Chapter 15
As the engine rolled back up to the firehouse, Hudson leapt down, feeling amped up and ready to take on the world. His adrenaline was high in the wake of the second-story house fire. Three at home. No injuries. The structure itself wasn’t a total loss. And he’d had no flashbacks. Not even a tremor. All in all, a good end to his first day back in the field.
Hudson accepted the handshakes and back slaps of the other members of his company.
Carlos Ortega grinned. “It’s good to have you back, man.”
“Good to be back, Cheech.”
“You ready to do some real work after two weeks of lazing around?” This came from Luke Hanover, aka Crash. He hauled out the hose, ready to spray down the engine.
“You remember how to do real work after all that?” Aaron Egerton taunted.
“Enough to recognize your lazy ass was on bathroom rotation, Sparky. Your mama’d be ashamed to think that’s how you scrub a toilet.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, Ma.” He blew Hudson a kiss. “I’ll get right on that.”
Hudson shot up his middle finger and made the rookie laugh.
All around him, his fellow firefighters leapt into action, going through the usual post-fire routines of washing and refilling the truck, divvying up the paperwork, cleaning the turnout gear. As soon as the gear was dealt with, he hit the showers, rinsing off the acrid scent of smoke and sweat. It felt good to be back in the rhythm of the station, part of the crew. It felt good to be useful again.
“Chicken Little’s making chili,” Ortega announced as they dressed. “You should stick around for that. See the guys on B shift.”
“I’ll do that.” Hudson pulled his phone from his locker and checked his messages.
Audrey: How did the first day back go?
And just like that, the yawning void he’d been trying to ignore became center focus again.
Missing her was different from missing John and Steve. They’d been an integral part of the fabric of his days for years. Being back here, even surrounded by the rest of his company, he felt a bit like he was operating without one of his arms. But he was learning to adapt, learning to depend on the others, even if they hadn’t developed a life-long mind-meld. Trust was a necessary part of the job. But missing Audrey was a physical ache. Because she was still out there in the world. She just wasn’t with him. How had she become such a part of him in only two weeks?
They’d had one last night together after the dance. Charlie had graciously made himself scarce, bunking elsewhere. They’d made the most of it. And instead of making love to her like it was the start of the rest of forever, he’d loved her like it was goodbye. Because it was. She’d tried to convince him it didn’t have to be that way. They’d swapped contact information and promises to keep in touch. But each text, each call just ripped the scab off a wound that wasn’t healing.
He wanted to hear her voice. To tell her about the day. Instead, he shoved the phone in his pocket without responding and headed for the kitchen. Jason Bradley stood at the stove, stirring a massive pot of chili. From the scents that were wafting his way, Hudson was guessing he’d gone for his four-pepper chili. He hoped like hell there was plenty of sour cream to tone down the heat. A few other guys stood around the table, noshing on tortilla chips and cheese dip.
Jason turned with a wide smile. “Good to see you back, Ma.”
Hudson exchanged a back-thumping hug with the other man. “You cubs been behaving?”
“As much as ever. Have you met Hank O’Malley?”
“I haven’t.”
“Hank, this is Hudson Lowell, aka Ma. Hud, Hank. We call him Pogo. He’s a transfer from Boston.”
Hudson shook the other man’s hand, appreciating that no one verbalized the awkward fact that he was here to replace John. “Decide you’re tired of the big ass city?”
“Just wanted a change. The wife wanted to raise our kids in a smaller city.”
The stab of envy was swift and unexpected. “How many you got?”
Pogo laughed. “None yet. But we’re planning on three and enjoying the hell out of the practice.”
As the joking took on a decidedly ribald air, Hudson’s mind wandered. Transfer. For the first time since he’d watched Audrey ride away on that bus, he felt a flicker of hope. Maybe he could do with a change. He could fight fires anywhere. His primary reasons for staying here were gone. Maybe he could look into going to California. Would Audrey go for that? Surely, she would. She’d been the one who’d pushed to keep finding a way. Maybe this was it.
His fingers curled around the phone in his pocket just as it began to ring. Heart jolting, he checked the read out. Not Audrey.
“What’s up, Rach?”
“Are you done with your shift?” There was a faintly panicked tone to her voice.
“Yeah. What’s wrong?”
“My kitchen is flooded. I think the water supply to the dishwasher exploded.”
“Did you turn off the main water line?”
She gave an alarmingly watery groan.
Dear God, please don’t cry.
“No. John never showed me how. Where is it?”
Hudson gave a wave to the guys and headed for the door as he talked her through the process.
“Okay. I’m sorry to bother you with this, especially coming off a shift, but I could use a hand. And maybe a shop vac.”
He felt his hope wink out as fast as it had lit. How could he possibly think of leaving when Rachel was still here? With John gone, there was no one else to take care of her. He owed it to his friend to be there, to help her with whatever she needed. She had to come first.
“I’m on my way.”
~*~
“I’m here to see Dr. Feinstein.” Audrey offered the receptionist a smile. “I’m—”
The woman gave a curt nod that had the shellacked ash blonde curls of her short hair bobbing. “Dr. Graham. Of course. I remember you from your interview. Welcome back. He’s tied up with someone just now. If you’ll have a seat.”
