Three alarm response, p.20
Three Alarm Response, page 20
Remembering how Jenna had reacted at the last two scenes, Candace didn’t say a word, even though everything in her screamed to check on her. Instead she said, “You got the jump bag?”
Jenna straightened and handed it over; then, after a moment, she crouched next to Candace. Together, they assessed their patient and loaded everyone into the ambulance. Candace went directly to the driver’s seat, letting Jenna have the back.
But once more at the hospital, after they’d handed off both women to medical staff, she couldn’t stay silent any longer.
“Do you want to get that shoulder checked out before we leave?” she asked as they both spread a sheet over the stretcher in the workroom.
“Nope.”
Candace shook her head and turned away. She hated how much she cared about Jenna. The incident at the festival had driven home to her just how fragile time is. And she yearned to tell Jenna how she felt, now more than ever. But Jenna’s inability to let her in told her everything she needed to know about how well a confession about her feelings would be received. Jenna didn’t even do relationships; she only got involved with women casually. To admit her crush—because she refused to call unreciprocated feelings love—could irreparably damage their friendship.
“Come on, Candy.”
“Don’t fucking call me that.” She hated that name, and Jenna knew it. No one but her mother called her Candy. Jenna used it only when she wanted to get a rise out of her, but Candace was usually better at letting it slide by.
Jenna didn’t respond, knowing when to let her be. In fact, neither of them spoke on the way back to the station, and once they got there, they separated. Candace went to hang out with the guys from the engine, and Jenna went to the weight room, daring Candace to say she shouldn’t be lifting weights. And though she managed to control the urge, she did hope Jenna was smart enough not to injure herself out of spite.
* * *
Jenna shoved open her front door with her good shoulder, balancing her duffel bag in the crook of her elbow and a paper bag of takeout Thai food in her hand. She went to the kitchen first and placed the food on the counter. Then she grabbed a beer out of the fridge and headed for her bedroom to drop her gear bag.
When she returned to the kitchen, Daide was already there peeking into the bag of food. Seeing how comfortable he looked in his sweatpants and T-shirt, she couldn’t wait to get out of her uniform.
“Rough first shift back?”
She nodded. “How’d you know?”
He glanced at the beer bottle in her hand. “Because you work tomorrow. And you never drink on a school night. Do you want to tell me about it over dinner?”
“I really need a shower first.”
“Go. This will stay warm, and if not, Thai reheats.”
“Don’t wait for me.”
He grabbed two plates out of the cabinet. “Okay. I’ll meet you out back.”
She left him opening cartons and filling his own plate while she ran back to the bathroom for a quick shower. She never felt like she could settle in until she’d washed away the grime of being on the streets and in and out of the hospital. When she was on shift, her multi-shower days could really dry out her skin, so she took the time to moisturize after she toweled off.
By the time she fixed herself a plate and wandered, barefoot, out to the back deck, Daide had finished half his dinner. He was the youngest of five kids, so he’d learned early to eat fast if he wanted his fair share. He waited until she got settled at the patio table across from him to make a “go ahead” motion with his fork. She picked up her own fork and took a big bite of noodles, then gestured as if to say she couldn’t say anything with her mouth full.
After he’d let her eat in peace for a few minutes, she started talking. “It was just a long day. Candace kept trying to do my job for me, or make Sam do it. And I just want to act like everything’s normal again.”
“Were you in pain?”
“Not really. Maybe when that woman shoved me against a wall, but just while I was working, no.” She rotated her shoulder forward, tensing as she remembered the jolt of pain the impact of the heel of the woman’s hand had caused.
“What woman? A patient?”
“The woman who assaulted my patient.”
“Let me guess, you stepped between her and the patient.”
She shrugged. “That’s my job.”
“No, ma’am. That’s my job.”
“You weren’t there.”
“Was that the fight outside the bar this evening? I heard that go out over the radio. Officers were on the way, and you could have waited for them. It was a little early for a drunken brawl, wasn’t it?”
“Nobody told these ladies that. I think they had an early happy hour.”
“Candace will be all right. She just needs some time to see that you’re okay.”
“It’s not like she hasn’t seen me during these three months. She knows how seriously I took my recovery.”
Daide bit his lip and returned his attention to his plate.
“What?”
“You should have seen her at the hospital. She was a mess, and that was hours later, when I got there and you were in surgery.” Candace had called Daide shortly after Jenna had gotten to the hospital, but he’d been out of town visiting his family that day, which was why he didn’t get dispatched to the festival when it all went down. He immediately made the two-hour drive home, then came to the hospital right away.
“Okay. But, Daide. Three months ago.”
“Have you put yourself in her place?”
“Hm. She got to get up the next day and keep going to work like nothing had happened. Is that what you mean?” She couldn’t keep the sarcasm from her tone. Some days, especially in the hospital, she’d thought about how unfair it was that all her friends came out of that day feeling like they’d helped in the face of tragedy, but she wound up feeling helpless. Hell, even Sam’s new girlfriend had apparently saved some boy’s life.
