Chapter Five
Blake
By the time I got to the firehouse, Tony was already standing by the rig waiting for me to help him do the morning run-through on the equipment. I quickly stored my gear in my locker, refilled my coffee mug, and then headed back out to the garage to complete our morning task.
“Late night?” Tony grinned, as he handed me the clipboard and began pulling open the doors at the back of the rig.
“Meh,” I shrugged, as I checked off the equipment as Tony pulled it out and then put it back properly. Both of us hated this task, but we’d been on more than one call where someone had skipped out on their duty, and the last time it had happened, it almost cost two firefighters their lives. As a result, Chief had cracked down on the whole squad.
“The swingers again?” Tony asked, eager for the sordid details.
“Nah, just me, Nina, a pizza, and the Saw trilogy,” I said, shaking my head. “The pizza gave me heartburn.”
“God, you’re getting old,” Tony sighed, as he slammed the doors that enclosed the oxygen tanks and moved around to the side of the rig. “If I ever get to be as old as you are, shoot me, will ya?”
“Fuck off; you’re a year younger than me,” I said dryly. “And you’re still married. That counts for double in my book.”
“No joke,” he said sadly. “I’m never getting laid again, B.”
“Have you tried doing things her way for a change?” I asked. I knew that Tony’s problems with his wife were largely self-made, but since he’d shepherded me through my divorce from Remy, I wasn’t about to throw stones.
“Why would I do that?” he asked.
“Because maybe she’d be impressed that you’re trying and would then decide to reward you, you big dumbass,” I said, as he pulled out the hoses, called out the status of each and then stored them back in the compartment.
“Yeah, well, that would mean I have to admit that she’s right,” he grinned. “No way in hell I’m gonna do that.”
“Sometimes I wonder how you got that woman to agree to marry you,” I muttered. Tony’s wife, Anita, was an OB/GYN who ran the clinic in town. She was smart, beautiful, and even more stubborn than her husband. I often joked that their marriage was nothing more than a war of attrition.
“Shotgun, my friend; I relied on my father-in-law’s shotgun to seal the deal,” he grinned. The truth was that Tony and Anita had been childhood sweethearts, and although they’d married young, they’d managed to forge a strong marriage despite some devastating losses. I knew that when Tony complained about a lack of sex, it was usually because Anita had been busy delivering babies.
“You’re a Neanderthal, you know that, right?” I laughed, as we finished up the engine check and moved to the squad car.
“How’s Nina doing?” he asked, abruptly changing the subject.
“She’s fine, a teenage pain in the ass, but overall, good,” I said, without looking up.
“Uh oh, what’s wrong?” Tony asked.
“Eh, the usual. She hates her mother and she’s let her grades slip,” I said, trying not to let on just how concerned I was.
“Ease up, B; she’s a teenager,” he said, as the alarm went off and a voice came over the intercom announcing a call. “It’s what they do.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I nodded, as we grabbed our gear and got ready to take our places on the truck.
It was a quick drive to the scene, where we found a woman who had misjudged a curve out on the edge of town and run off the road into a tree. Tony and I grabbed the Jaws of Life as the EMT took her blood pressure and tried to determine if she had any major injuries. Once she was cleared, we cut through the door of the car and put her on a backboard.
“They ought to put a sign out here,” Tony muttered, as we wiped down the gear and stored it back in the truck. “That’s the third accident this month. And in that exact same spot.”
“Write a letter to the mayor,” I suggested. “I’m sure he’ll give it all due consideration before filing it.”
“In the trash can, maybe,” Tony muttered, as we climbed back up into the engine and headed back to the station. “I’m serious, Blake. This is a dangerous curve. Someone’s gonna get killed out here one of these days.”
My phone went off as we were storing our gear. I pulled it out and frowned as I saw an email from Ms. Fowler, Nina’s History teacher. I opened it and quickly read it.
“Dammit,” I swore, as I shut the phone off.
“What’s the matter?” Tony asked.
“Nina’s teacher wants to have a conference tomorrow about Nina’s History grade,” I said.
“So, go and hear what she has to say,” Tony shrugged. “What’s the big deal?”
“Not only am I going to have to hear about how Nina is failing to live up to her potential,” I said, “but I’m going to have to deal with Remy blaming me for it.”
“Oooh, ouch,” Tony winced. “Kinda sucks.”
My phone began ringing, and when I looked at the screen, I let out a string of swear words that drove Tony into the lounge in search of food.
“Hello, Remy,” I said flatly.
“I assume you got the email from Ms. Fowler,” Remy said in a clipped voice.
“I did,” I replied.
“Well, I simply cannot drop everything and be at the school tomorrow, Blake,” she huffed. “My schedule is tight, and I’ve got a meeting with the development committee at 2. I can’t exactly tell them that I need to postpone their multimillion-dollar contract negotiations because my daughter’s teacher says we need to discuss her History homework.”
“Oh no, I wouldn’t dream of asking you to inconvenience your precious strip mall developers,” I said sarcastically.
“Don’t be an asshole, Blake,” she warned. “You’ve got a flexible schedule tomorrow, so you can go without me.”
“Why do you always assume that my schedule is so flexible?” I shot back. “How do you know I’m not working?”
“Because you work one day on and three days off,” she said. That was one of the complaints she lodged in the divorce filing. Despite the fact that it was incredibly flexible, my work schedule was the primary focus of our married life, and it always had to be accommodated first. “You’ve worked the exact same schedule for the past 20 years.”
“Are you saying I’m predictable and boring?” I asked angrily.
“No, I’d call it boringly consistent,” she replied. “Are you going to go or not?”
“You know I will,” I grumbled. She had me up against a wall because she knew that I’d do whatever I needed to do to ensure that Nina was happy, healthy, and well-educated. She did not seem as dedicated to the task as I was, and that had always irked me even though I loved spending my free time with my daughter.
“Thank you,” she said, without sounding terribly grateful.
“Yeah, whatever,” I grunted, before hanging up. It wasn’t that I missed being married to Remy; I didn’t. It was that I resented the way she treated me as if I were another one of her office staff. As if my sole purpose in life was to raise our daughter so that she could later take the credit for what a great job we’d done. I knew she loved Nina, but it was at times like these that I wished I’d been widowed rather than divorced.