Last Man Out

by Mike Lupica

He looked into the stands to where his mom and Emily were sitting, locking eyes with his mom. She smiled and put out her hands, as if to say, Here we go again. He gave her a thumbs-up in return, then turned his attention back to the game. Nick’s pass attempt for the extra-point conversion had been broken up. So the score stayed at 18–7, the Bears leading. Still a lot of football left to be played, though.

  Coach John Fisher came over to him and said, “That was some play you just made, son.”

  “My dad always tells me to try to see all eleven.”

  He meant all eleven players on offense.

  Coach smiled. “You know, not having to coach you up leaves me more time for the other boys.”

  “Not true,” Tommy said. “I’ve learned a lot from you.”

  “Almost as much as you’ve learned from your dad.” He put a hand on Tommy’s shoulder and said, “Heard the siren.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You can tell him all about that play later.”

  “Yeah,” Tommy said again, because there wasn’t much else to say. It was all just part of being the son of one of Boston’s bravest.

  The Bears kicked off and the Jaguars returned the ball to just past the twenty-yard line. As the offense was getting set, Coach decided to drop back extra guys into pass coverage, not wanting the defense to give up a big play in what was now a two-score game. So Ryan was completing short passes for the Jags, taking what the Bears were giving him, getting a couple of first downs for his team, moving the ball into Bears’ territory for the first time since his tight end had gotten behind Greck.

  In Tommy’s league the clock stopped on first downs, same as it did in college football. So Tommy felt like the game was slowing down, right at a time when he wanted it to speed up.

  The Jags ended up with an important third down at the Bears’ twenty-yard line. In the huddle Tommy said to Greck, “We are not letting them score.”

  “Not a chance.”

  Tommy heard another siren now. This one for an ambulance. He reminded himself that was normal with a big fire. Another part of the deal.

  He realized Greck had been talking to him, but he hadn’t heard a word he’d said.

  “What’d you say?” he said.

  “I said that you need to get to the quarterback one more time.”

  “I got you,” Tommy said. “Been doing it all day.”

  “You come from the outside,” Greck said. “I’m going right up the middle. Meet you at Ryan.”

  Ryan called for the snap. Despite his plan, Rob Greco never made it—one of the Jags’ running backs laid down a perfect block and cleaned him out. But Tommy was flying from the outside again. The Jags’ right tackle set himself to block Tommy, maybe even thought he had him lined up. No shot. Tommy was too fast. All the kid blocked was air. Tommy blazed by him.

  Ryan saw Tommy coming this time, so he tried to spin away and scramble to his left. Too late. Tommy was on him, both arms around him, putting him on the ground, even trying to strip the ball out of Ryan’s hands.

  Then he was helping Ryan up again. Like it was déjà vu.

  “You realize you’re starting to annoy me, right?” Ryan said.

  “Think of it as spending quality time together.”

  Finally the game had sped up, with a minute and a half to go, so the Jags’ coach called his team’s last time-out.

  Tommy looked back into the bleachers, trying to catch his mom’s attention, but her head was turned, and she was talking on her phone. Probably Dad, he told himself. Tommy’s dad always called as soon as he could to tell her everything was under control.

  Ryan tried to throw into the end zone on fourth down, but Tommy was running step for step with the Jags’ tight end, reaching up at the last possible moment to knock the ball away.

  Bears’ ball. All Nick had to do was kneel down twice and the game would be over.

  By the time Tommy ran off the field, his mom was on the sideline, talking to Coach Fisher.

  Tears were running down her face.

  THREE

  YOUR DAD’S AT THE HOSPITAL,” his mom said.

  It was like one more siren going off, this one inside his head. Tommy felt like he’d just taken a hit to the gut and couldn’t catch his breath no matter how hard he tried.

  “But he’s going to be okay, right?” Tommy said.

  His mom looked at him, locking eyes with him. “I don’t know.”

  “How bad is it?”

  “We need to get going,” she said.

