Wife of a Fighter

“Come on, sweetheart,” I sigh softly as I gently powder my one-year-old daughter’s bottom, pushing her diaper between her legs and patting the Velcro tabs onto the top of her diaper, “We’ve got to get you to school.” My son, Jay, now seven years old and insistent upon getting his own clothes on for school, struggles to pull his sweatshirt on over his head. I can’t help but crack a small smile, shaking my head and reaching over to softly help him pull it down his torso.

“I can do it myself, mommy,” he mumbles in a defeated tone, jutting his lower lip out in a pout more adorable than I can handle and hanging his head. I laugh softly and pull baby jeans onto my daughter’s legs, fastening the tiny button and lifting her up into my arms.

“If you say so, baby. Got your backpack?” I ask him, grabbing up the diaper bag and sliding it onto my shoulder. He grins up at me and nods his head, enthusiastically putting his backpack on and pushing his thumbs against the straps so that it tightens up against his back.

“Yeah!” he exclaims. I hear the home phone ring and take his hand softly in my own, leading him out into the living room.

“Go get in the car, I’ve gotta get the phone,” I say, ushering him towards the garage. I watch him pull open the door and slide into the garage, reaching way up on his tippy toes to press the button that opens up the garage door. “Hello?” I ask into the phone.

“Hey, honey,” my husband, Shane, greets hesitantly from the other end of the line. I cringe at the tone of his voice, already guessing his words. “How are you?”

“What’s going on, Shane? Aren’t you headed home?” I murmur into the phone, bouncing baby Eryn softly in my arm as she gurgles into my shoulder. I hear him heave a heavy breath.

“I’m sorry, baby, but a call just came in. It’s a structure fire in our second-due…” I groan aloud at his words; a multi-alarm fire always means at least three hours of work beyond his shift time, and three hours longer that he doesn’t get to be home.

“Shane…” I huff in quiet frustration. “This is the third time in the last two months that Shift B hasn’t taken a call in their own shift frame. Why do you stay with this department if they can’t even keep tabs on their employees?” I feel the irritation rising in my voice. Not only has my husband, a hard-working firefighter for the San Jose Fire Department, not been given a pay raise in three years, but is constantly doing overtime work for the lazyasses that work the shift after his. I feel like I never get to see him anymore, between my own job, Jay’s soccer practices, and taking care of Eryn. And lately, the mortgage has become so much harder to pay.

“I know, baby, but there’s not a whole lot that I can do. I have great security with this department, if I tried to transfer, I’d be easy to lay off in the next round of cuts.” I reach up to pinch the bridge of my nose, the phone held between my ear and shoulder as I try not to show him just how stressed I feel.

“Sometimes I wonder, Shane…” I mumble quietly. I know that he knows the rest. Sometimes I wonder why you stay with this job.

“Damnit, Carrie, you know I’m trying, don’t you?” I hear him say in a hushed tone, no doubt curling into the corner of his seat on the truck so that no one hears him on the phone.

“Yeah, I know, but money gets tighter every month, and it’s getting tiring not having my husband around,” I snap, shaking my head. “I have to get Jay to school.”

“Fine,” he replies shortly, “We’re almost there, I have to get off my phone anyway.”

“Call when you’re headed home. Love you, I’ll talk to you later,” I tell him, hanging up the phone without bothering to wait and listen for his reply.

“Ready, Jay?” I call out to the garage, grabbing my purse on the way out and opening the door with my foot. He sits eagerly awaiting school in the front seat of our mini-van, grinning like a goofball and fixing the ballcap on his head. I try to force a small smile for my son, not wanting him to worry about me and his father before school.

I open the back door and buckle Eryn into her carseat, setting her favorite toy, a fire truck plushie that one of her uncles from daddy’s station got her for her first Christmas, onto her lap. She lets out a loud whine and picks it up in her little fist, throwing it away from her and wriggling around in her seat. I frown softly at the little fire truck on the car floor, biting onto my bottom lip and finishing up her buckle. “Alright, then, sweetie. No fire truck.”