“Is that really what you think? That she went on like nothing happened?”
“Yeah. While I had to sleep with that damn sling on every night.” For weeks she’d been unable to get comfortable. If she didn’t stuff the pillows under her sling just right she’d wake up in agonizing pain.
“Candace was lying on the ground next to you when Nicole found you both. Yeah, she wasn’t hurt, and she came around quickly. And then she stayed with you, insisted on riding with you to the hospital. She wouldn’t talk to any of us—just sat by your bed. And even when you came home, she called me every day to check on you. Of course, since you stopped answering her calls, she had to.”
“What’s your point? That was all weeks ago.”
“My point is, this is an adjustment period for her, too—having you back at work and wanting to make sure you really are okay. So take it easy on her, because that day didn’t happen to just you.” He stood and picked up his plate. “Just think about it.”
He took her empty plate and went inside. She slouched in her chair, her good arm against the armrest and her bad one bent and cradled against her stomach. She’d started sitting like that out of habit when her arm was in the sling, then later to take some of the weight off it rather than just have it hang. Funny how just the force of gravity could cause her pain.
She slapped a mosquito that landed on her arm. The night air had started to cool, and she wanted to stay out a bit longer. Grabbing a lighter off the table, she lit several glass citronella-oil torches around the railing of the deck. She and Daide had built this deck themselves, after tearing off the old, rotted one. This main fifteen-by-twelve foot platform stepped down to a concrete pad they’d had poured to hold the five-person hot tub Daide insisted on when they bought the house.
This day didn’t happen to just you. She’d been focused on herself—she’d needed to be in order to reach this place. And she’d expected Candace to be there—to be the friend she needed—to support her when she struggled. But had she been the same for Candace in return? How long had it been since she’d asked Candace how she was doing—if she was okay?
She picked up her phone off the table, ready to send a text to Candace, then decided against it. She’d talk to her tomorrow. Instead, she grabbed her beer and sat on the deck steps looking out over their small yard, enclosed by a horizontal-slat privacy fence. You’d think after three months at home, she’d be tired of this view, but this was her happy place. Their house represented everything she’d accomplished. Being able to carve out this piece of the world and also help her sister move closer to her goal gave her the biggest feeling of accomplishment possible.
But tonight, she needed to think about focusing less on herself and more on her friends. So she sipped her beer, determined to limit herself to one. Daide didn’t come back. After night fell, she went inside to get ready for bed.
Chapter Four
The squeal of a siren pierced Jenna’s already pounding head. She tried to open her eyes—but something was wrong. A haze covered her vision, and her eyes burned. She raised her arm to rub her face, and pain blasted through her right shoulder. She clamped her jaw against her scream, but a strangled grunt escaped.
“Hold still for a sec.” The brusque voice didn’t wait for agreement before she felt a pinch and then a sting near the inside of her elbow. She logged the sensation as an IV insertion.
She lay on her back on a stretcher. The IV. The chatter of a radio in the background. And a smell—or combination of smells—she couldn’t exactly name but knew better than almost any. It all added up to the back of an ambulance. But why was she on the stretcher instead of leaning over it? The back door clicked open.
“I’m riding with her.” The door swung shut before anyone inside could argue. The familiar voice washed over her, and she imagined she could hear the racing beeps of her heartbeat slow on the monitor somewhere nearby.
“Candace.” In her mind her voice was louder, but she managed to get enough out to alert Candace to her consciousness.
“I’m here, Jenna.” After a rustle of movement, Candace grabbed her hand.
“Let’s go.” The no-nonsense voice—a paramedic, maybe—was back. The ambulance started to move.
“I can’t see.” Through the blur of shapes and light, she made out the shape of a person leaning closer at her side. She made another attempt to swipe at her face, this time with her uninjured arm, but Candace held fast to her hand.
“I know. You’re kind of a mess right now. We’re going to get you to a hospital. Can I at least have something to clean her face off?”
That last part wasn’t meant for her. She’d just heard the mumbled response from the paramedic, when she felt something damp against her face. Gauze? Maybe.
“What?” She wanted to ask what was on her face, but she had to fight against the weight that tried to pull her brain away and couldn’t get it all out. Shadows invaded the edges of her vision.
The paramedic spoke again, and a voice crackled through a radio speaker. She tried to hold on to the staccato rhythm of vitals being recited—her vitals being relayed to a nurse at a hospital. What were they? If she could make them out, she could figure out how serious this was. But she’d already missed them, and panic was edging into her muddled brain. The darkness was back, and it wouldn’t stay in the periphery. As she faded, she felt Candace’s hand tighten against hers.
Jenna jerked awake, sitting up quickly, then flinching as the movement tightened her shoulder. She rubbed a hand over her face. She hadn’t had a dream like that in weeks. Her drunk assailant had aggravated her physical injury and no doubt dredged up a bit of the psychological trauma as well.
In her dream—more a memory, really—Candace had been a calming influence. Other than the pain, Candace’s hand in hers was her most visceral memory from that day. Before this had happened she would have said that Candace was the only person she was okay with seeing her that vulnerable. But after yesterday, she wasn’t so sure. Candace’s memory seemed frozen on that image of her in the hospital bed. And Jenna needed her to be the one to see her strength.
