Page 4 of Feastin' with Fire
She shakes her head. "No. I moved here to start over. I don't really know anyone yet."
Dave catches my eye. "We need to transport her soon, Jimmy."
"Right." I stand up, suddenly aware of how filthy and intimidating I must look in my turnout gear. "The hospital will take good care of you."
"What happens after that?" she asks, and the pain in her question makes my throat tight.
It's the same question I asked the social worker when my mother died during my rookie year, leaving me truly alone in the world.
"There are resources," I say, the words sounding hollow even to my own ears. "The Red Cross can help with emergency housing."
She looks down at her dirt-stained hands, at the minor burns Dave has bandaged. "Thank you. For saving me."
"Just doing my job, ma'am." The standard response feels wrong, inadequate.
Her eyes lift to mine again, and there's something in them I recognize all too well. The look of someone who's had the groundripped out from under them so many times they're not sure they have the strength to stand up again.
"Ma'am, we need to go now," Dave says gently, replacing the oxygen mask.
As they prepare to load her into the ambulance, I step back, suddenly feeling like an intruder in her private grief. But as the doors start to close, she looks directly at me one more time, and I'm struck by the thought that I can't just walk away from this—from her.
"Sullivan!" Chief's voice breaks through my thoughts. "Need you back on the line."
I turn away from the ambulance as it pulls out, sirens silent in the night. The water from our hoses has turned the street into a small river of debris and ash. Everything she worked for, washed away into storm drains.
"What's the status on the victim?" Chief asks as I rejoin the team.
"Minor injuries, but she lost everything." I pause, then add, "She's new in town. Doesn't have anyone."
Chief gives me a look I can't quite interpret. "That's tough. But we've got a job to finish here."
I nod, pulling my mask back on, but my thoughts remain with Lily Anderson as she's carried away into the night. There's something about her strength and vulnerability in the face of complete disaster that resonates with me. I know what it's like to start from nothing. To have no safety net. To stand alone in a crowd.
As we work to fully extinguish the fire, I make a decision. Once we're done here, I'm going to the hospital. Not as a firefighter following up on a victim, but as a person checking on another person who's lost everything.
Because if there's one thing I understand better than most, it's what it means to watch your life go up in flames, and how much it matters to have someone—anyone—acknowledge that your loss is real.
Chapter 4 - Lily
The hospital room is too bright, too sterile, too quiet.
I sit on the edge of the bed, still wearing the papery gown they gave me after taking my smoke-infused clothes. The doctor said my lungs sound clear, but they want to keep me overnight for observation. Standard procedure for smoke inhalation, apparently.
What isn't standard procedure is having absolutely nowhere to go when they discharge me tomorrow.
I stare at my bandaged hands, the minor burns beneath the gauze throbbing in time with my heartbeat. The nurse gave me something for the pain, but there's no medication for the hollow feeling spreading through my chest.
My phone is on the small table beside the bed. Rescued from my pocket, one of the few possessions I still have. I could call my parents. The thought makes me physically ill. After two years of silence, calling them now would mean admitting they were right all along. I can hear my mother's voice already: *We told you this would happen, Lily. This is what comes of chasing childish dreams.*
No. I won't give them the satisfaction.
But the alternative is terrifying. I have exactly $237.42 in my checking account. My credit card is already near its limit from buying supplies for the shop. The rent for my tiny apartment above the flower shop was paid through my business account, which means I've not only lost my livelihood but my home as well.
A single tear slides down my cheek, and I brush it away angrily. I've cried enough today.
A soft knock at the door startles me. Probably another nurse coming to check my vitals for the hundredth time.
"Come in," I call, my voice still raspy from the smoke.
