t know if he was even from the Greensburg crew, but before he turned and ran back toward the house, he reached out to press his hand against the firefighter’s leg. He whispered a word of luck to this man who, even if they’d never met, was his brother.
Before he returned inside, he ran to the truck for a new helmet and tested the headset. It would be foolish to reenter the fire without communications.
Back inside and up the stairs, Fletcher saw what had knocked the other firefighter down. A light fixture on a huge wooden beam hung from a single hinge, the other having snapped. It had clearly swung from the ceiling and cracked into the back of the fireman’s helmet. Thank goodness he’d been wearing it, Fletcher thought, because that beam was thick. Remembering his own run-in with a concussion, Fletcher hoped that the fireman would bounce back quickly.
He helped the team repel and diminish the flames, hearing the chatter from the other crews over his headset. Sounded like three more crews were spraying roofs of surrounding houses to put out flying sparks. When the flames and the smoke subsided inside the house, Fletcher followed his lead man out into the yard once again.
Receiving the “off” signal from the chief, Fletcher removed his heavy, sweaty helmet and scrubbed his hands through his hair. Breathing in gulps of clean, cool air, he surveyed the damage.
Both houses were empty husks. Melted siding dripped down the sides of one house, while a garage door seemed to have been replaced by a pile of liquefied metal and plastic. Where furnishings were recognizable, they were the most disturbing: A smoldering couch, upended dining chairs, glasses still filled with wine on the table. But for the obvious, Thanksgiving dinner could still have been underway.
Fletcher looked around for Nick. It was their turn to hand out the blankets, teddy bears, and books to the kids who wouldn’t be sleeping in their own homes tonight. When he’d made a lap of the crowded street and still not seen Nick, he called him over the headset.
“Baxter? You ready to play Santa?” Fletcher joked, holding a pile of soft, clean fleece blankets.
A hand touched his shoulder, and Fletcher turned, expecting Nick to take half of the blankets out of his hands. Instead, it was the chief.
He shook his head.
Fletcher’s mind could not grasp what the chief might be trying to say to him.
He shook his head back at the chief. “What?” he said.
“Baxter,” was all the chief said.
No. Impossible. Nick couldn’t be hurt. “He’s down?” Fletcher asked. “He’s the one I carried out?” Fletcher felt gratitude both that he’d been able to help and that he hadn’t known it was
Nick. He might not have been able to get back into the fight the same way had he been worried about his friend.
A nod. Chief Grantham held out his hands for Fletcher to pass over the blankets, but Fletcher held on to them. He walked over to a family huddled on the sidewalk in front of what used to be their home. They were covered in a mismatched blend of outsized coats that must have come from neighbors’ homes, and one little guy was wrapped in a beach towel.
Fletcher knelt beside the children, telling them the lines that he knew he must say; that he was so glad they were able to get safely out of the house, that they did the right thing to get away from the fire and stay away, that as long as they had each other, they’d be fine again soon.
As he handed a blanket to the towel-wrapped little guy, the kid threw his arms around Fletcher’s neck and hugged him tight. Fletcher set the rest of the pile on the sidewalk and wrapped the boy in his arms. As the kid repeated “thank you for saving us,” over and over, Fletcher wished he could tell the little guy what he was thinking.
I’m glad I could save you, but who is going to save my friend?
After the cleanup, Fletcher drove the engine back to the station, where he found his mom and Savanna pacing around a table full of pies.
He went to them first, before he changed and showered, before he did any of the required preparation to the engine or equipment. The look of relief on his mom’s face gave him another pang of guilt that his job was so hard on her, but Savanna’s expression of fear was new to him. This was not the look of a dispatcher or a receptionist. This was the face of a girlfriend who could not find her guy.
“Where’s Nick?” she asked, all the Savanna-like look of contempt and annoyance gone from her face. She was complete fear.
He wanted to break the news to her gently, but he didn’t want to waste any time. “He took a pretty bad hit. Knocked him out, but I’m sure he’s going to be fine. They’ve taken him to the hospital. Want to ride over with me?” Fletcher asked, and her utter relief at not needing to think about navigating a car was palpable.
“Give me two minutes,” Fletcher said, and he turned to tell his mom he needed to go.
He didn’t have to say anything. She knew.
“Call me and let me know how he is,” Rose said. “I’ll have Dave drive me home when things calm down.”
“I’m sorry about today. You made a great dinner.” Fletcher tried to smile at her.
“Go. Call me later. I’m fine.”
Rose Gates was as tough and strong as any man on this fire squad.
Savanna stepped into the ladies’ room before joining Fletcher in his truck, so he took a minute to call after his mom to send him Hadley’s number—the one he’d deleted from his phone when they’d broken up. As soon as he had it, he sent her a text.
It’s Fletch. Are you done with your meal yet? I could use your help.
She didn’t respond, so he figured he knew the answer.
She was probably enjoying a nice, pleasant, emergency-free dinner with her family. But she would want to know about Nick, and more especially that Savanna could use her company.
When you finish, Nick got hurt on a call and is in the ER at Mercy. Savanna and I are heading to the waiting room.
It felt like too much. Like hitting her too hard with something difficult. He deleted the words and tried again.
Call me please.
If that was all she saw, it wouldn’t feel like a big enough deal. Maybe she wouldn’t call at all.
He deleted again.
I need you.
Delete, delete, delete.
He saw Savanna walking toward the truck.
