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Alyssa fucking Ford.
Why was she back in town? The car in the driveway had Tennessee plates, and was probably a rental. Was her twin back in town, too? Where was her mom? I had so many questions, and precious few answers.
I gave up on sleep after two hours of tossing and turning. The tide was going out, so I took Smoke on a run instead. But I quit after a mile because my lungs felt scratchy and thick. Our respirators were state-of-the-art, but smoke inevitably got in while working around a fire.
After making a few calls, I drove to Morton Plant Hospital. My girlfriend texted while I was walking inside from the parking garage.
Jen: You know you’re supposed to call whenever there’s a fire. How else am I supposed to know you’re okay? :-)
Me: Sorry. Hectic morning. The fire was bad, but nobody was hurt.
Jen: I know you probably already ate at Diane’s this morning, but I’ve got an hour for lunch if you want to meet up. I’m buying!
Me: Today doesn’t work—I’m following up on something. Rain check?
Jen: It’s a date :-) We have lots to talk about! I’m thinking of renting out the room above my garage, and want to pick your brain.
The person I was looking for had been moved from the ER to the non-critical wing of the hospital, according to the helpful admin at the front desk. When I neared the hospital room in question, I slowed down. The curtain was drawn across the room, but a sliver between the curtain and the wall was wide enough to see the bed inside. As I walked slowly, my view changed: bare feet, then a hospital gown covering legs, then bare arms and tubes connected to an oxygen machine. I stopped before the face and respirator mask came into view.
“Excuse me,” I asked a passing nurse. “The patient in that room. Alyssa Ford. Can you tell me her status?”
The nurse looked me up and down suspiciously.
“I work at Fire Station Seven,” I said, flashing my credentials. “I pulled her out of the fire. Not trying to pry, I just… I just want to make sure she’s all right.”
Her entire demeanor changed, and she grabbed the clipboard off the door and flipped through the pages. “The patient looks like she’s doing great. Her oxygen numbers are good, and she didn’t suffer any burns. Worst thing we saw on her was a bruise on her knee. We have her on oxygen as a precaution, but she should be released in a few hours. She’s awake if you want to talk to—”
“Thanks,” I said. “Have a great day.” I retreated from the hospital before I could change my mind.
Most firefighters, including our station, worked a 24-48 schedule. That meant 24 straight hours on the job, followed by 48 hours off. Then that three-day cycle started all over again. But Liam, Mateo, and I had volunteered for an extra shift to cover some of the boys who were going out of town for a wedding. That was the shift when Alyssa’s house had burned down. I tried not to see that coincidence as a sign.
I usually savored my time between shifts at the station, but today I was antsy to get back to it. I knew sitting around at home wouldn’t do me any good.
“There he is,” Liam said when I showed up at the station that afternoon. He and a few other firemen were sitting around the living room, watching baseball highlights on TV. “We were just talking about you.”
“That’s the last thing a guy likes to hear when he shows up to work,” I said, pouring a cup of coffee.
“Nothing bad,” Mateo said in Cuban-accented English. “Liam was telling me about Alyssa.”
“She is bad news,” I said. “Stay away from her. Both of you.”
“Actually,” Liam replied, “we were talking about you and her.”
“That’s even worse news. I want nothing to do with her.”
Liam gave Mateo a look that said: I told you so.
“What?” I demanded.
“You two have a history,” Liam said.
“Not really.”
Liam gave me one of his disarming half-grins, but said nothing. The man was so damn easygoing. Like there was nothing in the world to worry about, least of all an old almost-fling from high school.
“I forgot!” Mateo jumped up and ran to the fridge. He returned with a slice of key lime pie. “From Diane’s.”
“Thanks, but I’m not hungry.”
