Page 48 of The Clover Chapel (Jamison Valley 2)
Time was ticking away and I needed to make some decisions. My attorney had emailed me while I was in Italy to say he’d have my divorce papers drafted by the end of the month. Nick was not going to stop inserting himself into my life unless I made it clear we were over.
Were we over?
For nine years, I’d thought we were. But so much was different now. He was everything that I remembered. Kind. Affectionate. Intelligent.
And stubborn. Every time I tried to push him away, he just pushed back harder. But honestly, I really hadn’t put up much of a fight against his advances.
“Ten seconds ago, you let him stick his tongue down your throat with no fight at all, Emmeline,” I mumbled into my hands.
“Ms. Austin?”
My head flew up. Mason Carpenter was standing in front of my desk. “Mason. I’m sorry. I thought all of you kids had gone home. Are you okay?” I asked, standing up, then kneeling by his feet.
Ever since I had bought the children shoes, Mason had started opening up to me. He still wasn’t speaking to any of his fellow students, with the exception of Rowen, but now he would talk to me as long as I was kneeling down with him and no other students were listening.
“I was wondering if I could eat lunch inside tomorrow with you,” he whispered.
“Sure,” I said. “Can you tell me why you don’t want to go outside with the other kids?”
“It’s really cold outside. And today Rowen gave me her extra coat but the other kids were making fun of me because it was pink.”
How had I not noticed Rowen bringing him another coat? Or that he hadn’t been wearing one when he’d arrived at school? I made a mental note to email Rich again, hoping this would be enough to start digging further into Mason’s home situation.
“You know? This will work out perfectly. I was just going to ask if you wouldn’t mind helping me over lunch. I’m really having a hard time getting all of my work done and the classroom set up for our afternoon activities. Maybe you could help me?”
He nodded and gave me a small smile.
“Maybe we can check to see if Rowen wants to help out too.”
This time, I got the dimple.
“Where are we going?”
“The fire station,” Nick said, driving along the highway.
Past two gas stations, Main Street merged with the highway that led out of town. Other than my trips to the grocery store, I hadn’t explored the businesses in this area, so I stared out the window, taking them all in.
We had almost reached
the hospital when Nick turned left and followed a side street to a tall, narrow building made of gray concrete blocks. In its center was a large white garage door. A Prescott Fire Department sign arched above it.
Nick parked alongside the building and climbed out to open my door. He captured my hand and tugged me behind him as he unlocked a tinted glass door and walked inside the station.
“Wow.” My eyes traveled around the large, concrete room. “It’s much bigger on the inside than I would have guessed.”
“The tour’s pretty easy since you can see everything from this spot. But that’s the fire truck,” he said, pointing out the obvious. The red truck occupied half of the long building, other than some tools mounted on the walls.
“That far wall has all the volunteer lockers where we stow the gear. My office is over there,” he said, indicating a room made mostly of glass panels in the back corner. “Behind it is the bathroom. And over here is the on-call pit.” He pulled me toward a lounge area at our left.
The space was filled with two old couches and three beat-up recliners, all of which were pointed at a huge TV. Under the television was a cabinet filled with every gaming console imaginable and a pile of action films.
“What’s an on-call pit?”
“A place for the on-call volunteers to hang out. This time of year, we don’t have the volunteers stay at the station. Whoever is on-call just has to make sure they’re in town and can be reached on their pagers. But during forest fire season, we have them stay here. I take the day shifts since most of them have regular jobs, but they come in and spot me at night.”
“Do they get paid? Or are they truly volunteers?” I asked.
“They get paid. It’s not enough to make a living but it makes their time hanging out here worth it. And we all make serious cake if we get pulled in on a fire.”
