Patricia Johns - A Firefighter's Promise

“Are you a Christian, Matt?”

Matt pulled his mind back from the precipice. “I am.”

“Me, too.” Rachel’s gaze roamed over the restaurant, settling on her son across the room. “Does it help?”

“I suppose my faith is a part of everything I do,” he said quietly. “But even faith doesn’t answer every question, does it?”

“I suppose not.” She pushed her glossy waves away from her face. “You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?”

“There are people who have gone through far worse than I ever have.”

An image of Natalie’s grief-stricken parents arose in his mind. They’d been in shock, their faces white, their eyes begging him to take it all away as if that fire-retardant suit gave him supernatural power. But he couldn’t. Natalie was part of the reason why he needed to learn about children. Natalie had run from him when he came to rescue her...and he never wanted that to happen again.

“Look,” Matt said, tearing his mind away from those old wounds. “Do you think you could give me some of those tips for working with kids?”

“Now?” She took a sip of her pop.

“How about tomorrow? If that isn’t too soon.”

“I’d be happy to.” She nodded. “I can bring by a few resources, if I find the right box tonight. What time works for you?”

“How about two at my office?”

She smiled. “Sure.”

Chris came dashing back across the room, zigzagging around tables. He arrived at their table, out of breath and with a grin on his face.

“I won something!” He held up a small stuffed rabbit in a victorious display. As the boy exuberantly showed his mother his hard-won prize, Matt fell gratefully silent. He’d done enough talking, more than he’d ever intended. He took a deep breath, mentally steeling himself.

“It’s really hard to get one,” Chris was explaining. “It came down like this—” He used his hand to mime the game. “And then it went like this...”

Rachel’s gaze flickered in Matt’s direction and her gentle eyes crinkled into a smile. Before he could catch himself, he felt his own return grin tickling the corners of his lips. He picked up the dessert menu, a sundae awash in chocolate sauce and crowned with fluffy whipped cream emblazoned across the top.

“Let’s order that ice cream. What do you say?”

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