“C’mon, mommy, let’s go! I don’t wanna be late!” Jay urges from the front seat. I laugh half-heartedly and nod my head, sighing quietly and shutting the back door.

“Okay, hun, okay, we’re goin’,” I reply with a small smile, sliding into the driver’s seat and pulling us out of the garage.

“Daddy’s comin’ home today, right?” Jay asks excitedly, looking up at me from under his ball cap. I purse my lips in thought as I drive us to his school, swallowing quietly and slowly nodding my head.

“Yeah, baby. Daddy comes home today,” I swallow down my frustration in knowing that he’s going to be later than usual on my day off – considering, that is, that once a month, I get a Thursday and Friday off as my weekend instead of the normal Saturday and Sunday – and all because Shift B couldn’t get in a few minutes prior to their shift start and gear up.

“I see Jenny!” my little boy suddenly blurts enthusiastically, waving his hand out of the window to his best friend as she and her dad walk into the school. I pull the car up to the curb and come to a stop, leaning over to kiss the top of his head. “…mom!” he exclaims in horror, “You can’t kiss me in fronta my friends.”

I grin down at him and sit back in my seat, chuckling softly and gesturing towards Jenny. “Alright, honey, go on into school. Don’t be late to class,” I warn him. He nods his head and climbs out of the seat, shutting the door behind him and running after his friend. I watch as she wraps him up in a tight hug, the two of them the closest little kids I’ve ever seen. It’s quite adorable, really.

“Eryn, baby, you good back there?” I ask my daughter, looking up into the rearview mirror at her where she sucks on her fingers and stares out of the window. She only lets out a loud gurgle at my voice and opens and closes her little fist, in what I’d like to think is a completely purposeful wave. “Off to the grocery store,” I mutter under my breath, driving out of the school drop-off lot and heading for Safeway.

Just a few minutes later, I reach back and pick up the fire truck toy as I stop at a red light. I turn to face my little girl and hold up the toy, tilting my head to the side in question. “Don’t you wanna play with this, baby girl?”

She just stares at me with those beautiful, emerald green eyes that she got from her father, drooling ever so slightly from the corner of her mouth. I smile lovingly and reach back, gently wiping the drool from her chin with my thumb. “Well, I suppose not,” I sigh, turning back and waiting for the light to turn green. It seems to take an eternity before it changes.

As I drive, I can’t help but wonder why my husband and I have felt so much stress lately. We met in high school, and we had fallen in love before we even spoken a word to one another. I still remember the night I met him like it was yesterday; I was in a flowing cobalt gown, with my mother’s favorite heart necklace rested in the center of my collarbone. My raven hair was done with a small bow in the back, and I’d never spent so much time on my makeup before in my life. I’d made myself as beautiful as I possibly could in hopes that my date, Johnny Warren, would fall head over heels for me and whisk me away to some place special. It was Senior Prom, and we’d only just walked in the door when Lisa McIntyre managed to steal him away for what she called a quick picture, and what turned out to be an hour-long session of kissing outside the prom hall.

I remember standing at the punch table like the wall flower my older sister had made me promise not to be, and watching as the most handsome creature I’d ever seen trip over some cords leading from the stage to nearby power outlets. The giggle that left my lips in that moment was only the first of thousands that would follow, all because of this wonderful man who just minutes later took my hand and asked me for a dance, beginning with a rather unorthodox pair of words; “Hey, you.”

Since that night thirteen years ago, Shane and I have loved each other and fought with each other and held each other through our most painful experiences. As the wife of a firefighter, it’s been hard, to be honest, feeling the emotions that I have as he’s described some of the calls that have torn him apart. But that’s what I’m here for; I’m his wife and I married him with the knowledge that we would be there for each other for the rest of our lives.

Now, however, it’s become less about what goes on in the job, and more about what comes out of it. The money that we’ve been so desperately in need of for the rising prices of everything from our adjustable rate mortgage to the food we buy for our home, seems to dwindle as time goes by, despite us being a double-income family. It gets terrifying, thinking that we’re going to have to face the struggles that our parents warned us about years and years ago. Putting fires out and transporting victims to hospitals is wonderful, but… between the money and how little I see him, Shane and I are feeling more of a stretch on our marriage than we ever have before.

