Page 31 of Single Mom's Firefighter SEALs
His words help calm the fear that’s clawing at the inside of my chest. “When?” I ask.
“I’ll be by as soon as I’m clear here. Should be an hour, maybe less. I’ll text you.”
“Okay,” I whisper.
His voice is softer still, almost intimate, when he says, “Check the doors if you need to. Stay inside. Call me if anything feels off before I get there.”
It’s almost like he knows exactly what I’ve been doing. Ever since we’ve been back at our house, and even when we were at Mae’s, I’ve been checking the locks, front and back, then rechecking. I can never quite remember the feel of the lock under my hand, or reassure myself that I saw the locks were engaged.
I’ve been listening for sounds that may or may not be there, and jolting awake over furnace and refrigerator noises.
I swallow back some of the fear. “Okay.”
“Elena.” Our connection is so clear it almost sounds like he’s in the room with me. I wish he were. “I’m coming. You hear me?”
“Yes.”
After we end the call, I get ready, using some of Calder’s grounding techniques while I shower and do my hair.
When I’m ready, I wake T.J., who somehow knows something’s wrong as soon as he clears the sleep from his eyes.
“There was an incident at the school,” I explain. “Fire Marshal Brennan is going to drive us in today.”
“Was it another fire?”
“It was. In a shed outside the main building. No one was hurt.”
He’s quiet for several long seconds before he asks, “Why is someone starting fires, Mom?”
“I don’t know, Bug.” T.J. usually doesn’t like me using his childhood nickname now that he’s older, but today, he doesn’t seem to mind.
“The firemen and the police department are all working together to figure it out,” I tell him.
I’m grateful when he doesn’t ask more questions, because I’m not sure what else I can say.
Around the time T.J.’s finishing breakfast, Buck texts to tell me he’s on his way, then he texts again right before he knocks on the door, so I’ll know it’s him.
When he comes in, his jaw is hard, his cheeks are ruddy, his eyes are tired, and he smells of smoke. His broad shouldersfill the door frame, and my body reacts to his presence with an immediate sense of relief before the rest of me catches up.
If T.J. thinks it’s strange that Buck’s driving us to school, he doesn’t say anything about it. He does, however, ask Buck a stream of questions about firefighting in general, especially about the capabilities of the engines.
At school, I escort T.J. to the library, where an aide is on duty to supervise the kids whose parents need to drop them off early.
“I’ll be back to see you before the bell,” I tell him.
“It’s okay, Mom. I’ll be fine.” I worry he tells me that because he thinks it’s what I want to hear.
“Okay, then I’ll see you at lunch. Love you.” I give him a hug, careful to keep it normal and not squeeze him extra tightly like I want to.
Buck is waiting for me at the front entrance and leads me around the building to what used to be the maintenance shed.
As I try to ignore the distressing odor of wet ash and chemicals, a small part of my brain calculates the cost of what was likely lost in the fire. Another part of my mind is picturing all the students that go to school here, from the youngest to the oldest, and I’m filled with anger that someone would bring this danger so close to them.
As we stand looking at the blackened ruin that has collapsed in on itself, Buck clamps a big hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
He looks at me like we both know it’s a lie, but he doesn’t challenge it.