  Coach John Fisher said he would drive them to Mount Auburn Hospital. It was the same hospital where Tommy and his sister had been born.

  “What happened?” Tommy said.

  “He didn’t get out in time,” she said, and then added, “Not this time.”

  Tommy realized he was still in his uniform, but he didn’t care. He turned to see Greck and Nick standing there, just staring at him. Tommy handed Nick his helmet, just because he would have felt stupid taking it with him.

  Nick said, “I’ll get your bag.”

  “Thanks.”

  Then Tommy was on his way to Coach’s car with his mom and Emily. He felt Emily take his hand as they all started running, saw his little sister running as hard as she could to keep up.

  Tommy saw his mom crying again.

  “First one in,” she said, as if talking to herself. “Last one out.”

  It wasn’t a long ride to the hospital and there wasn’t much traffic on a Saturday morning. Tommy’s mom told him as much as she knew, as fast as she could.

  She’d spoken on the phone with Brendan Joyce, Patrick Gallagher’s best friend since high school, who had also been at the scene of the fire. Brendan and Patrick had become firemen together.

  The fire had started in the kitchen of an old two-family house on the Allston side of the Allston-Brighton line. By the time Tommy’s dad and the rest of the crew from Engine 41 had gotten there, the flames were out of control.

  “Then they called for more guys to come to the scene,” his mom said. “Those were the sirens we heard, along with the ones from the ambulances.”

  Tommy’s dad had been the first one in, right through the front door with the hose. Brendan had come in right behind him. A kid on their crew, a probationary firefighter named Ben Storey, had worked the engine.

  “Uncle Brendan said the fire was already at the front door when they got there,” his mom said. She started shaking her head. “Never good.”

  The mother of the family had been on the front porch, screaming that there were still kids upstairs. The front stairway had already been engulfed in a fireball, but Patrick Gallagher had been able to clear a narrow path with the hose and gone up the stairs.

  At the top of the stairs, Patrick had found two terrified little boys. He’d carried one piggyback and the other under his arm, somehow clearing enough of a path with the water shooting ahead of him to get them back down.

  In a quiet voice Coach Fisher said, “Of course he did.”

  It was when they were all back outside, according to Brendan, that the mother had started screaming again:

  “Where’s my little girl?”

  Patrick Gallagher hadn’t even hesitated, even though the fire had been getting worse by the second. He’d gone back up the stairs, right into the heart of the fire. The next thing Brendan and the guys had seen was Patrick breaking a small upstairs window, making enough room to get the little girl through the opening.

  “Uncle Brendan said he probably told them what he’d told kids before,” Tommy’s mom said. “That his friend standing outside hadn’t dropped anybody yet.”

  Brendan said he’d caught the girl right before more flames came shooting out of the window. He hadn’t been able to see Tommy’s dad after that.

  Tommy listened, still feeling as if he couldn’t breathe. He kept wa
iting for his mom’s phone to ring. But he wasn’t sure if he wanted Uncle Brendan or anyone else to call because he didn’t know whether the news would be good or bad.

  Or the worst news in the world.

  After the flames shot out of the window, Brendan saw everything that’d happened in the next moment. He saw the stairs collapse, saw Patrick jump from the second-floor landing.

  Watched Tommy’s dad nearly make it back through the front door before the roof caved in.

  FOUR

  TOMMY GALLAGHER KNEW BEFORE he walked into the hospital room.

  He knew as soon as they were out of Coach John Fisher’s car and through the emergency room entrance at Mount Auburn Hospital.

  There were other firefighters in the waiting room, some of them still in their gear and uniforms. But the one he focused on was the man he’d thought of as Uncle Brendan his whole life.

  You always heard grown-ups saying, Hey, you look like you just lost your best friend. Uncle Brendan, in his bunker gear pants and his suspenders, looked like he’d lost his best friend. And Tommy knew it must be true.