Savanna needs you.
That was all he could say. He couldn’t tell her Nick got hurt, at least not until he could tell her Nick would be fine. And despite what he’d told Savanna, until a doctor said so, Fletcher had no way of knowing Nick would be fine; he had no idea what condition Nick was in right now.
All he really knew was that they would all feel better if Hadley were with them.
Chapter 16
Hadley’s jaw ached from clenching it so hard.
This was the worst idea she’d ever had, including the time she jumped from the Handy’s barn roof into a swimming pool.
Worst. Idea. Ever.
Rose had helped her set up one of the refurbished dining tables in the game room at the back of the store. With cloths and placemats and napkins that all coordinated with the fresh-cut flowers they’d bought, the room glowed with warm light.
It was a Thanksgiving scene worthy of Pinterest. Or Rockwell.
Until her family walked in.
They had to wander through the whole shop to get to the game room, which had seemed like a welcoming and delightful opportunity in Hadley’s mind. She was excited to have them see every corner, every room, every section. When she moved through the space, she felt animated, passionate, full of life. That was not at all how the store affected her family. Somehow everything they saw deserved a comment. Her dad managed a “that’s cute” once or twice, but everything her mother saw absolutely required a criticism.
Those shelves look like they’re ready to fall over.
People buy this? Well, not this one, obviously.
That wall is crooked. Not the things on the wall. The actual wall.
It smells like mold in here.
You’re not actually selling any of those, are you?
These light fixtures can’t be up to code. You better talk to your insurance guy.
Did you want to go home and change before we eat?
Shae smiled a lot but didn’t contradict anything anyone else said.
And it didn’t get better from there.
Hadley was exhausted before she even uncovered the dishes of food.
And then.
Are these gluten-free?
I thought you’d have a date with you.
Is there dairy in these potatoes?
Has that turkey been frozen?
Are these cranberries organic?
Her mother ended up with three crackers, a spoon full of organic cranberries, and a glass of wine.
Hadley went straight for pie.
Shae tried to talk about things in a casual way, such as her life in New York as opposed to life in Greensburg, but Shae’s experience these days was so far outside Hadley’s world that they could hardly understand each other. Her dad smiled at her as though he could tell this whole evening felt like torture, and he made small talk about his work. Unfortunately, when you’re running a multinational cell phone operation, your talk is not particularly small. After dropping the names of three celebrity spokesmen, the New Zealand national champion rugby team, and the Prince of Jordan’s nephew, who were all endorsing the newest version of his phone, he stopped trying to connect with Hadley on a business level.
She kept eating pie and wishing the clock forward.
Sometime in the near future, Rose was going to ask her how everyone had liked dinner. She knew exactly what she would say: the pie was amazing. Definitely the best part of the gathering.
Hadley didn’t obsess over whether her sister and her parents were aware that what they said was insulting. Maybe not. Probably not. They simply lived in a different world, a world they’d worked hard to belong to. They’d made the kinds of changes to allow them to fit into the City now; they were no longer the small-town people they had once been. The chrome and glass Manhattan tech world had become their home. Here, now, they were out of their element, and therefore not at their best. She got it intellectually, and she recognized that she’d arrive at that same understanding emotionally sooner or much, much later, but likely not before they returned to New York and left her here in her tilting, shabby, ramshackle little store.
As soon as she could say it without seeming rude, Hadley asked if they’d like her to give them a ride to the bed and breakfast, or if they wanted to call a car. The look on her mother’s face showed clearly how distasteful either of the options sounded.
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“Or we could walk,” Hadley said. “It’s a few blocks, but if your coats are warm, it might be fun for you to see how Greensburg has changed.”
Both her parents and Shae jumped at that. Hadley was relieved. Easy conversation with nothing personal at stake. Criticism of the city planner wasn’t going to add any anxiety to Hadley’s already fraught day.
In her hurry to get her family out of her shop, she left her phone inside. She realized it soon after they started walking. But it was a holiday. Who was going to call her?
They walked down the sidewalk in front of the hardware store that had new display windows, the guitar shop that had been there since before her parents were born, and the tiny throwback bodega that Shae said reminded her of the Upper East Side. All the shops advertised Black Friday hours that started soon.
None of them asked her what her Black Friday strategy was, and she felt grateful. Even in Greensburg, “treat it like a normal workday” was probably counter-intuitive. But she’d researched and planned and felt it all out, and she didn’t feel great about laying on the pressure. Her customers would come when they were ready and buy what they wanted without her demanding that they do it in the middle of the night on a holiday weekend.
When the Booth family left the bookshop, temperatures were falling. Zipped into her parka, Hadley felt her shoulders climbing up by her ears. She didn’t think that was all weather-related. As the evening grew colder, they walked faster, and Hadley forced herself to loosen up. The hardest part was over, and she knew that within half an hour she’d be back in her shop, alone and comfortable. Even if her parents invited her to come into the hotel for a drink, she had a built-in excuse to get back: She needed another piece of pie.
Okay, she wouldn’t tell them that. But someone would have to clean up all the food that hadn’t been eaten.
She stared up at the movie theater where she and Fletcher had kissed through more than one movie. She wondered if he was still eating or if they’d had a call. As the Booths walked along the river parkway and looked through the leafless trees at the lights on the other side, Hadley thanked her family for making the trip.
Always You: A Sweet Romantic Comedy (ABCs of Love Collection Books 5-8) Page 31
