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“You were a fireman for years. You don’t think she’s used to it?”
He laughed, but without any real humor to it. “Not anymore. She thinks this job is code violations and safety inspections. Most of the time, she’s right, so I don’t spend much time correcting her. But your mother hated it when I was a fireman.”
“No, she didn’t. She loved it.”
His expression didn’t change. “No, Hannah. You loved it.”
Hannah stared at him, too shocked to come up with an immediate response. He was right about her, of course. She’d been so proud of her father when she was little. Her mother still had a massive box of crayon drawings from when she was a child, and just about every picture featured a fire truck on its way to a blazing building, or a tall, blond fireman rescuing a kitten.
Her father spoke into her silence. “Don’t get me wrong. Your mother loved it when we were first dating. But after we were married, she seemed to realize that firefighting carried a little more risk than a desk job. Every time I had a tour, I had to watch her choke back a handful of anxiety pills.”
Hannah thought about her mother, the perfect homemaker, the perfect mother, the perfect grandmother. Always calm, always even-keeled. “Mom never said a word about that.”
“You think your mother would have wanted to pass that along? To tell her ten-year-old that every time her father walked out the door, they might never see him again?”
Hannah watched her breath continue to cloud. She tried to wrap her head around this new information, but there were too many memories, too many years to scroll through quickly. “But she’s been so supportive of my becoming a firefighter. She watches James at the drop of a hat.”
Her father gave her a look. “He’s her first grandchild. Your mother would watch James if you were jumping out of planes all day long.” He paused. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but . . ” He trailed off.
“Yes. You should definitely tell me.”
“I don’t want to drive a wedge between you.”
“You don’t have to worry about my relationship with her.”
He winced, then hesitated so long that Hannah worried she wouldn’t get an answer at all. “She hates it just as much that you’re a firefighter. She’s counting down the days until you get your paramedic license.”
“She’s never said a word!”
Her father narrowed his eyes. “Are you sure? She hasn’t encouraged you to find a less stressful job?”
“Well, yes, but.. ” Hannah stopped. Her mother did encourage that, all the time. Hannah had never realized it had anything to do with her choice of occupation. She’d always thought it had more to do with being a working mother while trying to go to school.
“When you enrolled in fire school,” her father continued, “she wanted to forbid it.”
Hannah set her jaw. “She couldn’t have stopped me.”
Her father smiled—the first real smile she’d seen from him in forever. “That’s what I told her.”
Hannah jammed her hands in her pockets. “Don’t try to turn this around, like you’ve been the perfect parent all along, and this has all been some misunderstanding.”
He lost the smile. “That’s not what I’m doing.”
“You expect me to believe that you gave up a job you loved because you didn’t want Mom popping a few Xanax?”
“No, Hannah.” His voice went low and dark. “I chose to be a fire marshal because I didn’t want your mother to leave.”
If her car hadn’t been right there, holding her in place, Hannah might have fallen back a step. She studied his face, looking for any clue that he was exaggerating.
He looked just as steady as ever.
She couldn’t handle this. She wrapped her fingers through her key ring and turned to open her car door. “I don’t believe you.”
“You don’t have to.” He paused. “I was just explaining why I didn’t tell her about the shooting.”
“It doesn’t explain anything. I wish you’d never told me.”
He didn’t have anything to say to that.
