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Roy and Bennie were great. They did all the driving during that time because I’d left Elena my car in case she needed it, and luckily the lectures, both the didactic and the practical, were rather easy; but then again, we’d been trained by Bob, and his class was considered one of, if not
the
best in the country.

The next week, we had EVOC, emergency vehicle operation course, which would begin very early during the day and then, the following week, our finals.

I spent five days, from six in the morning until three in the afternoon, out in Floyd Bennett Field, standing on the beat-up tarmac of the old military airfield, freezing my ass off, picking up traffic cones, and waiting for my opportunity to drive a rig, rev it up, weave between cones to create a dangerous sway (because the way these vehicles are weighted with oxygen, they tip much more easily than one would think), correct the sway, then floor it and push that mother as fast as it could go to the feather wall, a super-abrupt breaking stop that had to be corrected into a left turn. If you did it dead-on right, the vehicle hopped, and man, I loved making that thing hop! Of course, if you did it wrong, you’d roll the vehicle; we’d been told more than one instructor had ended up on disability that way.

“See that?” Roy asked me during a break, pointing to the adjacent runway field where cop cars and ESU—emergency services unit—trucks were put through their paces at high speed. “That’s what I want to do.”

Bennie and I both nodded. Rescue…now
that
was elite. The thought intrigued me: jumping into the water, rappelling down ravines and buildings to extricate…and if I got my diving certification…definitely interesting. The three of us discussed it as we rubbed our hands and huddled against the wind, then ate our sandwiches in the warmth of Roy’s car.

It didn’t make up for the cold, though ever since then, I’ve never felt the cold nearly as bad as I did those days, and I have yet to see a line of cones without either wanting to weave between them or joyously knock them over.

*

We were on our way home from EVOC in Roy’s car when we saw it: a van passed a motorcycle and clipped it, sending the rider ass over head into the guardrail. The van never stopped, but we did.

We stepped out with our tech bags, and Roy pulled a short board out of the trunk. The victim had tumbled so that he sat nearly upright against the freezing metal, his bike about twenty feet away.

He raised a hand to his helmet. “Don’t move, just stay still!” we all cautioned him as we approached. I dialed 911 as Bennie and Roy introduced themselves.

His helmet was cracked and blood poured from his nose and lip, but he was conscious. The ugly swelling of his thigh and the subsequent scream that erupted from him when he tried to move his leg made me think, yup, broken.

We didn’t have a lot of equipment, but we knew how to improvise, adapt. We knew how to overcome. Among the three of us, we had him evaluated, immobilized, and ready for transport when the responding crew got there.

They were a little surprised, maybe, that some academy rats had stopped, and they asked for our names, but hey, that was the job, that was what we were supposed to do—stop and give aid.

*

I admit to being nearly unbearable in the days leading up to finals, and I hid in my apartment, studying. Even at the academy, we were done with our lectures and had to spend hours in a classroom doing nothing—I studied with Roy and Bennie or slept at my desk while other classmates read the paper.

I was so bored that when Lieutenant Griggs came in to announce a break, I almost knocked my chair over in my haste to run out of there, anywhere that wasn’t too hot and stifling.

Though I wasn’t the first one out the door, I certainly wasn’t the last, and my next destinations were the female-designated facilities, the grease truck for some coffee, and a cigarette. I hoped that the combination of the caffeine jolt, the nicotine buzz, and the ass-freezing cold would wake me up enough to get through the next few hours before I drove all of us home. I couldn’t believe we were getting paid to sit there and do absolutely nothing! How many crossword puzzles could a person do in one day, I wondered as I skidded around the corner.

I smacked right into her.

“Whoa, there!”

“Oh, geez, I’m sorry,” I said as we overbalanced. She hit the wall with me on top.

Jean’s eyes sparkled down at me. “I always knew you’d fall for me.” Her lips formed a delicious curve.

“Did you now?” I asked dryly as I righted myself.

Her smile widened for maybe a heartbeat, then her expression became serious. “How’s your mom?”