  He felt his sister grip his hand even harder. Emily hadn’t said a word since they’d gotten into Coach Fisher’s backseat. She hadn’t cried either. She’d just held Tommy’s hand and stared at him when she wasn’t staring straight ahead. She’d released his hand briefly when they’d gone through the double doors. She was holding on for dear life, even though Tommy knew there was no emergency now inside this hospital.

  He knew their dad was dead even if his little sister didn’t.

  The two of them hung back near the doors they’d just come through, almost like they were on the outside looking in. Tommy saw a tall, older man approach his mom. He heard somebody refer to the man as the “commissioner.” He wasn’t in uniform—maybe there’d been no time for that after he’d received the call. He was wearing a short-sleeved shirt and khaki pants. He held on to his mom’s hand as he spoke to her, Tommy unable to hear what he was saying.

  Then his mom was hugging Uncle Brendan. She wasn’t crying now. Tommy knew how tough his mom was when she had to be, how his dad always said that, even though he put out fires for a living, she was the toughest one in the family. Maybe she’d just decided she wasn’t going to cry in front of the fire commissioner and his crew. Maybe she thought that was something Patrick Gallagher’s wife, his high school sweetheart, shouldn’t do, even in a moment like this.

  Now Tommy’s mom and Uncle Brendan walked across the emergency room lobby to where Tommy and Emily were standing, Tommy struck by how loud Uncle Brendan’s wide yellow pants sounded as his legs rubbed up against each other.

  Tommy’s mom pulled him and Emily toward her, gripping them like she was holding on for dear life. She looked them in the eyes and said, “He’s gone.”

  Tommy wasn’t going to cry, either. Not because the fire commissioner was here, or even Uncle Brendan. He just wasn’t going to do it. He was Patrick Gallagher’s kid. Toughness ran in the family. Tommy looked at his sister when they all pulled back. She wasn’t crying, either. Her eyes had just gotten bigger. She wasn’t looking at their mom. She was looking at Tommy. Just staring at her big brother, like she was searching for answers.

  Tommy had none.

  “He did everything he could,” Brendan said. “He did everything anybody could have done. And more.” He swallowed and said, “The fire was just too big this time.”

  Tommy nodded. Still holding back tears.

  “He’s upstairs,” his mom said. “I’m going up to see him. You two can stay here with Uncle Brendan.”

  “I’m going,” Tommy said. He looked down at his sister, who was still looking at him. She nodded, and finally spoke.

  “I’m going with Tommy,” Emily said.

  As they stepped into the elevator Brendan said, “Your dad was a hero today.”

  Tommy said, “He’s always been a hero.”

  • • •

  There were more firemen standing around when they got out of the elevator. Tommy recognized the ones from his dad and Uncle Brendan’s crew. They formed two lines now, and saluted Tommy, his mom, and his sister as the Gallaghers walked between them.

  At the very end of the line was Father Walters, the pastor from their church. He bowed his head, but didn’t speak. Like he knew there was nothing to say at a time like this.

  When they got to the door of the room, Tommy’s mom said, “You don’t have to go in.”

  “I’m going,” Tommy said again.

  When the elevator doors had opened, there’d been a moment when he thought about just staying inside, taking the elevator back down to the lobby, running out the door, running all the way back to the field. He’d had this crazy idea that if he could just get back there, get back to where he’d just played the kind of game he’d played for the Bears—maybe the game of his life—then everything would be back to the way it had been before the sirens.

  He looked up at a clock near the door to the room. It was already past noon. But Tommy wanted it to be Saturday morning again. He wanted to be on the field, waiting for his dad to sit in his usual spot in the bleachers.

  At first Tommy looked everywhere except the bed.

  The monitors next to his dad’s bed had been turned off. The tubes attached to them were in a pile on the table in front of the monitors. Brendan waited outside, telling Tommy’s mom that he’d already said his good-bye.

  The hospital room felt like the quietest place Tommy Gallagher had ever been in his life.

  Tommy looked at the bed, because there was finally nowhere else for him to look in the small room.

