Author: Kristan Higgins

When I return to my seat, I find that I’m more than able to ignore Trevor, and if I see him smiling in my direction out of the corner of my eye, I hardly even notice.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

“SO WHAT HAPPENED HERE?” Ernesto asks, gazing down at me with concern.

“I was struck by lightning,” I groan. Peeking up from between my lashes, I see Ernesto struggle not to laugh.

“Are you in any pain?” he asks.

“Yes. Incredible pain,” I murmur. “It hurts all over. And my eyes are bleeding. Please help me.”

Ernesto snorts and inflates the blood pressure cuff so it tightens around my arm. He releases the valve and waits…“A hundred and two over fifty? Is that possible?” he asks, frowning at the dial.

“I row,” I state proudly.

“Really! Is that you I see down on the river every morning? About six o’clock?”

I rip off the cuff and put it around Ernesto’s biceps. “That’s me, buddy. You should try it. It’s fun.”

“I’d love to.”

“I’ll give you a lesson,” I say, squeezing the little bulb. “Now be quiet so I can do this.” I put the stethoscope in my ears and wait. “One-thirty-three over eighty-six, pal. Time to drop a few pounds and start exercising. I’ll expect you tomorrow morning at five-thirty, the little boathouse at the end of Bank Street.”

“So you’re the bossy type, I see,” Ernesto murmurs suggestively.

“And you like bossy?” I ask, grinning.

“I’m married. Of course I like bossy,” he answers, patting my arm. “You serious about the rowing? My wife’s been after me to exercise.”

“Sure! It’ll be fun.” I rip off the cuff with great flourish.

“Okay, good work, people!” Bev hollers. “Pack it in and get out of here. O’Neill, can I see you privately?”

My humor evaporates. I suspect I’m in trouble.

I’m right.

Bev waits till Pam shuts the door behind her. “O’Neill, I heard about your ride-along.”

I cringe, she sighs. “You sure you want to finish this class?” she asks gently.

“Look, I know the ride-along didn’t go that well,” I begin.

“Disastrous, O’Neill. Fucking disastrous.”

“Okay. Yes, disastrous.”

As part of the course, we’re required to tag along with an ambulance crew for a few hours. Ernesto went first and did fine. An asthmatic kid who needed to be transported. Come on. Piece of cake. Then Ursula went. Chest pain. Big deal. Then was my turn.

I try to explain now. “It was a pretty intense call, that’s all. My first time, Bev. I’ll do better next time.”

“Look, kid, not everyone is cut out for this kind of work. That’s all I’m saying.”

“I didn’t faint, though. That was good, I thought. Progress.”

Bev narrows her eyes. “You dropped the bag on her leg, Chastity. Her broken leg.”

I bow my head. “Right. That…that was…bad.”

I panicked. It’s not hard to understand why. We were summoned to an apartment building. At the bottom of the stairs was a broken plate, the pieces ominous and sinister. Then we saw the blood, a trail that led up the stairs. Apparently, the woman had taken a header down the stairs, ripped open her arm and broken her ankle. Then she crawled up the stairs and somehow managed to call 911.

I was hyperventilating before we even got to her. And then, come on! Muscle and tendon were bulging out of her blood-soaked arm, her ankle was turned at an impossible, freakish angle, practically rotated one hundred and eighty degrees. It was like something out of The Exorcist, for crying out loud! Of course I panicked! I’m not proud of it…I seem to recall saying helpful things like, “Holy Mary, Mother of God, it’s really bad!” and “Are they going to have to amputate?” And then, yes, the stupid medical bag, my one responsibility…it just slipped from my sweaty hands and landed on her leg.

My bank account is now over two hundred dollars lighter, since I’ve sent the poor woman flowers every day she’s been in the hospital, not to mention three boxes of German truffles and a fruit basket.

“I’m really trying,” I say to Bev. “To be honest, Bev, I’ve always freaked out at the sight of blood. I just want to be…” I pause. “You know my family, Bev,” I say with bleak honesty. “I just want to be—” a true O’Neill “—normal. A normal, helpful person.”

“All right,” Bev acquiesces at last. “We’ll see how it goes. I’m worried about your day in the E.R., though.”

She’s not the only one. My mouth goes chalky at the mere mention of it.

Shoulders drooping, I trudge down the hall to the elevators, press the button and wait. She’s probably right. It’s not like I’m going to do this for a living. I’m not cut out for this, my heroic family aside.

The elevator doors slide open, and there, dressed in scrubs, is Ryan Darling. “Chastity!” he says, looking up from the chart he’s reading. “How nice to see you!”

“Hi, Ryan,” I say, blushing. The man fills out scrubs nicely, ladies and gentlemen. I step in. “I guess you’re working.”

“Mm-hm,” he says, glancing back down at the chart. “And you? Are you looking for me?”

I smile. Ah, surgeons. “No. I’m taking an EMT class.”

“Really? That’s interesting. Let me know if I can be any help.” He smiles. “I’m looking forward to Friday.”

“Same here.” Once my nipple stain had been wrestled into submission the other night, Ryan and I had a very nice time. Very pleasant. He’d asked to see me again, dinner at Emo’s, and I accepted instantly.

The elevator stops again, and a middle-aged woman gets on. “My daughter just had a baby,” she announces, glowing.

