Fireproof (6 page)

“I told you about it, Michael,” said a female voice. “I already went by the store and picked out your mother's gifts.”

Caleb knew that was Tina, Simmons's wife. Sure enough, she came into view wearing a tan brushed-leather skirt, black knee-high boots, and a jean jacket over a white turtleneck. She was holding Simmons's hand, seemingly still enamored with her husband of eight years.

“Oh.” Simmons snapped his fingers and turned to Tina. “I forgot to tell you. I got Friday off, so I'll be there for the game.”

“Good.”

Still holding her hand, he said, “You know, I ain't gonna let my son down.”

“I know you won't.”

“Hey, we still got that hot date tomorrow, right?”

“Oh, so now it's a
hot
date?”

“Mmm,” Simmons said. “Life's too short to have any other kind.”

“You're right about that,” Tina cooed.

Looking through his boat catalog, dreaming of open water and sports fishing, Caleb heard the couple kissing and felt almost guilty listening in on them. Obviously, though, they weren't too worried about privacy here between the trucks in the bay. Caleb threw another glance around the corner.

“I love you, baby,” Simmons told Tina.

“Aww. I love you, too.” Her free hand cupped her husband's face, her eyes looking into his. Slowly, she pulled her hand away. “I will see you in the morning.”

“All right.”

“You stay safe, Michael.”

Simmons put both hands on his waist, his mouth spreading into a sappy grin as he watched her go.

It was all so gushy, so nauseating. It was hard for Caleb to believe he and Catherine had been that way at one time. This morning, as he'd passed his wife in the kitchen, he'd noticed she was no longer wearing her wedding ring. That had cut deeper than any words she'd spoken.

What had gone wrong? Long ago, hadn't they been lovesick, too, like Simmons and Tina?

Now Caleb was just sick of it all.

Fumbling sounds broke up the quaint farewell between Lieutenant Simmons and his wife. Circling the other truck, Eric was still searching for the mysterious hose stretcher. Caleb was about to stand and intervene, when Simmons broke out of his reverie and spotted the bewildered rookie.

“Eric, what're you doing?”

“Umm . . . Well, I'm . . . Wayne told me to grab a hose stretcher.”

“A
hose
stretcher?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Eric.” Simmons wrapped an arm around the kid's broad neck and leaned close. “You
are
the hose stretcher.”

To his credit, Eric took the lieutenant's hard slap to the back without complaint. Simmons walked away and Eric dropped his head in embarrassment. “Aww, man.” He turned, pulled down an open compartment door with a clang, and headed toward the lunchroom.

On the engine's front bumper, Caleb chuckled. With no one to share the moment, however, his laughter turned hollow in the empty bay.

CHAPTER 8

L
ater that evening, Catherine found herself in the caring hands of her friends—Robin, Tasha, Deidra, and Ashley. They'd seen her puttering around the hospital all day, and asked how the public relations manager could be the one looking so dour. Once the word
relationship
was tossed up as part of the trouble, it was all over.

Time for some girl talk.

A table for five, alfresco, at a trendy restaurant.

“Men and women?”Tasha folded her arms and rested them on the white tablecloth. “They don't think alike, that's a proven fact.”

“Doesn't take no sociologist to tell me that.” Diedra took another bite of her dinner roll. “Any wife, mother, sister, any girl who's ever lived with a man, they can tell you—there is a whole world of difference. Men, they don't work right.”

“Aww, that's not fair,” Robin said.

“It's true.”

“Some of the time, sure,” Tasha said.“But I know a coupla sistas who ain't got it all straight neither.”

Robin nodded. “We're all human. All of us need help every now and then.”

“Which is why we're here,” Deidra said. “Right, Cat? You need us.”

Catherine gave a weak yet genuine smile. She wore a scooped blouse with a silver padlock resting against her collarbone on a chain. She remembered how she had opened that lock, figuratively, nearly a decade ago in the fire bay. She'd met Caleb Holt's eyes, seen a man who was strong, cute, and heroic, and she'd let down her guard. Let him in. Let him play king of the castle.

And now she only wanted to run away.

Or go back to sleep.