  There was a bruise on the side of his dad’s forehead, and another one near his jaw. Maybe the nurses or the doctor had tilted his head to the side—that way it was hard for Tommy or anybody else to see the burn marks on the right side of his face. Tommy walked to the left side of the bed so he didn’t have to get a closer look at those burns.

  His dad didn’t look like somebody who had just died, not that Tommy knew what people who’d just died looked like.

  Patrick Gallagher just looked like he was sleeping. Tommy wanted to yell at him to wake up. Wake up so he could tell him all about the game he’d just missed. Wake up so they could go home and everything would be back to normal again.

  But he didn’t say anything. He didn’t move. He just hung back near another door with Emily, who was staring with her big eyes at their dad the way he was. Tommy realized they both had their backs pressed against the wall.

  Tommy wished this was all a dream and he could wake himself up. A nightmare that would end as soon as his eyes opened. He closed his eyes for a split second.

  When he opened them again, his mom still stood by the bed. She kept standing there for what felt like a long time. Her lips were moving, Tommy saw, but there was no sound coming out of her. Finally she leaned over and kissed her husband on the forehead and said, “You were my sweetheart, too.” She paused and then she said, “I loved you the first time I saw you.”

  Then she turned to Tommy and Emily and asked, just with her eyes, if they wanted to walk the few feet across the room to the bed.

  Tommy turned toward his sister. She shook her head no. He released her hand and walked over to the bed, and looked down at his dad. From the time they’d left the field, he’d been trying to remember the last thing he’d said to his dad the night before, when his dad had come into his room to say good night, the way he always had if he was home on time.

  It seemed like the most important thing in the world right now, that he remember everything they’d said to each other, word for word.

  It all came rushing back.

  “You know the deal tomorrow,” his dad had said, sitting on the side of Tommy’s bed. “Don’t make me proud. Make yourself proud.”

  “You mean like you always make me proud?”

  His
dad had grinned. “I sure do love you.”

  That was the way he always said it. I sure do love you. As if just saying “I love you” didn’t go quite far enough.

  “Sure do love you,” Tommy had said back.

  Next to his dad’s bed now Tommy said, “I sure do love you.”

  After he’d said his good-bye, Tommy turned around, feeling like he was leaving behind a piece of himself in that quiet hospital room.

  A half second later he saw his little sister bolting through the door.

  FIVE

  ALL TOMMY COULD THINK ABOUT over the next few days, leading up to his dad’s funeral, was that he wanted it all to be over.

  He wanted to be alone.

  He knew the people who kept coming to the house were just trying to be nice, all the relatives from his dad’s side of the family and his mom’s and the guys from Engine 41 and all the other members of the Boston Fire Department who stopped by to pay their respects. But Tommy just wanted everybody to go away, even knowing that the sadness he felt inside him would never go away, because his dad wasn’t coming back. That was the worst of it, knowing that his dad was never coming through the front door ever again, never going to sit on Tommy’s bed at night, never going to finish the job of teaching him how to be a football player.

  It was never about simply being a good football player. His dad had always said it was about teaching Tommy how to be strong, schooling him, almost like he was sitting in a classroom.

  Tommy knew he was supposed to be strong now, for himself and for his mom and for Emily. But nothing Tommy’s dad—his coach, his best friend—had ever taught him could have prepared him for life being as hard as it was right now.

  The worst day, the worst and longest of Tommy’s life, was the day of the funeral at their church, St. Columbkille, on Market Street in Brighton, a few miles from their house.

  The day before, in the afternoon and in the evening, they had held his dad’s wake at the funeral home, his dad’s coffin covered with an American flag. His mom said that sometimes the coffin was open at wakes, but that Patrick Gallagher had always thought that was a ridiculous practice, and that if anything ever happened to him on the job, he wanted his closed. And he didn’t want anybody to make a fuss, either. He didn’t want to be treated like some kind of hero for doing his job.