“Congratulations!” I say. “Boy or girl?”

“A boy! Patrick! He’s so beautiful!” Her eyes fill with joyful tears, and I pat her arm and smile. Ryan says nothing, engrossed in his chart. Must be a tough case. The elevator stops again, and he glances up.

“This is my floor. Please excuse me,” he says formally.

“Have a good night,” I say.

He turns and leans in, planting a quick and gentle kiss right on my lips. “You, too, Chastity.” He’s gone before the blush can finish creeping up my neck. I bite my lip and smile. He kissed me. Ryan Darling kissed me. And it was nice. Quick, but very nice.

The doors slide shut once more. “Now there’s a handsome man,” the new grandmother comments. “Your husband?”

“No, no,” I tell her. “We’re…well, we’re dating.” I’m grinning like an idiot.

“Good for you, hon. A doctor and gorgeous.” She smiles and sighs. “Though nothing beats having a grandchild. Patrick is my first, you know.”

My ego, which was kicked in the head by my review with Bev, has been restored by the brief encounter with Ryan. As the woman pointed out, he is an extraordinarily good-looking man, incredibly smart, talented and well-educated and rather charming, actually.

I think about the bathroom incident. The nipple. Trev’s hand. Then I give my head a little shake and recite the mantra I’ve had going for a good long time. Trevor and I are really good friends. We were together once. It didn’t work out. If he’s the man I’d choose, well, sometimes you don’t get what you want. Doesn’t mean I can’t fall in love again. Find someone else. I don’t have to be stuck on Trevor James Meade for the rest of my life.

I go back home, clip the leash on my baby girl and go for a walk. May is such a beautiful month. The cherry trees in front of my neighbor’s house are in bloom, and late tulips nod along the sidewalk. I’ll have to do some gardening this year, too. Buttercup sniffs a flowerbed with great excitement, practically inhaling a grape hyacinth into her nostril. A lilac tree promises to be glorious in another week or so.

I head for downtown, past the Civil War memorial, past the library with its big elm trees and benches. The streetlights shed a soft pink glow, and I sneak peeks up at the apartment windows above the shops that line Main Street. Someone has a big bookcase. Someone’s room is painted red. Someone loves plants. I love these little glimpses into the lives of the residents, love seeing a tiny slice of someone’s life.

Buttercup finds religion at a fire hydrant, putting her bloodhound genes to good work as she sniffs and sniffs and sniffs. She has more energy these days, and it’s not such a trial to walk her, though she is breathtakingly slow for such a big animal. She glances back at me and continues to snuffle along the sidewalk, wagging her tail.

I find myself at my dad’s apartment, though I hadn’t exactly planned on coming. What the heck. I ring the bell.

“Trev?” Dad’s voice asks over the intercom.

“It’s Chastity, Pop,” I say.

“Hey, Porkchop!” He buzzes me in and I walk up the three flights to his apartment, practically dragging Buttercup behind me.

“You can do it, girl! Almost there!” I urge as she threatens to collapse on the second landing. Finally, we reach Dad’s door, which is unlocked.

“Come on in,” he calls from the kitchen.

I’ve only been here once before, last summer. It doesn’t look much different. There’s a futon couch, a TV in the corner, and still a lot of boxes yet to be unpacked. A couple of Eaton Falls Fire Department shirts are draped over the radiator.

“I love what you’ve done with the place,” I say.

“Don’t be a smart-ass. Want a drink?” Dad asks. He’s wearing his work clothes still, dark blue pants and a polo shirt emblazoned with the Maltese Cross, the symbol of firefighters. His thick salt-and-pepper hair is rumpled.

“Sure,” I say. “Got a beer?”

“Coming up.”

Buttercup flops down in front of the couch, and I climb over her to sit, draping my legs over her broad back. Dad brings me a beer, a whiskey for himself, and sits next to me, slinging his arm around my shoulder.

“Are the Yanks on tonight?” I ask.

“No,” he says glumly. “Travel day.” He looks at me. “So what brings you here, Porkchop?”

“I was just out for a walk. Thought I’d drop by and see you. How are you, Daddy? Gonna unpack one of these days?”

He sighs. “Well, I never thought I’d live here this long,” he says, removing his arm. He sits silently for a minute, sipping his whiskey. “Your mother is seeing someone, you know.”

I nod.

“Is it serious?” he asks. “She won’t talk to me about it.”

“I…I don’t know, Dad. I really think you should consider retiring, though.”

“Right,” he snorts. “So I can sit around and scratch my ass? Hang around at the firehouse and wish I was still working?”

Buttercup rises, wagging. Her tail nearly topples my beer bottle, but I catch it and scratch behind her left ear. “Rooooo,” she moans in doggy delight. Dad gives a reluctant smile, and Buttercup takes this as permission to climb on the couch next to us. She wedges her giant frame on the space that’s left, then drapes her front paws and head across my lap.

“You are the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen,” Dad tells her, stroking one of her thin, floppy ears. Her tail whips in appreciation.

“Getting back to the subject at hand, Dad. There’s so much you could do if you retired. Travel, take up golf, spend a day in the city once in a while…you know. Be a normal person.”

“I don’t want to be normal,” he says, sounding much like one of his toddler grandchildren on a sulk. “I’m a firefighter.”