Here at this outdoor dining area, with lights strung along the latticework and the amber moon low and large overhead, she wondered: Was there any way to go back to being Sleeping Beauty? What if the kiss that had awakened her was a bad joke and she wanted to reverse its effects?

“Thanks,” she said to her cluster of friends, “for getting me away. This is nice. I don't know, maybe I'm just overreacting to everything. I mean, Caleb and I used to have something there. Maybe I should just talk to him and—”

“Oh no you don't,” Tasha cut in, waving her fork. “Honey, I agree with you. You got to get out. He don't deserve you.”

“You can say that again.” Deidra looked Catherine directly in the eyes, wagging her finger. “A real man's gotta be a hero to his wife before he can be a hero to anybody else—or he ain't a real man.”

Ashley said, “Catherine, do you need a place to stay? I can't imagine living in that house with him.”

“No,” she answered. “I decided last night that I'm not the one who's leaving.
He's
the problem, not me.”

Tasha waved her fork again. “That's right, girl. Stand your ground, and make him respect you. If there's one thing a man understands, it's . . .”

“IT'S RESPECT,” Caleb said. Here in the bay, between polished floors and parked vehicles, his words sounded hollow. He was seated on the step of Engine One, checking the threads of a hose coupling. The station was quiet, the bays locked down till the next emergency, amber moonlight peeking through the windows.

He jabbed his arm toward Lieutenant Simmons, who was leaned against the wall. “Respect,” he reiterated. “That's the issue. That's the reason our marriage is failing. She shows me no respect at all. And the saddest part about it is . . .”

“HE DOESN'T EVEN have a clue.” Catherine leaned both arms on the table, mindlessly tearing her dinner roll into pieces. She could feel the emotion rising up in her all over again, angered by her husband's thoughtlessness.

“You got that right,” Deidra said.“Men never do.”

“I mean, he thinks our marriage has been fine for the most part. You know, he probably thinks . . .”

“OUR MARRIAGE HAS been fine until this year.” Caleb held out his hands, as though open to suggestions for a problem he knew did not exist. “Now, all of a sudden, she goes off the deep end.”

“Do you really think this happened all of a sudden?” Simmons said.

“I don't know what to think. I don't understand her. She's emotional about everything. She's easily offended and way too sensitive . . .”

“HE'S SO INSENSITIVE.” Catherine felt her voice crack and looked to her friends for understanding. “You know?”

“Oh, we know,” Tasha said.

Ashley rested a hand on her arm.

“I shouldn't even be . . .” Catherine paused.

“Say it, honey. Just say it.”

“I . . .” Catherine felt safe with these ladies. Yes, she had to say this, had to get it off her chest. She swiped a finger at the corner of her eye, where frustration was beginning to bubble over in hot tears. “I don't think he truly cares how I feel. And he doesn't listen to me, even if I say it over and over and over again . . .”

“AND THEN SHE starts nagging me.” Caleb was up on his feet now beside the fire engine. He waved off the very thought of his wife's pestering, like a man batting away a bee. “Saying that I don't listen to her, or . . . or something like that. It drives me crazy. I feel like I'm going . . .”

“INSANE.”

Catherine was admitting the worst now. She worked at a hospital, for heaven's sake. She was supposed to have it all together. She made good money, had the attention of half the men in the cafeteria, and portrayed the very image of a woman with all her stuff together. If she let them know what went through her mind, would they have her committed to the mental ward?

That would be sure to hit the news in a city the size of Albany.

But at this point, it no longer mattered to her.

“You know,” she said to her girlfriends, “he just doesn't understand my needs. I feel like we are completely and totally . . .”

“INCOMPATIBLE!” CALEB STABBED a finger at his friend Lieutenant Simmons. “There's no other word for it. She's probably off whining to her friends, making me sound like a criminal. I can see them all right now, crying, having some sorta group hug . . .”

THE WOMEN WHISPERED words of consolation, their arms around Catherine's shoulders, their hands touching hers. Deidra got up from her seat to come hug her from behind and rest her cheek on Catherine's hair.

“It's gonna be okay, sweetie,”Tasha said. “It's gonna be all right.”

