Moving Forward, page 6
“Hey, Kristen?” Jen called out. “Can you help me?”
She got to her feet with a sigh of relief. Work, she knew how to do.
Chapter 7
Greg knew he should be ashamed. For most of his life, he’d used his smile, his looks, and his well-practiced charm to get what he wanted.
As a teenager, he’d been all about instant gratification. He’d been blessed with an outgoing personality and a way with people. He could talk his way into just about anything. On the downside, he’d suffered the consequences of getting his way relatively easily. Some things just weren’t meant to be obtained without work, perseverance, and prayer.
His siblings had learned from an early age to egg him on. When his eldest brother, Drew, had a job delivering papers, he convinced Greg it was the best job in the world. Even though his mother said Greg was too young for so much responsibility, Greg had cajoled his way into sharing the job. Next thing Greg knew, he was getting up at four thirty to fold and prep the papers. Then Drew delivered them, and received all the tips.
His sisters loved egging him on to tattle on the boys. That would lead to stirring speeches to their parents about the latest sin or injustice, only to be scolded for his pettiness.
Over and over, Mom and Dad would sit him down and tell him to stop trying to talk his way into whatever shiny new thing he had his eye on. After each lecture, he promised he would try. And then he would go back on his word a couple of hours later, his promise already forgotten.
Greg talked his way into accelerated classes that he wasn’t quite ready for, pushed to start on the football team when he should’ve been second string. He’d even wheedled his way into Officer Candidate School instead of just enlisting.
And now he’d talked his way into a date with Kristen and she didn’t even realize it was a date.
All because he couldn’t stand the idea of not seeing her again.
“You were right, Dad,” he whispered to the empty interior of his truck. “My mouth has gotten me into trouble again. Then, there I’ll be, embarrassed and regretful, but still pining for her something awful.”
His phone rang, giving him chills when he saw who it was. Obviously, his father up in heaven had heard him whining and sent help.
“Hey, Momma.”
“Hey, honey. What’s going on?”
“Nothing. I’m just driving home. Is everything okay?”
“Of course. I . . . well, for some reason I just had a feeling it was time for the two of us to catch up.”
He was selfish in a lot of ways, but he was going to give credit where it was due. “I know what happened. I was just sitting here talking to Dad.”
“I’m sorry, what did you say?”
She sounded rattled. He didn’t blame her, but he had to admit the truth. “I was just sitting here talking to Dad up in heaven while I was driving. I think he had something to do with you giving me a call.”
After a pause, his mother murmured, “Do you do this often, Greg?”
“Talk to Dad?”
“Yes.”
“Not so much. Just when I miss him, you know?”
She chuckled under her breath. “Yes, honey. I surely do know. So, what were you chatting with him about? Do I even want to know?”
He grinned as he stopped at a red light. “Probably. I was talking to Dad about how the two of you always said that my mouth was going to get me into trouble. Y’all were right.”
“Uh-oh. What happened this time? Did you say too much at work?”
“No, ma’am.” After debating a second about whether to share more, he added, “I said too much to a girl.”
“A girl, hmm? Now, isn’t that something?”
He could feel his neck heat up. “Yes.”
“I didn’t know you were serious about someone. How long have you and this woman been dating?”
“Not long. As in not at all.”
His mother’s laughter wasn’t unfamiliar, but it wasn’t exactly a welcome sound, either. “I know,” he mumbled, hoping to prevent a lecture. “You don’t have to say anything.”
“There’s no way I’m going to stay silent. No wonder you were talking to Dad. He was so proud of you, son. You did well in school, did your chores without complaining, and looked out for your sisters. You tried to get along with everyone. You might have tried to wheedle your way into things, but you weren’t a bully.” Her voice lightened. “Plus, you never got into fights like Copeland.”
His younger brother had practically been born a felon. “How is he not in prison, Momma?”
“Hush now. What I was getting to is that your father knew you had so many wonderful gifts, but he was constantly trying to think of a way to get you to shut up and listen more.”
Taking a right turn, he grinned. “We weren’t supposed to say shut up, remember?”
“That doesn’t mean we didn’t think it, son. Now, you want to tell me what you did wrong? After raising seven kids, I’m pretty good at thinking of ways to smooth things over.”
“This girl, this woman I met, Kristen, is pretty special, but she’s got some issues and a jerk of an ex-fiancé. She told me flat out that she wasn’t ready to date but I didn’t listen.”
“Honey, that’s what you’re upset about?”
“No, ma’am. It’s that I told her we could just be friends.” He sighed. “So we’re going out on Friday night as friends.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m still confused. What is it that you’re so fired up about?”
Continuing his impromptu confessional, he kept talking. “First off, I lied to her. I don’t want to just be friends. I only said that because I wanted to spend time with her.”
“I could be wrong, but I have a feeling she knows that.”
“Really?”
“I’m sure she’s a smart young woman, Gregory.”
