Page 70 of Embers in the Outfield

“He was the only fireman I spoke to that day. He pulled me out of the car. He held me, and the moment I saw his eyes, I felt comforted. I felt like he could feel my pain. Now I wonder if it was sympathy knowing he had two little boys close to my age athome waiting for him. I can’t imagine scenes like those are easy on you all,” I say, knowing River lives a life that is very much parallel to his father’s.

He nods his head, not sure if he is in disbelief or in agreement with what I said.

“He didn’t say too much to me, but he made sure I was safe. He made sure I wasn’t left unattended and that someone would ensure my family came to get me at the hospital. Little did anyone know how chaotic that day would turn out to be for all of us, but in that moment, I felt cared for by someone who wasn’t a parent or relative, and that’s all because of your dad. He made me feel seen when all I felt was shattered.”

I let the tear escape my eye and fall down my cheek. The pain from that day still lives so close to the surface, and I can’t help how it takes over my body.

It’s then I realize I can show River one of the things I’ve kept from that day. “I need to go grab something. Give me one sec,” I say and scurry off to my room. I rush into my closet to find that one box I’ve carried with me since I moved out of my grandparent’s house years ago.

I find it at the top of my closet, and I pull the top off to reveal the contents from that life I’ve tried to leave behind.

I pull the item out and inspect it. I get up, about to step out and back into the living room, when I bump into a hard chest.

“What’s that?” River asks, and I should have known he was going to follow me here, curiosity getting the best of him.

I nudge my chin toward the bed, and he follows, both of us sitting side by side.

I put the old phone in his hand and let him inspect it. It’s no longer useful, obviously, but some weird side of me felt like I had to keep it. Like it was the last thing my parents touched before getting in the car that day. Like having this was at least a way to feel connected to them in some weird way.

“That is my parents’ phone your dad retrieved from the car that morning. I know it’s silly,” I say, feeling a little stupid that I care so much about a phone that will never work again.

Right then, River interrupts, “It’s not silly at all,” and I feel reassured by something in his tone that shows his appreciation more than anything else.

“Well, I find it comforting to touch things my parents touched,” I shuffle through the box I brought out from the closet and onto my lap, “like the car keys they carried with them and the note my mom had packed in my lunch that morning. This phone became a piece of their puzzle I couldn’t let go of. But now I think it can be a part of yours too.” I hear the shakiness in my voice as I show things to River, tossing the items onto the bed one by one, still unsure how he’s feeling about all this.

He stays silent for an uncomfortable amount of time. I don’t know what to make of it, and I’m starting to get restless. I fumble with a piece of plastic on the side of the box, then pick up the car keys and mess with the little baseball keychain my uncle had gifted my dad that last Christmas we were all together, unease lacing all my movements.

River clears his throat and keeps his eyes on the phone I handed him. His thumb keeps grazing the plastic, almost like he’s trying to feel his dad’s warmth from the gesture.

“I always wondered what his morning was like that day. My mom had talked to him that morning, and he even said it had been quiet on his shift. I remember my mom giving a little chuckle on the phone, telling him to keep from saying the dreaded word: bored. I still remember my mom sitting on the couch, hours later, clutching our cordless house phone, wishing things had stayed as boring as they had been when she had spoken to him earlier.”

“Was that the last time they spoke?”

“Yeah, I think so. Cell phones were nothing then as they are today. Even if he had his on him, it was sort of known to just use them for emergencies. So he didn’t call again. One of the guys from another company met up with my dad, and my dad had told him to give us a message that he loved us and that he’d always be with us. Luckily that firefighter happened to survive, and he was able to pass the message a few days later. Even though my mom had a premonition my dad had perished in the collapse, that message was almost like a confirmation because my dad would never have said that had he not known what was going to happen. I think deep down he knew he wasn’t coming home.”

Another tear falls down my face, and River has the strength to comfort me while he’s remembering his own father.

“I’ve always wondered where he went after that call with my mom. I wondered if he was at the firehouse that morning and saw the building on fire with the first plane and headed over. I never asked those who survived from the firehouse.”

He is speaking to me, but at the same time, it feels like he’s talking into the open space of the room. Like his thoughts are so jumbled that saying them out loud will make more sense.

I rub circles around his back, comforting him as he processes everything. The tables have turned from earlier when I felt paralyzed by the knowledge that River’s father is the same man who cared for me hours before his own passing. Now I’m the one allowing River to lean on me.

This all feels so heavy, and it’s hard to separate this emotion I’m feeling from the one he is most likely coming to terms with.

“I don’t know, Kennedy. I am in shock that all this time, right in front of me, I was so close by to someone who was one of the last to see my dad before he went into that building to never come out. After you told me your parents died on the same day as the tragedy that tore through every American, I felt a deeperconnection to you, but this? I never, not in a million years, would think you got to see my dad that day.”

I push his hair away from his face, and we simply stare at one another. We share something unique, and even though his dad witnessed me on my worst day, there’s something about the fact that I got to meet him in some capacity that makes me feel like I’m linked to River in an unshakable way.

He puts the phone down and carefully places all the mementos back in the box and move it to the ground. He places his hands on my cheeks and glides them through my hair; instinctively, I close my eyes and lean into his touch.

“You were brought to me, Kennedy. I truly believe my dad is watching us, and he knows that I finally found what he had left for me before leaving me behind.” He drops small kisses along my face, catching the tears coming down.

“The way my heart has opened to you, Kennedy, is like nothing I’ve ever felt in my life. Thank you for sharing your day with me, even though it’s one filled with so much pain. I know what you and I experienced that day is in many ways different, with similar feelings attached to it. I don’t think we will ever walk a day in our future without that piece of our past latching on.”

I nod, now the tears are constant streams down my face. I hold his hands over my cheeks and allow this feeling to overtake me. My love for this man may have hit me out of nowhere, but the more time we spend together, the more I’m reminded how much our past intersected in ways we never expected.

The moment he brings his lips to my own, I realize I’ve stepped through the worst part of life just to lead me to him.

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