Page 13 of He Falls First

She sighs and stares into her coffee. Her bottom lip juts out, putting the kind of thought into my head that seems inappropriate at the moment. “The house manager, whom Ireport to, says I’m not supposed to take my eyes off her or let her leave. But she’s very persuasive, and I feel sorry for her.”

“You said she’s 28? Yeah, she can do whatever she wants. Screw that house manager.”

She laughs. “Yeah, screw him.”

“Screw anybody who wants to keep someone in a cage.”

Briar lifts her cup of coffee and taps mine. “You said a mouthful, friend.”

She drinks her coffee and looks across the square, something haunted in her eyes.

Her reddish eyebrows are drawn together as she’s remembering something. I know that look. I’ve seen it a dozen times on a dozen calls in my short career as a firefighter. I’ve seen it in a mirror.

“So what did they do to you?” I ask.

I may not be college-educated, but I know people. If I’m way off base, Briar will ask me what the hell I’m talking about.

Instead, her eyes cut to me and then look down.

“How did you know?”

“My dad caught me sneaking out of the house when I was 12. So, he made me move all my shit into the shed out back, saying that if I hated living under his roof, then I could live outside.”

I examine her reaction closely. She doesn’t look shocked. Only sad.

After a long sigh, Briar says, “My mom was worried that I would run and tell the neighbors whenever she was on a bender. So, when her boyfriend would come over on Friday nights with her little treats, as she called them, I got to spend weekends in her walk-in closet, eating rice krispie treats and watching movies on my iPad.”

I stare a little too hard. She quickly adds, “It had a light. Her boyfriend would let me out to use the bathroom, and then he’dforget to lock the door when I’d go back in the closet. After a while, I preferred the closet to being around her.”

Without thinking, my fingers curl tightly around my coffee cup. The half-drunk hot beverage crumples in my hand, hot coffee splashing on my fingers. “Shit!” Briar shrieks, her eyes wide when she looks at my hand.

I feel the pain of having scared her before I feel the burn of the hot coffee.

I follow her gaze to my hand. It’s already red from the burn.

“Damn,” I hiss.

“Where’s the first aid tent?” Briar asks.

“Uh, it’s fine.”

“You are entirely too calm. I see it. Let’s go.”

five

Briar

Poor Rowan.

He takes quite a ribbing from the volunteer EMTs at the first aid tent.

“What were you doing, man?” one of them asks while wrapping up Rowan’s hand. “Did you get lost in thought under a hot water faucet?”

Another one of the EMTs snickers.

“I spilled my coffee.”

His jovial nature has turned into something serious. And why wouldn’t it? He hurt himself pretty bad with that coffee. I would have been crying.