Chapter One
Used to Love You
Every year following the attacks on September eleventh, the FDNY bands together to pay tribute to the victims, including our three hundred and forty-three fallen brothers. The flag in front of the firehouse is flown at half-staff and before we line up around the engine for the first moment of silence we have breakfast together. Usually, I find myself with the day off wearing my dress uniform to the firehouse. However, this year I’m on duty and like the rest of my brothers that are working, I’m dressed in regular clothes waiting for dispatch to command me to put my gear on and ride to the next call.
At eight hundred, forty-six hours we take our rightful places around the engine and quietly bow our heads in observance of the first plane striking the north tower. It’s a somber moment and while I’m fortunate to have walked away relatively unscathed not everyone in my house had.
Seventeen minutes later, we observe another moment of silence for the south tower and my eyes dart to our lieutenant, Gary. I watch him swipe away a tear and know he’s thinking about his wife who worked in that building but never made it out. The wounds may be old but they never truly close and every year at Christmas he honors her by decorating the home they shared. People come from all over Staten Island to see the massive display of twinkling lights and pay their respects to a woman they never met. A woman who is still very much missed by the man she left behind.
Then there is my twenty-four partner, Frankie, who lost not one but two family members to the senseless act of terror. Both his father and his older brother were firemen on duty and he joined the academy to honor them. He’ll tell you himself, being a fireman was never his choice but rather his destiny and as we continue to pay our respects to the dearly departed, I find myself thinking about my own twist of fate.
I think about the man in the elevator.
I recall the burn I felt in my arms as I carried him away from hell and the look of gratitude in his eyes as I left him alone in the church.
The clock ticks and at nine hundred thirty-seven hours, we surround the rig again marking the time Flight 77 struck the Pentagon. As I drop my chin, Frankie elbows me causing me to pause. I follow his eyes toward the door and my eyes connect with my ex-wife, Lisa. Making her way toward me, her heels click against the concrete disrespectfully disrupting the moment of silence. The remorse I felt only a second ago is quickly replaced by brittle anger as I step away from my brothers.
Her mouth opens and before the venom can spill from it, I grab a hold of her arm and usher her away from the rig.
“Get your hands off me,” she spats, pulling out of my hold. Turning to her, I glance over her shoulder at everyone watching our exchange before narrowing my eyes at her.
“You don’t come in here making a scene,” I growl. “Not today.”
“Fuck you,” she spats, poking a finger against my chest. “You’re the one making a scene.”
Clenching my jaw, I ignore her antagonizing ways and decide the quicker she speaks her peace the sooner she’ll be gone.
“What are you doing here, Lisa?”
“If you would’ve bothered answering your phone I wouldn’t have had to make the trip but, I shouldn’t really be all that surprised. The world always stops for you on this godforsaken day. Fuck everything and everyone else.”
“There it is,” I say, crossing my arms against my chest. “The bitterness you never let go of.”
“That’s right and I never will either because, I married a man who loved his job before he loved anything else, including his wife and children.”
It’s the same song over and over.
“Say what you want about you and me,” I tell her, stepping closer to her. “Call me a bad husband if it makes you feel better but, you don’t get to talk about the kind of father I am.”
“What’s the matter, Jimmy? The truth hurts? You’re a part-time parent—
“Whose fault is that?” I shout, forgetting we have an audience.
“Yours! You want to blame me for the divorce but the truth is you were gone long before I threw you out. I slept alone for years, spent holidays without you and parented by myself while you were off saving strangers.”
“I was doing my job,” I fire back, running my fingers roughly through my graying hair. “Did you ever stop to think if I was willing to risk my life for someone I never met, what I’d do for you or our daughters?” I don’t give her the chance to reply and I answer my own question. “No, you didn’t. Instead, you played the victim and cried any chance you got to anyone who would listen to your bullshit,” I argue, my patience teetering.
Stepping forward once more, I ignore the stares and lay the truth between us. “From the beginning, you knew what you were marrying, Lisa. I never pretended to be something I wasn’t. I was just foolish enough to believe you respected me—loved me enough, to accept who I was and what I did.”
Selfish to the core, she’s not the woman I pledged my life to. Or maybe she is and love really is blind but, when you don’t have that anymore when all that’s left is hate you forget all the good that brought two unsuspecting strangers together.
“Oh please Jimmy,” she retorts. “I used to love you.”
“Right,” I say with a nod. “Before you hated me.”
The truth leaves a foul taste in my mouth as I shove my hands into my pockets and watch her divert her eyes toward the door.
“You got what you wanted,” I continue. “You moved on, got yourself someone who is home all the time and still, you’re here busting my balls.”
Her eyes dart back to mine and rage radiates from her irises.
“You think I want to be here?” she spats, waving a hand around. “I hate this place,” she confesses. “This place, that uniform,” she pauses, shoving a hand in front of me. “… it robbed me of everything I ever wanted. So, no, Jimmy, I don’t want to be here. As God as my witness, I don’t want to fight with you either. We’re over and done with and you’re right I have moved on. Sal is a good man. He loves me and the girls. He puts us first all the time.”
Another twist of the knife.
“But Sal isn’t their father, and it isn’t his place to answer the damn phone when Gabriella’s school calls.”
“Wait, the school called?” I question, patting my pants for my phone as she rolls her eyes at me.
“Yes, something you would’ve known if you weren’t so absorbed in your job,” she sneers. “The dean called, she’s in trouble for crying out loud.”
Lifting my phone from my pocket, I glance at the screen and see several missed calls from both the school and Lisa. I force my attention back to my ex-wife and watch as she takes a step backward. Shaking her head in disgust, she hitches the strap of her purse onto her shoulder and drops her sunglasses back onto the bridge of her nose.
“For once in your life, pretend it’s your daughter trapped inside a burning building. Listen to her cries for help Jimmy because if we don’t act quickly we’re going to lose her,” she says before turning on her heel.
Her words are vicious and they cut through me but before I react, I think. I think about our youngest daughter and I wonder if her mother is right. Unlike her sister, Gabriella never truly accepted the divorce. In the years since the ink has dried on the papers, there have been several calls from Lisa regarding Gabby’s behavior. I was always quick to chalk it up to Lisa being a drama queen and told myself she was overreacting. Having the girls more than me made it easy for her to lose her patience and me to point a finger.
Lifting my head, I watch Lisa strut across the firehouse.
“What did she do?”
Pausing at the door, she glances over her shoulder and lowers her sunglasses.
“They wouldn’t say over the phone but, it can’t be good if they’re threatening to expel her,” she says as she moves to start for the exit.
“Where are you going?” I call out, forgetting about the tribute and the men who just witnessed an ugly exchange.
“Where do you think I’m going?” she retorts. “To the school.”
“I’ll meet you there.”
For a moment she simply stares at me and I see the doubt reflected in her eyes.
“I’ll be there,” I assure her.
Without a word, she turns around and I watch her walk away.
Out of sight.
Out of my head.
Out of my heart.
But never out of my life.
Before I hated her, I loved her and from that love came two amazing girls, one of which is crying for help. I never cared for being called a hero but, at this moment all I want is to be my daughter’s.