“Finally,” I murmur to myself as I pull into a parking space at the store, parking the car and standing out of the car. I lift my daughter out of her carseat and up onto my hip, pulling my purse with her and shutting up the van.

“Guurrr a dah…” Eryn mumbles as she grabs tightly onto my shirt. I exhale a silent thanks to the clouds that she hasn’t had her morning fit yet, softly patting her back and heading into the store.

A breeze flows against my face as I step in through the automatic door, pushing a cart ahead of me and setting Eryn gently into the front basket. “Okay, what do I need…” I pull my list from my back pocket, holding it in two of my fingers as I push the cart towards the frozen aisle.

A good half an hour later, I find myself moving up to a line of three people waiting to check out their groceries. Eryn wrinkles up her nose and starts to play with a bottle of water that I had set next to her, sucking on the cap as I absentmindedly glance over my list to be sure I’ve gotten everything. “No, honey, don’t be chewing on that,” I quietly scold, gently taking it from her grasp and setting it into the seat of the cart. I see her face contort into one that warns me of an impending cry-storm, causing me to reach quickly into my purse for the little froggie doll I keep with me for emergencies.

Her tears only barely start before her gaze lands on the frog in my hands, her eyes widening and her hands reaching for the froggie. “Be good, baby girl,” I say softly, pushing the cart up to the conveyor belt and handing her the frog. She happily cuddles the stuffed animal, not yet accustomed to the words of admonishment.

“How’re you doin’ today?” the young girl behind the register asks with a smile. I return it the best that I can and set the last of the groceries onto the belt.

“I’m doing good, and you?” I pull up my wallet and get my credit card out, pulling my cart around to get ready for the bagged up groceries.

Ring, Ring, Ring.

I furrow my brows in thought and set the card down, lifting my cell phone out of my pocket and pressing it to my ear. “Hello?”

I one-handedly pull grocery bags from the other side of the register, setting the items into my cart as I hear someone clear their throat on the other end. “…John, is that you?” My husband’s best friend and one of the firemen on his Truck Company, John Carter, lets out a loud, shaky breath in an attempt to find the words that he wants to tell me. I should not be getting this call; something is wrong. Very wrong.

“John, what’s going on?” I demand as gently as I can, stopping immediately with the groceries and setting my free hand softly onto Eryn’s little shoulder. “Where’s Shane?”

“He… He saved my life, Carrie. I would’ve been dead right now, he saved my life.” I feel my heart fall, for miles and miles, to the very bottoms of my feet. No.

“Where is he, damnit?” Now my voice is shaking beyond recognition, and the cashier watches me with concern, asking me if everything’s alright. I can barely hear her.

“He’s right here, Carrie, he’s alive… But, he’s hurt real bad, we’re taking him to Regional Medical and I… I don’t-"

“Oh my god,” I whisper, quickly lifting Eryn from the cart and holding her to my chest. I look to the cashier and gesture to the groceries. “Just, just put these back, I have to go…!”

She shakes her head and opens her mouth to speak, but I take off as quickly as I can out of the store. “I’m on my way, John, I… I’m on my way.”

“It’s gonna b-be okay, Car,” he mumbles through a voice full of emotion, “I’m sure he’ll be okay.” Somehow his voice doesn’t sound as convincing as I need it to right now.

“I’ll see you there,” I mumble, quickly buckling my daughter into her seat and jumping into the driver’s seat.

“Wait!” I hear from behind me. I turn out of the opened driver’s door to look behind me, my heart racing and everything in my being wanting to be right next to Shane, right now. “You forgot your purse!”

The cashier girl comes running up to me, my purse held tightly in her grasp. “Whatever it is, I hope it turns out okay,” she says with a reassuring voice, handing my purse to me. I force a weak smile of gratitude and set the purse onto the passenger seat beside me, mumbling a barely audible “thank you” before turning the car on and shutting the door. She jogs back into the store and I pull out of the space, driving as quickly as I can out of the parking lot.

