A Firefighter's Promise

“I understand the training because my husband went through it, but I never could quite understand how someone could subvert every instinct in his body telling him to get out of there. That’s just simple self-preservation.”

She was right about that, but it was something they didn’t talk about. Being afraid was part of the job, but if they talked about it and fed it, then they were useless in the face of an emergency. Firefighters didn’t talk about fear; they talked about preparation.

“I’m suited up, I’ve got a buddy system and I’m much better prepared for that heat than the victims are. I’m pretty much just focused on finding people and getting them out.”

“You must have a lot of stories.”

Matt chuckled. “Most of the job is paperwork. We do prefire inspections, public education, that sort of thing. I do a lot of reports. Like this restaurant, for example.”

He glanced around them, quickly estimating the risks in the room. Rachel looked around the dining room, following his gaze.

“There are two exits—the door I came in, and a door out the back.” He hooked a thumb toward the front door. “These tables would be like an obstacle course, especially through the smoke. The kitchen is worse, but those prefire safety inspections give us a lay of the land, so to speak. We want to know a building’s layout before we have to stampede in there in full gear. We have a job, and we know what we have to do.”

“So you’re saying you’re too focused to get scared?” she asked.

He chuckled again, amused at her tenacity. She wasn’t going to let this go, was she? He shrugged. “We’re too well trained to admit to it.”

Rachel was silent for a moment. “So, was that the training taking over the first day we met you?”

He raised an eyebrow, considering. “I guess so, yeah. I’ve learned to lean back on the training when I feel—” He stopped, uncertain of even how to decipher the complicated emotions he felt when seeing Chris again for the first time.

“Scared?” she suggested.

He shrugged. “Scared? Maybe. Nervous. Uncertain. Off balance. Anyway, I either knock down doors or spout statistics. As you found out.” He smiled and she laughed softly.

“It makes sense. And thank God for your training—it saves lives.”

“Not enough lives,” he replied. All the training in the world couldn’t bring back Natalie Martin. He’d seen countless school pictures around town of the little girl, clean and brightly smiling. That wasn’t the face seared into his memory, however. He would always remember the face smeared with grime, eyes streaming from the smoke and her hair a tangled mess. He’s see her ashen cheeks as she lay unconscious in his arms. He couldn’t remember what he felt in those exact moments. He felt it later, when he lay in his bed that night after the fire had been extinguished, the day’s events playing through his mind. That was when the reality of the situation hit him.

“Amen to that,” she said quietly, and his gaze snapped up to meet hers. He’d momentarily forgotten about her husband, and he winced.

“I’m sorry. I forgot about your husband.”

She shook her head. “I have to admit, I’m still angry about his death.”

“It was pointless,” he said.

“Exactly. Pointless. But that’s what firefighters do. They put themselves in harm’s way in order to save people.”

“Did they save lives that day?” he asked. The risk was worth it if lives were saved—that was what kept a firefighter going.

“The truck driver didn’t make it out...” She looked away toward her son, playing video games. “They both died that day.”

No rescues. Two deaths. His stomach sank.

“When you’re in that kind of situation,” he said, “your training has to move faster than your emotions do. You let your brain catch up when there’s time. Your husband was in the zone. He wouldn’t have been afraid, if that helps you at all.”

“It does, actually.”

He could tell that she hadn’t made her peace with everything yet, and he couldn’t blame her. It had been a year since Natalie Martin’s death, and he still hadn’t made his peace with it. She hadn’t been the first person to die in a fire, and she wouldn’t be the last. They were only people putting it all on the line for other people’s families, but somehow this one little girl had gotten past all his defenses.

“Are you a Christian, Matt?”

Matt pulled his mind back from the precipice. “I am.”

“Me, too.” Rachel’s gaze roamed over the restaurant, settling on her son across the room. “Does it help?”

“I suppose my faith is a part of everything I do,” he said quietly. “But even faith doesn’t answer every question, does it?”

“I suppose not.” She pushed her glossy waves away from her face. “You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?”

“There are people who have gone through far worse than I ever have.”

An image of Natalie’s grief-stricken parents arose in his mind. They’d been in shock, their faces white, their eyes begging him to take it all away as if that fire-retardant suit gave him supernatural power. But he couldn’t. Natalie was part of the reason why he needed to learn about children. Natalie had run from him when he came to rescue her...and he never wanted that to happen again.

“Look,” Matt said, tearing his mind away from those old wounds. “Do you think you could give me some of those tips for working with kids?”

“Now?” She took a sip of her pop.

“How about tomorrow? If that isn’t too soon.”

“I’d be happy to.” She nodded. “I can bring by a few resources, if I find the right box tonight. What time works for you?”

“How about two at my office?”

She smiled. “Sure.”

Chris came dashing back across the room, zigzagging around tables. He arrived at their table, out of breath and with a grin on his face.

“I won something!” He held up a small stuffed rabbit in a victorious display. As the boy exuberantly showed his mother his hard-won prize, Matt fell gratefully silent. He’d done enough talking, more than he’d ever intended. He took a deep breath, mentally steeling himself.

“It’s really hard to get one,” Chris was explaining. “It came down like this—” He used his hand to mime the game. “And then it went like this...”

Rachel’s gaze flickered in Matt’s direction and her gentle eyes crinkled into a smile. Before he could catch himself, he felt his own return grin tickling the corners of his lips. He picked up the dessert menu, a sundae awash in chocolate sauce and crowned with fluffy whipped cream emblazoned across the top.

“Let’s order that ice cream. What do you say?”

Chapter Three (#ulink_f62dce51-998c-5c82-9d73-7aaf86fb7d46)

The next afternoon, Rachel leaned back in the chair across from Matt’s desk. The air-conditioning felt good after a morning of unpacking in the overheated house. Most people had personal effects in their work space, but Matt didn’t seem to have much. No pictures of pets or family, no crayon artwork, no tacky gag gifts. This space shone clean and efficient. Her desk at school was always covered with “I love my teacher” gifts and eraser collections. The kids liked to come look at her desk, and she’d use the erasers as rewards for good behavior through the year. Perhaps it was her background in elementary education, but this amount of order seemed sad. Everyone needed a little love, and love, most often, came in the form of some organized chaos.

Then again, that might be the mother in her, too.

Matt leaned forward, catching her eye as her gaze swung back to where the big firefighter sat across from her in his desk.

“And this will work?” he asked.

“Teaching is less of a science and more of an art,” she admitted, pulling her mind back to her purpose in this pristine space. “When you have the same class every day, you learn which children get distracted more easily and which catch on more quickly. But when you have a different group of children every day, it’s more challenging.”