Page 8 of Book and Ladder
The ride home is quieter than the ride out. We’re hitting the point of the inevitable adrenal crash that follows any major incident.
Greyson’s voice comes through our headsets. “Nice job, men.”
Cody jokes, “Dustin, are you sure you’re not half-mule? Who needs an axe when they’ve got you and your boots.”
“Adrenaline is my friend,” he says, smiling with relief. “I think I saw my life flash before my eyes.”
“Nah. That was the sparks flicking off the beam that almost took you out,” Cody says with a chuckle.
We joke because if we don’t, we won’t last.
“I bet you he’s wearing his lucky underwear,” I tease.
“The Cheetos?” Cody asks.
“Nah. Today it’s chili peppers,” Dustin admits.
We burst into the kind of laughter that comes after surviving a crisis. Nothing else needs to be said. The unspoken realities hang in the air around us.
Back at the station we snap into gear reset mode. It’s all muscle memory. Everyone strips off turnout gear, hangs it to dry, and does their part to reset the rig so it’s ready for the next bell.
I grab a cold water from the fridge and down it in three consecutive gulps. Then I drag my soot-streaked body, shirt still clinging to my skin, into the shower room to wash off the stink of smoke.
After showers the crew grabs food together in the kitchen. There’s a certain kind of hungry that comes after a fire like the one we just fought. As we prepare our meal, we replay the day, going over who saw what and things we could’ve done differently. It’s not an official debrief. More shop talk than anything.
My body aches from exertion. I’m thirsty and hungry. But most of all, there’s this underlying sense of accomplishment. We didn’t salvage the barn, but we saved lives and kept the house from going up with the burning structure.
The rest of the day passes relatively uneventfully. Despitehaving gone out on a fire, Cody and I hit the station gym room to do a lighter workout of pushups, squats and jump rope.
We hit the bunks at ten, but wake to the station alarm ringing just after midnight.
“Medical emergency on Cherokee Lane.”
Since Greyson and I are the EMTs on duty, we take the call in the smaller truck while the rest of the crew stays back. George Buckner had a cardiac event. We drive him to the local hospital a half hour outside Waterford. We’re back at the station around two in the morning. At four, we’re called out for an accident on the local highway just outside town. Shift ends at seven thirty.
On my way home, I stop by Moss and Maple, the bookshop owned by Daisy Clark, a woman who can hold a grudge like it’s an international sport. She also happens to be my new next-door neighbor.
Did I seek out an apartment on her street?
Not exactly.
I like breathing as much as the next guy.
But I fully knew what I was getting myself into when I put my application in on the rental which shares a wall with her duplex.
Normally, I don’t frequent Moss and Maple. But my younger sister, Maeve, ordered some books and asked if I’d pick them up.
I take the wooden steps up to the wide porch of the old craftsman-turned-bookshop and open the solid wood door. Soft music plays through a speaker system. The air smells of coffee and books. A few displays feature local authors, and a section just beyond the main shelves is framed by construction paper leaves taped overlapping one another along the doorframe. Smaller chairs and beanbags are scattered aroundthe room filled with books wrapped in cheerfully bright covers.
“Can I help you?” Winona asks as I approach the counter. “Wow. You look like you could use a cup of coffee.” She pauses. “Or a pot.”
I grin. “I’m here to pick up some books for Maeve.”
“Oh. Yes! One minute.” Winona turns and hollers into the office. “Daisy!”
“Shhh,” Daisy says, emerging through the doorway wearing a pair of brown boots, a corduroy skirt and a flouncy shirt that’s tied at the waist. Her brown hair’s pulled up into a bun, wisps falling loose around her face.
Beautiful. Objectively speaking.
