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I grabbed the radio receiver. “What’s the address?”
“Eighty-four Sycamore Street,” the dispatcher replied. “Another carbon monoxide alarm.”
“Jan Karsh’s place again,” I said to Derek.
“Copy.”
He drove the fire engine out of the station and down the street, lights flashing but not using the siren. We bounced along in silence for the first few blocks.
“Saw you coming out of my room,” Derek finally said. “You were in a state of… undress.”
Derek wasn’t just my boss—he was like an older brother to me. I wasn’t going to lie to him, even if I wanted to keep this from him. Which I didn’t.
“We slept together,” I said.
Derek let out a half-sigh, half-groan. “Really? In there?”
“Don’t worry: we were quiet,” I replied. “The baby slept through it all.”
He glanced over at me. “I was more upset about it happening in my bed.”
“Oh.” I winced. “Yeah, sorry about that, Chief.”
“It’s all right,” he grumbled. “I take it you haven’t brought up our…idea, to her?”
“Actually, I did bring it up.”
Derek looked at me with surprise and hope. “What did she say?”
“The alarm went off before she could really say anything. But she seemed shocked. It might take some time for it to sink in.”
“Fortunately, time is something we have plenty of,” he said. I knew the truth of that: one thing about being a fireman was that we had a lot of downtime between calls.
Derek rounded a corner and pulled up to a small bungalow, where a frail Jan Karsh was standing on the front yard, waving.
“Evening, Mrs. Karsh,” I said while hopping out. “Same problem with the carbon monoxide alarm?”
“It keeps going off!” she said. “I’m sorry to bother you so late, but…”
“Don’t apologize,” Derek told her. “We’re just doing our job. You stay out here while we check it out.”
“That’s a lovely robe, Jan!” Taylor said to her. “Is it new?”
She beamed. “Oh, you always notice, Taylor. My granddaughter gave it to me for my birthday. Don’t you have one coming up soon?”
“In a few weeks!” he said cheerfully. “What’d you get me?”
“Oh, you’re such a rascal,” she said with a laugh.
Derek and I shared a wry look as we went into the house.
12
Clara
It had been a while since I’d had sex. Since college, in fact. Before I moved back home to Riverville.
I had forgotten just howgoodit was. Arms and legs wrapped around each other, grunting and squeezing and moving our bodies together in perfect harmony. Maybe it was the afterglow of sex talking, but Jordan was better than anyone I had ever been with. That was only a handful of guys, but it was true. My long-term boyfriend in college was awkward and nervous in bed. And Jordan wascertainlybetter than Peter Abraham, the boy I lost my virginity to in tenth grade, whofinishedon practically the same stroke he entered me in.
