Page 110 of The Clover Chapel (Jamison Valley 2)
Then we both started laughing.
Thirty minutes later, there was dirt under my fingernails. My jeans had grass stains on the knees. There was a twig in my hair. And the smile on my face felt permanent. I had found every one of his hidden eggs but one.
“I give up,” I told Nick.
“Right there,” he said, jerking his chin to the porch. And sure enough, a bright yellow egg was hiding in plain sight.
“Thank you.”
“Whatever your heart desires, Emmy.”
My cheeks turned pink. I really loved it when he said that.
With the Easter egg hunt complete, Nick and I worked together in the kitchen to prepare our holiday dinner. With plates loaded, we sat at the dining room table and dove in.
“So what did your father want?” Nick asked.
I had been so elated by my own personal victory that he hadn’t asked while we were outside. But now that he had, it was my chance to tell him the truth. That I thought a divorce would be a good thing for our relationship.
I’d found the courage to talk to him about it last week but had gotten distracted when he’d told me his dad was pressuring him to help the club. Since then, I hadn’t found the right time to bring it up. But now I wished I had forced it earlier. Having this conversation today was sure to ruin our Easter.
Here goes.
I opened my mouth and then clamped it shut when his dispatch radio upstairs kicked on. It was followed by a shrill beeping from his fire station pager and the chimes on his cell phone.
“Fuck,” he muttered, rushing to his pager.
“Is everything okay?”
“The movie theater is on fire.”
“Get your coat, Emmy. Hurry.” Nick was scrambling to find his keys while pulling on his boots.
“You go. I’ll just be in your way,” I said though I was still rushing to the coat rack.
“I don’t want to be worrying about you up here alone, not with Dad’s shit going down. I need to concentrate on the fire and won’t be able to with you here.”
The ten-minute trip to town took three. While Nick sped down the road, he took call after call, giving orders to the men who had beat him to the fire station.
When we hit Main Street, I could see smoke coming from the theater’s front doors. Jess’s bronze truck was parked, blocking the road, with his police lights flashing.
Nick took a sharp right off Main, maneuvering through the side streets to avoid the blockade. When we pulled back onto the highway, two deputy’s cruisers streaked by, heading in the opposite direction.
Sliding to a stop in front of the station, Nick jumped out and sprinted inside. I shut off the truck, grabbed my purse and rushed after him.
Most of the volunteer firefighters had already arrived and the ones dressed in their protective gear were climbing on the truck. The others were by the lockers, pulling on coats, boots, gloves and hats. Nick threw on his gear in seconds.
“Lock the door!” he shouted, running across the concrete floor and hopping onto the truck as it pulled out of the station. The minute the fire engine’s wheels hit the drive, the siren shrieked as it went flying down the road.
I checked my watch.
Seven minutes.
It felt like we had been eating dinner hours ago, not minutes. I just hoped that it was fast enough and the men could save the theater.
The sound of the siren disappeared and was replaced by an eerie silence. The excitement around me was gone but my brain was still whirling.
When the doors were locked, I wrapped my arms around my stomach and made my way to the on-call pit. Sinking into one of the tattered couches, I let myself panic.
