Page 38 of Branded

“I don’t like talking about LA, so don’t start that shit, Graham.”

“Don’t start what shit? Being a veteran on this crew and trying to fucking talk to you after a hard call?” Graham rises and starts pacing back and forth; clearly showing this call took a toll on him too, even if he’s trying to talk me through it.

“I don’t need nor want to be talked to right now. What I want is to go up there, shower, help clean up the truck; then lie down until we have to leave again. Do you have a problem with that?”

“No,” he says matter-of-factly. “I just want to know you’re going to be all right if another call comes through in five minutes.”

“You know I will be. It’s just… fuck. It was a kid, man, a kid. She couldn’t have been more than nine or ten. She was on a boat with her family, enjoying herself, thinking today was going to be a normal day and it ended up being her last. Because of a shitty decision an irresponsible motherfucker made. Don’t drink and boat. How fucking hard is that to understand?”

“I ask myself that question every, single time we have to go out on a call involving alcohol.”

“It’s so fucking senseless, and now a little girl is gone. I shouldn’t wish bad things on people, but I hope that asshole who was behind the wheel of that boat feels so much guilt it eats him alive for the rest of his life.”

Maybe what I’m saying is taking it too far, especially as a professional, but this is Graham I’m talking to. I feel like I can have a moment of ugly honesty with him.

“I’m sure that it will when he is finally able to understand the gravity of what has happened.”

The driver, or who we assume was the driver, wasn’t conscious when the ambulance took him away from the scene. We haven’t, and likely won’t, know much more about him or about exactly what happened.

That’s not our job. We respond. We don’t investigate or follow up. That is also something I’ve always struggled with. Especially since LA.

“I wonder if I’m even the right person for this job anymore,” I admit in a moment of vulnerable honesty.

“Don’t start that shit, Black. You’re the best fireman I know, besides me, obviously.” He raises his arms up and back, then links his fingers behind his head with a grin on his face, and when he sees I’m not smiling, he sighs. “Talk to someone about all of this. We have resources for it. Use them. There isn’t any shame in that.”

“Says the man who pushed back on that for months.” I glare at him.

“Do as I say and not as I do. Isn’t that the saying?” he replies, as he claps a hand on my shoulder. “Are you still seeing that girl? Isabelle? You should get out of the house tomorrow and put this out of your head.”

Fuck.

Isabelle has been calling me for a week now and I haven’t been returning her calls or texts. A certain teacher has been occupying my mind, and I haven’t felt like an asshole about it until right now.

“Actually, I think there might be someone else.”

“That tone makes me think the uncrackable Isaac Black is starting to wear thin when a pussy is concerned.”

“Considering I haven’t slept with her; your theory doesn’t hold any water.”

“Who is she?”

“No one you’d know.” I tell him, even though he did meet her briefly at the career fair at Sunset Valley High.

I want to keep Sawyer to myself for now, as much as I can, at least until I see where it could potentially go.

Graham and I chat a bit longer as everyone descends into the truck bay, kitchen, and communal rec areas, but I don’t stick around much after that.

I stop by my locker and check my cell phone, finding a text message from the same number that has repeatedly called me wanting to interview me about the wildfire anniversary.

The story is going to run regardless. We’d love updated input from you, Isaac. Call me.

God, these people don’t give up.

I head up to shower, letting the water rush over my head and drown out all the noise so all I can hear is the whoosh in my ears.

With my eyes closed tightly and my hands pressed into the wall, the horrific scene I saw today drowns away and is replaced by Sawyer in a blue sundress, smiling and happy.

I never expected to feel much toward her, because if history is any indication, I never feel much for anyone.

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