Page 7 of Her Filthy Grump
Cole laughs as we jog to the firetruck to suit up.
“One alarm fire at the corner of Pavilion Circle and Watkins Drive,” blasts over the intercom.
The guys hurriedly suit up but continue to crack jokes as they get ready. I try and wrap my mind around their response. It’s not that they aren’t serious about prepping for the call, but the anxiety I’m used to in the city isn’t present.
They all have a self-assured ‘we’ve got this shit’ kind of swagger. What’s it like to know everyone’s got each other’s backs, and it’s not an opportunity to stomp on each other to get to the top.
Fire is still fire–that won’t ever change. And I know Gavin’s history of losing his friend and getting injured, but their confidence and comradery is fascinating to watch. Back home, the only guy I was close to was Rich Anderson. I cringe. And that shit went epically bad.
Gavin cocks his head and grins. “You ready?”
“Yeah.” I nod as I slide the oversized straps of my turnout pants over my shoulders and grab my coat off the hook.
“Dude, it’s going to be fine. We don’t have high rises. We have new fire hydrants on all the street corners, so you don’t have to worry about dry hydrants. And we’ve got your back, so load up and let’s roll.”
“Sure thing.” I nod, run to the firetruck, and slide into the backseat as Gavin’s words replay through my mind. What would it be like to stay in a town like this and put down roots?
Chapter Five
Layla
I sniff. “What’s that smell?”Smoke. It smells like smoke.I sniff harder and open my front door. I glimpse to the right and then to the left.
Everything in my front yard is the same as it was ten minutes ago when I arrived home. I squint and study the Harper’s house. Their lights are off, and no vehicles are in the driveway.
The smell of smoke grows heavier.Please, don’t be my house.I knew I should have gotten rental insurance. I jog to the driveway and survey the one and a half story structure. There’s nothing fancy about the place, but it’s sturdy and in decent shape.
“Damn it, Mabel. I told you not to leave the stove on.” Nelson Gibson’s gravelly voice bellows into the quiet neighborhood.
“I turned it off,” Mabel mutters loudly from their front steps. “At least I think I did.”
I inhale again and shift my attention to my elderly neighbor’s house as Mabel and Nelson shuffle down their front steps.
“Everything okay?” I climb down my stairs and walk across the grass.
“Yes, dear.” Mabel nods and waves her hand dismissively.
“No, it’s not, Mabel. The fucking house is on fire.”
“What part of the house is on fire? Did you call the fire department?” As my gaze darts over to their home, I run the rest of the way across the yard and up their driveway.
No flames lick through the roof in search of oxygen. That’s a good sign. Right? How the heck would I know. I didn’t take Firefighting 101. My dad would crap his pants if I even hinted at doing anything dangerous like becoming a firefighter.
“The damn kitchen.” Nelson shakes his head in disgust. “Mabel left the burner on again.”
“Did not.” Her narrowed eyes shoot daggers at him, and she crosses her arms.
“Did you call the fire department?” I slow down and say each word clearly. Bothare hard of hearing and nearly eighty years old.
“Yes, I called the fire department.” Nelson shifts his irritated gaze in my direction. “Do you think I’m stupid?”
“No, Mr. Gibson. Not at all.”Lord, help me.Stupid? No. Senile? Slightly.
Where’s my cell phone? Where did I toss the darn thing? Sofa? No. It’s not there. Table? No. I don’t think it’s there. Refrigerator? Crap. I left it on the top shelf of the fridge when I grabbed a soda.
“Oh, my.” Mabel clutches her chest. The opening of her robe gaps displaying her short nightgown and spindly legs. “I’ve got to get Chester.” She makes a shaky move toward the front door. “The fire’s little. It should be fine.”
“Don’t.” I grab her forearm.