Page 16 of Book and Ladder
“Patrick!” Dustin’s voice carries down the hallway.
I step out of the closet, shutting the door behind me. “Hey! Yeah! In here!” I shout back, walking quickly toward the bedroom door.
I’m about to pull the handle when the door pops open, revealing Dustin and Cody taking up all the room in my hallway.
“Wanna come hiking?” Dustin asks, glancing over my shoulder into the bedroom. “Or are you entertaining company?”
“I’m alone,” I say stiffly.
That is, unless you count the thousands of people who’ll eventually listen to the podcast I was hoping to finish recording today.
“We’re hitting Winding Stairs,” Cody says. “Thought you might want to come.”
“Yeah … ” I answer quickly, hooking a thumb over my shoulder toward the bedroom. “I was just … dusting.”
“Dusting?” Cody asks, a wry smile forming on his lips.
Dustin chuckles. “You need to get a life, Patrick.”
Cody looks at me more seriously. “You good?”
“Always.” I step into the hallway, tugging the bedroomdoor shut behind me. “Let’s go. I just need to change my shoes.”
“You sure there’s no one hiding in there?” Dustin asks, wagging his brows. “Mr. Romance Novel having a little secret somethin’ somethin’ none of us know about?”
Dustin makes a move like he’s going to open the door to check. I step in front of him to block his outstretched arm. I may not have chosen to pursue pro ball, but I grew up in the O’Connell family. Football and construction are the two pillars of our house of worship. I know how to run interference.
“I’m sure. Let’s go.” I stride past Dustin and through the kitchen to my small mudroom to grab my tennis shoes.
My phone pings. A new email. I don’t dare pull my cell out of my pocket in front of my crewmates.
I’ll answer later.
Hopefully it’s M&M.
After yesterday’s hike with the guys, I finished the episode in the safety and solitude of my guest room closet.
Morning came quickly.
I’m circling the engine—checking panels, tires, lights. Dustin’s on hoses and ladders. Cody’s got SCBAs lined up like soldiers. Greyson’s rifling through the medical kits.
“I had an idea,” Captain David says, walking into the bay and talking loudly enough to be heard over the clanking and whooshing of morning equipment check.
Everyone stops what they’re doing.
“I’m thinking about the McKeehans.”
Hearing their name instantly transports me to the barn fire: smoke thick, animals squealing, the beam crashing to the ground.
“They’ve got insurance, but you know how that goes. I was thinking we could do something to help raise funds—not only for them, but a sort of a slush fund for families who endure bigger fires.”
“What are you thinking?” Greyson asks, all business, as usual.
Captain clears his throat. In a less intelligible voice than I’ve ever heard him use, he mutters, “A frmn clndr.”
“What was that?” Cody asks, sincerely.
Dustin’s already chuckling.