“Oh, girl. Oh, girl,” Deidra said.

Catherine was covering her eyes with her left hand. She could feel her chin quivering with emotion. The tears flowed freely now, spilling onto the white tablecloth and splattering on chunks of torn bread.

This wasn't her. This wasn't the professional, put-together woman she wanted to be.

She couldn't help it, though. She was coming apart.

“You'll get through this,” Ashley said.

“We're here for you,” Robin said. “You'll be happy again. Don't worry.”

“He's not good enough for you.”

Deidra massaged her shoulders. “We got your back. Whatever you need, whatever you need . . .”

HE DIDN'T NEED this anymore. Caleb Holt knew that beyond a shadow of doubt. He folded his arms, his eyes hard and unblinking.

“So,” Simmons said, “you think it's past the point of no return?”

No return?

That sounded like surrender, like giving up. But who was Caleb fooling? Marriage wasn't a game, some contest in which all the spoils went to the victor. This was supposed to be a joint venture, right? A partnership. And his partner wanted nothing to do with him.

“Michael.” He looked up and gave Simmons a flinty stare. “I don't have a reason to return.”

CHAPTER 9

S
ixteen-year-old Bethany Dawson braked her silver Kia at a stoplight in downtown Albany, turned up the volume on a Third Day song, then fidgeted with her hair in the rearview mirror. She liked her new highlights and hoped they made her look older. With her thin, high voice, she was tired of being mistaken for someone years younger. Not to mention, her squeaky tones gave people the impression she was ditzy.

Like, how ridiculous. She wasn't even blonde, okay?

But Kelsey was. Slouched in the passenger seat, Kelsey was scrolling through names on her cell phone.

A maroon sports car pulled alongside, and Bethany glanced through her open window to see two guys she knew from high school. Both good-looking. Both seniors. Their flirtatious smiles made her feel awkward and confident, all at the same time.

“Bethany,” Kyle called over.

“Hey, Kyle. Hey, Ross.”

“What's goin' on?” Ross said, his arm draped over the steering wheel.

“What're y'all doing?” Bethany said.

“We're heading down to the Pizza Barn to meet some friends.” Kyle gave her a confident smile. “You wanna come?”

She turned to Kelsey for a reaction, hoping the sparkle in her eyes wasn't too obvious.

Kelsey's eyes were sparkling, too. “Sure,” she said.

“Hey,” Kyle said, “we'll race you there. And if you win, we'll buy.”

The girls were all over that.

Kyle leaned back in his seat, staring straight ahead. The road was clear for blocks, and sunshine was just beginning to break through the clouds over the central water tower. “Ready. Set—”

Punching the gas, Bethany caught the boys off guard.

Behind her, she heard Kyle's frantic yells: “Go, go, go!”

Free pizza? The attention of two upperclassmen? Even in her Kia, Bethany told herself this was one race she just had to win.

CALEB MADE SURE the crew was attentive to every detail as they washed the truck on the pad outside the bay. The radio was playing that new tune from Third Day—a band he especially liked, considering their Georgia roots. He loved the South, the traditions that had made it resilient, and the focus on family. Not to mention the good weather. You couldn't pay him to trade Albany's sticky-hot days of August for the bone-brittle chill of upstate New York or Wisconsin.

No, sir. No thank you, ma'am. And y'all enjoy that ice storm, you hear?

On the other hand, the embarrassment of watching a white man try to dance in the presence of cool perfection . . .Well, that was cause for concern.

Wayne, however, showed no concern at all.

“Oh yeah. Better look out, Terrell.” Wayne shook his hips while washing the engine, then slid his head back and forth as though it were resting on a swivel stick. “'Cause I'm about to give you a li'l bit o' this, and a li'l bit o' that.”

Hokey
didn't even begin to describe it.

“You're about to
what
?”Terrell coughed a sharp laugh into his hand. “You got to be kiddin' me. Whatever you think you look like, that ain't what everyone else is seeing.”

“Do I sense some jealousy?”

“Jealousy? Wayne, you're an embarrassment to every color-challenged person who already can't dance.”

Wayne was not to be dissuaded—a li'l more of this, and a li'l more of that.