Kristen was that . . . but . . . “When we go out I’m afraid I’m going to do or say something that will make her realize I was full of it and that I don’t want to be just friends at all.” He turned left onto his street. “Then she won’t trust me, and I’ll have ruined everything.” When his mother didn’t say anything right away, Greg added, “Do you understand what I mean? I don’t want to ruin everything with her before I even get a chance to start something up.”
“Well, I understand why you were talking to your father. He really was better at this sort of stuff.”
“Actually, you’re not doing too bad of a job.”
“Thank you so much.” She chuckled. “Here’s my two cents. I think you’re jumping ahead of yourself. See, I don’t think she trusts you yet. So, you don’t have to worry about losing her trust because you don’t have it.”
“Really?” This was a new spin.
“If she trusted you, she would’ve said yes to dating you. Trust takes time.”
“You sound real sure of it.”
“Dad and I raised three girls, son. As much as you seemed to think I was oblivious, I did have an inkling about what was going on with each of you. When girls like boys—and trust them—they say yes.”
“So my no means . . .”
“Exactly what you don’t want to hear, Gregory. You need to be patient. And stay in the friend zone.”
“I know. I just . . .” His voice trailed off, unable to say that he might have learned to control his runaway mouth at work but not with women.
“Don’t say you can’t handle that,” she interrupted in a firm tone. “You will.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I mean it, Greg. You were mouthy when you were eight, but you learned to keep your mouth shut in that fifth-grade science class.”
He had learned . . . after he had to stay after school and help clean the rats’ cages.
“And then you learned all over again, when you made the football team.”
He had . . . after the coach made him run extra laps after practice three days in a row.
“Of course, we can’t forget about how your sergeant didn’t put up with your foolishness when you went into the ROTC, can we?”
“Yes . . . I mean, no, ma’am.”
Sounding pleased that he was listening, her voice softened. “You were an officer, dear. No one would’ve promoted you if you hadn’t learned impulse control. At last.”
“You have a point.” Of course, in the army he’d taken his responsibilities so seriously, he’d always been careful to weigh his words.
“I think if you handled that, then you can handle this lady, too. If Kristen is worth it, you’ll figure out how to be the man she needs.”
“She’s worth it.”
“That’s settled, then.”
“You sure know how to make a good argument.”
“Where do you think you got your glib tongue from?”
Greg laughed. “I guess you have a point.” Since he was almost home, he said, “How are you, Mom? Is anything new with you?”
“Not really. Sometimes I think it’s a full-time job keeping up with all of you kids.”
“There’s a lot of us, especially considering that you have grandchildren now, too.”
“That’s a fact.” A new tone entered her voice. “That’s why I started to think I could use a vacation. That maybe I would go on a cruise, in fact.”
He parked in his driveway. “What? Who with?”
“A bunch of people I met in my seniors group.”
His mother had joined a seniors group? “Is this a new thing?”
“Kind of. They keep me busy and they like to travel, which is why I’m thinking about the cruise.” Her voice brightened. “I’m looking forward to it.”
“Momma, you’re not a real senior. You’re barely even sixty. And you don’t like cruises.”
“No, that’s not true. I always wanted to go on one. It was your father who didn’t.”
“You’re not just considering it, are you? You’re really going to go.” Just the thought of his pretty mother on some sort of Love Boat gave him the willies. Randy men were probably going to be following her around nonstop. And his mother was so sweet, one of them would likely get his hooks in her before he or any of his brothers and sisters figured out what was going on. “Mother, I think you need to think things through a little bit more.”
“Greg, I mean this in the best way, so don’t take it wrong, okay?”
“Take what wrong?”
“Your father died and I miss him something awful. I loved him very much. I didn’t even mind staying home all the time because being home meant being with him. But no matter how hard I wish otherwise, your father is not coming back. No matter how much I pray or talk to the ceiling, it’s not happening.” She sighed. “So I decided I had a choice, right?”
Greg swallowed the lump in his throat. “Stay the same or move forward.”
“That’s right. I can either spend the rest of my days sitting home alone and missing your father . . . or I can live a little bit.” Her voice turned husky. “Sitting by myself isn’t all that great, Greg.”
Greg felt like his father had just leaned down from heaven and given him a hard verbal shove on his shoulder. Putting him in his place again. “I understand,” he said at last.
“I sure hope so.”
“How did everyone else take the news?”
She laughed softly. “I haven’t told anyone else. You’re the first.”
“Well, good luck with that.” He could already imagine how Drew and Stacey were going to take this cruise news. Not all that well. Actually, not well at all.
“What do you think about breaking the news for me?”
There was so much hope in his mother’s voice, Greg knew he was going to have to call up his siblings. “You know I don’t love the idea. They’re gonna wig out.”
“You could put all your silver-tongued wheedling skills to good use for a change.”
Oh brother. “Sure, Momma. I’ll be glad to.” He was going to get an earful from every one of them, but better him than her.