Tears begin to flow down my cheeks as I drive. I didn’t even hear him say “I love you, too” this morning – I hung up long before he could. How could I do that? What was wrong with me? Now I’m driving to the hospital; my husband is hurt, how badly I have no idea, and every bone and muscle and nerve in my body is terrified that I just might lose him today.

As I come to a rapid halt in front of the ER twenty minutes later and park my car, my mind is only on finding my husband. “Please, God, let him be okay,” I whisper under my breath, holding Eryn in both of my arms as tightly and warmly as I can and hurrying into the ER.

People are everywhere, most with an extremity wrapped in a bloody bandage or pale and faint-looking, arranged around the room with their family members or friends, or no one at all, and waiting for their turn to be looked at by a doctor. I go straight to the front counter and look through the glass at the young male nurse sitting behind it.

“I need to know what room my husband is in, or where he is, h-he’s a firefighter, he just came in maybe fifteen minutes ago,” I stutter to him, rubbing my hand up and down my daughter’s back. Suddenly, she begins to cry, burying her face into my neck and bawling without reserve.

“What’s his name, ma’am?” the nurse asks, his face patient and understanding. I swallow audibly and have to force my brain to function properly.

“Sh-Shane. Shane… Thompson, Shane Thompson,” I finally get out, watching him type into the computer.

“Carrie?” a voice asks gently. I turn to see three of the men my husband works with, all but John, their eyes full of concern and their faces darkened here and there with the thick black color of smoke.

“Guys…” I breathe out in some semblance of relief, turning to the nurse and shaking my head. “Th-Thank you, they’ll take me to him.” I hurry over to them and feel myself become engulfed by their arms, my own split between one of them and a still-crying Eryn.

“He’s in surgery right now,” Mike murmurs softly, all of us stepping back from the hug. “We don’t know exactly what’s going to happen, but… The doctors are positive.” I nod my head and gently bounce Eryn in my hold, trying to stop her crying.

“Can I try?” Alec suggests quietly. I look to him with reddened, worried eyes, nodding in reply and gently handing her to him. He smiles slightly as he brings her into his chest, cooing to her and rocking her from side to side.

“Where do we get to wait for him?” I ask Shawn. He reaches up to brush a hand through his thick, red hair, gesturing to a door not far from where we stand.

“Through there,” he tells me. “But it’s not much different in there than out here.”

“I’m fine with that,” I assure him, uncertainly bringing myself to the door and stopping at the security guard who stands there.

“Patient name,” he requests, looking at a screen in front of him. We provide him with Shane’s name and he asks for who we are, but by the looks of us, he simply waves away the question and opens up the door for us. With quiet murmurs of thanks, we pass the security officer, the boys leading me to where John sits waiting with his head in his hands.

“John,” I whisper, softly placing my hand onto his shoulder. He looks up at me, his eyes glazed over with tears, and opens his mouth trying to speak. Instead, he stands up, and we wrap each other in the tightest hug that we possibly can. Despite the lack of air reaching my lungs, I tighten the hug even further, holding him as close to me as I can as the crying finally hits me and I bury my face into his shoulder.

We stand there, in the middle of that hallway, holding each other and crying as we wait to find out what’s happened to Shane. I can barely bring myself to step back from one of my oldest friends, clutching tightly to the back of his shirt and feeling my tears soak his shoulder the same way his are on mine.

“Wh-What happened?” I manage, inhaling a tentative breath and reluctantly pulling myself back from John. I reach up, wiping the wetness from my cheeks and watching him try to do the same. I frown as the wiping of his cheeks only brings the smoke stains and a slight hint of blood further across his skin. A shallow cut reveals itself across the side of his nose to the corner of his mouth.

“The structure collapsed,” Mike states softly, sitting himself beside Alec and Shawn. I reach up and cup my hand over my mouth, swallowing in an attempt to keep the contents of my stomach where they belong. “Shane was able to get the four of us out of a window once we realized conditions were only getting worse… He pushed John out and was about to climb out, too.”