Audrey lowered herself into one of the low-backed waiting room chairs, rubbing absently at the ache in her legs. It had been a long flight from Tennessee. Whatever happened with this meeting, she needed a walk before she went back to the hotel. Pulling out the iPad she’d loaded with research literature, she tried to focus enough to read, but every discussion of survivor’s guilt and PTSD had her thinking of Hudson.
Missing him was an ache that rivaled her legs. She hadn’t heard from him. Not after the first few days. He’d said it was just too hard and asked for some distance. That had felt like a slap, but what else could she do? He deserved the right to move on. But it hadn’t stopped her from thinking about him. She knew he’d gone back to work and was officially slated to be in the field again, taking fire calls. That was his version of getting back to real life. How was he handling it? She had to believe he was being safe, that he wouldn’t be allowed back on duty if he was taking reckless risks. But she couldn’t help thinking he needed more time to cope with everything that had happened.
“Dr. Graham!”
Audrey looked up as the department head crossed over to her, a broad smile creasing his bearded face. She carefully rose, holding in a wince as her knees protested the motion. “Dr. Feinstein, thank you for meeting with me.” Audrey shook the older man’s hand.
“Come on back.”
She followed him into his office.
He took a seat behind a wide wooden desk, with an old-fashioned leather blotter, and steepled his hands. It was the gesture of a man who knew he was in charge of everything in his domain. “I do hope this visit means you’ve made your decision to join our faculty.”
She’d run the numbers, weighed the pros and cons, and knew that this was the opportunity of a lifetime. But the decision wasn’t as cut-and-dried as it might be for anyone else. She wasn’t the same woman who’d interviewed here only a few weeks ago.
“May I be frank with you?”
An expression of surprise and perhaps a little concern flitted over his face. “Of course.”
“When I interviewed, I explained that I left my position at Duke because I’d been in an accident, and during my protracted recovery, I could no longer perform my duties as expected.”
“Yes. The committee discussed that. It’s not a problem for us.”
Audrey smiled a little. “I didn’t think it was, or you wouldn’t have offered me the job.” She folded her hands. “I’d like to give you a little more detail.”
“I assure you, it has no bearing on your hireability. If you need additional accommodations in the classroom or lab, we can make that happen.”
“I appreciate that. But that’s not why I want to tell you. My circumstances have direct bearing on my research interests, which I intend to shift from those discussed in my interview.”
Feinstein looked intrigued. “Go on.”
So, she told him, in broad strokes, about the accident and her subsequent recovery. She’d intended to stop there, sticking to the logical, organized presentation she’d prepared on the flight. Keeping things as professional and clinically distant as possible. But her reasons for pursuing this were personal. Deeply so.
“When I left here a few weeks ago, I went to summer camp in the Berkshires.”
“Summer camp?” He was clearly wondering where this was going.
Audrey waved that off. “Bucket list. Not the point. While I was there, I met the firefighter who rescued me.”
When she’d finished, Feinstein sat back in his big leather chair. He was back to steepling his fingers. “That’s…quite the story, Dr. Graham. And I can understand why you’d be moved to do further research in that area. However, that’s not a good fit for our department. Perhaps, in a few years, once you’ve re-established yourself, you can look at branching off—provided you acquire grant funding, of course.”
Audrey didn’t want to wait years. She didn’t want to go back to her old, heartless research. “I appreciate your honesty. But the fact is, this is what I want now. If my accident taught me nothing else, it’s that there is no guarantee of tomorrow. I need to do this. I need to shift my research to something that stands to directly impact people in a positive way. I need to make a difference, and I can’t do that unless I make a move to applied sociology. I’m not willing to go back to the hours and insanity of tenure track academia unless it’s for something I’m passionate about. Life’s too short. So, this is what I’m going to pursue.” Somewhere. “I understand if you wish to withdraw the offer.
He had a good poker face—no one made department head in academia without it—but she could tell she’d shocked him. What rising academic in their right mind would turn down what they were offering her?
Dr. Feinstein was quiet for a long time, clearly weighing his words. “If that’s how you really feel, Dr. Graham, I’m afraid we don’t have a place for you at this time.”
She’d expected this. But the confirmation still knocked her back and made her grateful for the support of her chair. Some part of her was screaming, Are you crazy? You can’t walk away from this opportunity! Audrey ignored it, leaning over to grab her purse from the floor. “I completely understand. And I apologize for wasting your and the committee’s time.” She started to rise.
“Wait. You also have a Masters in clinical psychology, do you not?”
It was the last thing she’d expected him to ask. “I haven’t used it for anything, and I’m not licensed to practice, but yes.”
“I have a colleague who’d be very interested in speaking with you. Rhona Prescott over at Syracuse.”
Audrey’s breath caught. “But their department isn’t hiring.” She’d checked that from the airport as she and Sam waited on their flight back to Tennessee.
“She’s not in the sociology department. She’s a research professor—part of a joint program with the VA hospital there. I think she’d really appreciate your story.” He picked up the phone. “Let me make a call.”