“Really? Thank you. I know it’s not right, but I don’t even want to think about sharing my cruise news six more times. They’d wear me out.”
“How about this? I’ll call and text everyone, then you can tell us all about your big plans at our next Sunday supper.” They’d started meeting for supper once a month, FaceTiming anyone who couldn’t be there.
“That sounds good. But you’re not going to turn the tables on me and side with them, are you?”
“No, ma’am.”
“All right, then. It’s . . . it’s appreciated, Greg.”
“I love you, Momma.”
“I love you, too.” Sounding almost chipper, she added, “Good luck with Kristen. Bye now.”
“Bye. See you next Sunday.”
When she hung up, Greg finally got out of his truck and walked to the front door of his two-bedroom condo.
As he pulled out his keys, he realized that his conversation with his mother had reminded him that they all had important things to get through. Very few things in life were easy. Not things that mattered, at least.
All kinds of things were possible, though. All you had to do was take one step at a time—and maybe call for help, occasionally.
Chapter 8
Ring!
The loud, jarring noise that invaded every inch of the firehouse had never sounded so good. Greg didn’t actually want anyone in Woodland Park to be hurt, but it had been a really quiet shift. When there was too much time on everyone’s hands, tempers started to fray.
“Thank the Lord,” Chip said as he trotted to his turnout gear. “I cannot inspect hoses for one more hour. I was starting to feel like pulling out my nails.”
Greg nodded as he adjusted the straps of his breathing apparatus. “Cap was on a mission. It was like he was sure that we’d never rolled the hoses properly in our lives.” Now that he had his turnout gear on, he adjusted his radio just as Dave started the main fire engine.
Anderson was getting into the driver’s seat of the SUV that he and Dave took on their calls. The specially outfitted SUV was able to navigate the hills and snow better than a traditional ambulance.
The captain’s voice came over the radio again.
“Listen up, everyone. House fire. Two-story home. Mom and two kids. No confirmation yet on who was inside.”
As the dispatcher patched in and relayed the address one more time, Chip turned on the lights and sirens and pulled out. With expert care, he slowly increased their speed as they headed toward the house.
As expected, there was a new seriousness in the air. Not that they took any emergency lightly—but when there were kids involved? That was everyone’s worst nightmare.
Chip, who’d only recently gotten his license to drive the rig, looked so tense he could crack. Greg had heard he’d asked to drive the rig because he felt more sure of himself behind the wheel than when fighting fires. Greg had supervised Chip a lot during firefighter training, so he knew that Chip was more than capable as a firefighter, he just needed to build up his confidence. That said, he understood the feeling. Machines could weather mistakes—and were easier to control than a cagey fire.
Greg had seen all kinds of reactions from their victims. Some seemed to have shut down and were barely responsive, others were so frightened they fought the firefighters, and still others were frantic to save every piece of memorabilia in their house. Yep, if there was one thing they could all count on, it was that everyone reacted differently to a blaze. Quickly judging their victims’ state of mind and getting them to safety as fast as possible was a skill that no amount of book learning could teach; you had to learn on the job. It was nerve-racking for recent graduates. Chip didn’t have that much experience yet, and he was still dealing with losing a victim in a house fire last month.
They were only about thirty seconds away. When Chip blared the horn and shot the truck through the intersection before swerving to the right, Greg knew it was on him to say something encouraging. Captain DeWitt was with them, but he’d been on the radio with the chief and the dispatchers almost the whole time.
“You trained for this, Chip,” he called out. “Keep your head out of the past and focus on the present.”
“I will.”
Remembering some of the tools for PTSD his counselor had taught him, Greg added, “Take it one step at a time, and rely on your training.”
“I know, Tebo.”
“If you know, get your game face on. You look like you’re gonna lose it.”
“Kids freak me out. Plus, I lost that lady . . .”
“That’s always rough, Chip, but we did everything possible for her, yeah? The coroner said she was too badly burned. You’ve got this. I promise.”
Just as he screeched to a stop, Chip muttered, “I sure hope you’re telling me the same thing when we pull out of here.”
The house was older, made of wood. The grass was freshly cut, which was good. Unfortunately, there was a thicket of overgrown brush in the back, which had probably ignited in seconds and fueled the fire like it was made of gasoline.
Greg got out, latched his coat, and pulled on his oxygen mask. Today, his brain seemed to be working fine and his PTSD was staying firmly at bay. He faced Captain DeWitt. “Sir?”
“Tebo, come with me. Neighbor reports that a six- and seven-year-old are home.”
Greg fell in step beside DeWitt. “Parents?”
“Just a mom, apparently not home.”
Greg cursed. “Any idea about the names of the kids?” Firefighters looked so scary with their masks on, Greg always looked for help to coax kids to climb into his arms.
“We got names yet, Sandy?” Captain asked the dispatcher.
After a second, he said, “Mandy and Kit.”
“Roger that.” Mandy and Kit, Greg repeated to himself. Mandy and Kit.