She glanced at the clock. She hadn’t missed getting up this early. She didn’t want another day like yesterday. A small part of her contemplated calling in sick. Chief Warnke would probably chalk it up to her injury whether she said that was the reason or not. But she dragged herself out of bed, knowing she wouldn’t be making that call.
Somehow she managed to pass up Daide’s pot of fresh-brewed coffee again. In fact, she avoided the kitchen altogether. She’d grab a granola bar and an apple when she got to work.
* * *
Candace pulled the handle on the coffee urn that dispensed only hot water, letting it stream into her oatmeal. As she walked to the long, industrial dining table, she stirred her breakfast, the scent of apples and cinnamon wafting up. She sat down and pulled the bowl close, sinking her spoon into the perfect texture of oats. Jenna would hate it. Oatmeal grossed her out. She said it tasted like paste. When Candace recited the flavors she loved, Jenna said that apple-flavored paste was still gross.
Three guys from Engine 2 slid into the chairs across from her, their plates loaded with the bacon and eggs one of them had cooked.
“Want some bacon, Cooper? There’s plenty left.”
“No thanks.”
“You gotta get your protein to make it through the day.”
She smiled. “Oatmeal has plenty of protein. And I need my carbs to keep up with Jenna.”
“Speak of the devil.” One of the guys raised his chin, gesturing behind Candace. She glanced over her shoulder. Jenna strode in from the direction of the front door.
“Hey, Teele. Bacon and eggs?”
“Nope.” She sketched a wave in their direction as she passed through the living area and kept going. She headed for the ambulance bay, Candace assumed to do the supply inventory for their shift. Normally, Candace would join her, but she seemed to want some space from everyone.
“Man, what’s her deal lately?”
Candace didn’t respond, determined not to get involved in this conversation.
“Yo, Cooper. What’s up with your partner?”
“Yeah. Why’s she being antisocial?”
“She’s fine.” Candace unlocked her phone and opened a game, hoping they’d get the hint she didn’t want to talk about Jenna.
She finished her breakfast, washed her bowl, and headed for the bunkroom. She hadn’t slept very well. She wouldn’t admit it to Jenna, but worry had kept her restless through the night—through most nights since the festival. She’d never experienced so many layers of anxiety in her life.
On a larger scale, she worried about a society where no one was really very surprised when someone targeted a crowd of people. She’d heard the guy’s attorney was claiming he was mentally ill. And who wouldn’t believe that? You’d have to be in order to drive your car into a music festival. But Candace wanted him in prison, and nothing less felt like justice.
The reality of that day brought home the truth that nothing was off the table. Police officers ran into danger, so she was used to being concerned about Sam and her colleagues. But firefighters and paramedics were everybody’s heroes. Living in a world where that fact was no longer true made her uncomfortable.
For the past three months, she’d stressed about Jenna, on a personal level. Jenna filled her in on what the doctors said. She’d joked about how hot her physical therapist was and bragged about how she’d done more reps of her exercises than she had the previous day. But if Candace didn’t know any better, she could have been recovering from a fall, or some random sports injury. She acted as if the psychological aspect of what they’d gone through didn’t exist.
Alone in the bunkroom, Candace sat on one of the beds and allowed herself a rare return to that day. She didn’t do it often because it amplified her stress too much.
She’d slumped in a chair in an otherwise empty hospital waiting room. After Jenna had been taken to surgery, a nurse had led Candace from the emergency-department waiting room to the med-surg floor. She’d been handed off to the woman who would be Jenna’s nurse after she came out of recovery. Jenna would be admitted and spend at least one night in the hospital.
Candace’s phone buzzed in her hand, and she glanced at it but didn’t unlock the screen. She’d tried answering the texts from friends and coworkers at first, then abandoned her feeling of obligation to keep everyone posted about Jenna’s condition. Several fellow paramedics and a few firefighters had stopped by after shift. But most of them had come from the mass-casualty scene and were as worn out as she was, so she’d sent them home. Only a couple had argued that she shouldn’t have to wait alone. Then, when she assured them she’d be fine, they’d insisted she get some coffee before they left. She glanced at the Styrofoam cup sitting on the table near the window. Her stomach couldn’t handle drinking it, and she’d let it go cold long ago.
For hours, she alternated between sitting in that chair and pacing to the window to stare aimlessly at the view of the roof of the adjoining building. She’d tortured herself trying to build a clear recall of the moments before the accident. After responding to countless tragic scenes in her career and hearing her patients say “it all happened so fast,” she now understood what they meant.
She and Jenna had spent that morning working in the first-aid tent inside the music festival, one of the largest events every year in Bellbrook, treating victims of excessive heat, alcohol overindulgence, and the occasional cuts and bruises. Two medics had relieved them to go grab something to eat and walk around the grounds for a few minutes. She and Jenna had browsed a few artisan tents but hadn’t made it to the food vendors.
