Tara Taylor Quinn - The Fireman's Son

“Who is this?” he asked, trying to figure out the joke. It wasn’t like his men to play around at work. When it came to fire safety, he was a pretty serious guy.

But he’d already let one employee go that week—Chester Smith—the paramedic who’d been drinking while on call.

“I can’t say,” the young voice told him. “At least... I gotta know what happens, first.”

“Do you know who you’re talking to?” How well had Doris screened this call?

“Yes, um, you just said. You’re Chief Bristow. It’s...who I asked for.”

Sitting behind his desk, he glanced at the folders on top of it. His good mood rapidly dissipating, he thought about sending the call back out to his receptionist.

He wasn’t all that great with kids. Didn’t spend any time around them, but didn’t particularly want to offend one, either. Joke or not.

“What do you gotta know?” he asked, purposely using the kid’s vernacular. He assumed he was talking to a boy but wasn’t altogether sure.

“If I...confess...do I gotta go to jail right away? Or do I get to explain to my mom?”

He sat forward. And then stood. What in the hell were they dealing with here?

It had to be a joke. But the boy didn’t sound like he was kidding.

Which would make it the best kind of joke...

“You sure you don’t need to be talking to the police?” he asked, to buy himself another second or two.

“No, um, it’s you.”

He nodded and adjusted his tie. He would put on working blues later after his meeting with the city manager.

“I can’t answer your questions until I know what we’re talking about,” he said. And then, in case this was for real, added, “But if you’re under eighteen, then yes, you can talk to your mom. It’s the law. No one can question you without your mom or dad’s permission.”

Maybe this was a test. Of what, he had no idea.

Knew the thought was out there.

“I don’t got a dad.”

Or an English teacher, either, apparently.

“But you’re under eighteen.”

“I’m eight.”

The same age as Faye’s son? Not that he’d remembered or anything.

All week long, every thought had come back to her. If he ate something they’d shared in the past, he’d remember whether or not she’d liked it. After four years together, they’d eaten pretty much everything together, which meant every time he took a bite those past few days...

He stood still, putting a hand in his pocket.

“You going to tell me what you did?” Joke or no, this had to end.

“I set a fire.”

He glanced around the office as though the whole station had heard.

Did Doris know? And if so, why in the hell hadn’t she given him a heads-up?

“You did.”

“Yes.”

Was this his escalating fire threat? An eight-year-old in a size-ten tennis shoe?

He shook his head. “How many of them?”

“Just one.”

Not his threat. At least not entirely.

“Did you have help?”

“Maybe.”

They’d dismissed the idea that they were dealing with kids. Maybe too soon?

“Where did you set the fire?” he asked, thinking of the various unsolved small-fire crime scenes.

“In a trash can in the boys’ bathroom.”

Reese ran a hand through his hair. “Not outside?” he asked.

“No. Then it wouldn’t be contained.”

He hadn’t heard an “um” in a couple of minutes. And the kid’s grammar had improved. Because he was more comfortable now in speaking with him?

Or because he was repeating what he’d heard from someone else? Contained was an industry description.

“Who told you it had to be contained?”

“No one.”

“How’d you know, then?”

He had to find out the kid’s identity. Find out where he was. Send a crew out.

Heading out of his office, he motioned for Doris to get him the caller ID as the childish voice answered his question.

“My mom.”

“You mother taught you a fire had to be contained?”

“She didn’t exactly teach me. She just says stuff and I hear it.”

“Who’s your mom?”

The long silence gave him pause.

“What’s your name, son?”

“It’s not her fault. And it wasn’t s’posed to leave that black mark in the bottom of the can. They weren’t s’posed to find out.”

“But they did.”

“Yeah. This morning when I got here, there was a meeting with all the kids. And no one should hafta get in trouble ’cause of me. ’Specially my mom, too.”

Reese started to relax. He was fairly certain that the call was legitimate and that caller ID would tell them the boy was calling him from the elementary school.

Not abreast with current parenting theories, he would have to tread carefully while he tried to figure out what to do.

The boy was obviously a good kid. He’d called the fire chief to confess, after all. But he must be troubled—he’d set the fire to begin with.

Back in his office, with the door shut, he asked, “Does she know you set the fire?”

“Uh-uh.”

Still perplexed as to why he was getting this call, Reese asked, “Are you ready to tell me your name?”

“Can my mom not be in trouble?”

“Why would she be in trouble?”

“Um...’cause you’re her boss and all.”

Reese sat down. Hard.

CHAPTER FIVE

“I DON’T KNOW what’s wrong with me...” Leaning forward, her elbows on her knees, hands clasped together, Faye sat on Sara’s couch and looked at the other woman. Sara’s shoulder-length blond hair framed her face and pretty blue eyes in a way that made Faye feel like she was talking to an angel.

Or her personal rendition of one.

Maybe it was just that she needed a guardian angel right then.

“Nothing’s wrong with you,” said The Lemonade Stand’s full-time counselor.

Faye wasn’t seeing Sara on an official basis. Faye had a weekly appointment with Dr. Bloom Larson for her own counseling. She’d just dropped off Elliott and found herself in Sara’s office.

“Oh...something’s wrong,” Faye said now.

Sara, leaning back against her desk, smiled at her. And shook her head.

“You’re alive, Faye,” she said. “Feeling sexual desire is a normal part of life.”

“Not for me it isn’t. Not since...”

She stopped. Thought of the previous night’s dream, with feelings that were so mixed up. Glorious and panic-inducing at the same time.

Wonderful mixed with devastating.

“What Frank did to you...it’s had an effect on you, Faye. You know that.”

She did. She’d been through counseling. “I thought I’d never feel sexual desire again.” Mostly, she’d been fine with the prognosis. She had no intention of having another man in her life, so sex was pretty much a nonissue to her.

“You might not. Not in the way you think...”

“But last night...”

“Was showing you that your ability to feel sexual desire is not completely dead.”

“Why now?” The words hurt her throat. But she had to know. For the rest of her life, there would be no more hiding. She’d promised Elliott.

And herself.

“My guess?” Sara asked.

Faye nodded.

“Reese takes you back to a time before Frank. To a time when you were on fire with desire.”

She stared.

“Am I wrong?”

Faye wanted to jump up and leave the room. Laugh the whole thing off. She just shook her head.

“It doesn’t mean that you’d feel those same feelings now,” Sara said, a warning note to her voice. “If he were to touch you, I mean.”

Okay. The tightening in her chest subsided a bit. She drew in a complete—and calming—breath.

“It’s just a trigger from the past. Not an indication of current—”