“His p-pants got caught on something inside the room,” John explains, “He was trying to get it to let go when something just…snapped.” Shawn reaches over and puts his hand on John’s shoulder, shaking his head.

“But he’s okay, John. We all are. He’s going to make it.” The certainty in his voice tightens the strings around my heart. And what if he doesn’t?

What feels like hours and hours finally pass, time moving slower than it ever has as we await the doctor’s response. I stand up shakily and step a thousand paces forward in a single movement the moment my eyes land on a doctor approaching our group, the sounds of the guys’ boots moving to stand directly behind me hitting my ears. I nervously fiddle with the beautiful ring on my left hand, my eyes on the doctor’s.

“Shane Thompson’s family?” the doc questions, a clipboard in hand. I nod my head and inhale deeply. “He’s in room 217, he’s going to be just fine. He’s extremely lucky, Mrs. Thompson. None of us can believe that he didn’t sustain a major spinal injury from that incident.” Suddenly, I feel air rush into my lungs, my heart starting up once more and my mind going numb.

“Oh my god,” I blurt quietly, both of my hands coming up to cover my mouth. I feel John’s hand come to grasp my shoulder tightly, exhaled breaths from each of the four men behind me telling me that I heard him right. Shane’s going to be okay.

“He broke three ribs and he has a nasty puncture wound in his stomach, but we just fixed that up in surgery, so he should be just fine within about four to six weeks of in-home recovery.” It’s all I can do not to throw my arms around the doctor, the tears now building up in the corners of my eyes full of happiness rather than fear. The relief I feel cannot be described.

“C-Can we see him?” I ask in the softest voice. The doctor smiles softly and nods his head, turning to lead us to the room. I follow not a foot behind him, the guys right alongside me.

“You all go in first,” I tell my husband’s best friends, smiling weakly at them as I softly take Eryn back and step to the side of the door. I sit into a seat outside the room as they pile in one after the other, their voices greeting Shane with enthusiasm and encouragement. Maybe a few jokes here and there. I close my eyes and lean my head back against the wall, patting my daughter’s back softly and breathing in deeply. He’s going to be just fine.

After a few minutes pass, Mike pads out of the room and turns to face me. He smiles reassuringly down at me and reaches out, gently taking Eryn out of my hold.

“I’ll take this one,” he chuckles, holding her carefully and giving her temple a kiss. “You go in there and see Shane.” I send him a grateful smile and lean up, kissing his cheek softly and patting his arm before heading into the hospital room. Each of the three remaining guys give Shane a word of man-love, as they call it, before slipping from the room and letting me have him all to myself. There he lay, in the hospital bed with the cool, white sheets brought up to the top of his chest and his eyes tired as they move up to meet mine.

I stare down into those incredible eyes of green, my heart pounding in my chest as we say nothing. His face is all cleaned up and three stitches keep a small cut on his forehead held together, a dark purple bruise imprinted on his cheek and his lips curled slightly upward in a loving, crooked smile.

“Hey, you,” I whisper. His smile widens just a little and he reaches out, his warm, soft hand taking mine and pulling me to him. My fingertips move to gently brush his thick, brown hair from his forehead, the strands curling back with the gesture. “Doc says you’re gonna be just fine…”

“I love you,” he replies, his thumb carefully caressing the back of my hand back and forth. The butterflies that swarmed in my stomach on Prom night thirteen years ago revisit me, reminding me of all the feelings that had me flying for so long.

“I love you, too, Shane… Don’t you ever scare me like th-that again,” I warn him, trying as hard as I can to keep the tears at bay. His hand moves up to carefully cup the side of my neck, bringing me down to him and ever so softly connecting our lips.

And with that gentle, sweet kiss, the love and passion that’s burned so brightly between us all this time melts away the worries of the job and the mortgage and the lost time. Nothing seems to matter anymore but our family; the two of us and our two beautiful children. Finally, things have been set back into place.