I sighed. “She’s better, thanks. Home now, actually. Looks like right-sided CHF.”

Jean nodded. “Yeah, thought so. But she’s watching her meds and all that, she’s doing okay at home?”

“Yeah, she’s doing okay for now.”

An awkward silence grew between us because those few moments of having her body so solidly against mine forcibly reminded me of her lips, of the sweet taste of her mouth, that dead-on perfect kiss. “So…I thought you were done last week?”

“This week’s my last week. We do exams tomorrow, find out where we’ll be Friday.”

I nodded like an idiot as my face and neck grew hot and something akin to hunger thrummed through my body, threatening to erupt through my skin.

Suddenly I recovered. I had to go to the bathroom, have a cig, and get some coffee. “You on break?”

“About another fifteen minutes.”

“Me too. Meet at the grease truck in five?”

She smiled. “Cool. Yeah.”

I managed not to damage myself or another human being as I stepped out of the building and down the steps that led to the open space where the grease truck sat and a bunch of classmates, both from my class and Jean’s, huddled around the open flap by the coffee urn.

I was careful on the slate flagstones that had lined the walkways of this fort since the Revolutionary War, because it was so cold and dark already; night had fully set, and a touch of ice dotted the ground. I recognized Jean’s back as I walked over, then watched her detach herself from the milling crowd. She carried two large Styrofoam cups.

“This is for you, light and sweet, right?” She smiled.

“Thanks—you remembered.” I was surprised as I took the cup from her. The heat felt good against my bare hands, and I ripped the plastic lid and took a sip.

“Well, yeah,” she laughed softly, “we only spent like, what, every day, for eight or more hours together for a few months? Some marriages don’t last that long.”

I laughed a bit self-consciously. She had a point, and I was pretty sure I was living proof of it. We found a clear spot along the low-lying wall that surrounded part of the building and started to chat, about anything, everything.

Bennie and Roy strolled over, then a few of Jean’s classmates, and we were having a great time, discussing instructors and dumb classroom mistakes, and right before our break ended, we somehow all agreed that we’d meet that coming Friday at Peggy O’Neills in Brooklyn to celebrate the end of our classes.

“Wait up a sec.” Jean caught the back of my jacket right before I reentered the building.

I let the door close again.

Jean glanced down at her hands and took a deep breath, then let it out slowly and it steamed in the winter air.

“You, um…you still seeing Trace?” she asked before she gazed at me, her expression indiscernible in the false twilight of the nearby arc lamp.

I thought about how to answer. “We’re not dating, if that’s what you mean,” I said finally. It was true, we weren’t dating—just the occasional fuck, which was something I’d been trying to stop too.

“Oh,” she said, sounding surprised, “I thought, I thought that—”

“No, no.” I caught her sleeve. The muscle in her arm was solid under the layers she wore. “I made a mistake, that’s all.”

When I realized I was about to run my thumb along the hard ridge of her bicep I dropped my hold. I wasn’t thinking at all, I’d been going to pull her closer, and—

“What kind of mistake?” Jean asked softly as she neared.

I laughed a little self-consciously. “The mistake I made last time—fucking doesn’t mean you’re involved.”

“Heh,” she snorted, “I’ve made that mistake myself. But,” and she tapped my shoulder, “I’ve learned from it.” Her tone was as light as her touch.

“Oh yeah?” I asked, forcing my tone to match hers. “What was that?”

Her fingers moved from my shoulder to brush the hair I’d let grow for far too long away from my face, and they were so soft against my skin.

“You don’t have to love someone you’re fucking, but you do have to love them to let them fuck you.”

“Ya think?” I asked, maybe a touch too sarcastically, and Jean dropped her hand, tucking it into her jacket pocket.

“I
know
,” she said brightly, “and believe me, the more you love? The more fucked-over you get.”

“Well, that
I
know too.” I laughed as I opened the door again and stepped inside to return to my nap. I had no doubt of what Jean had said: I had my mother as living proof.

*

About twenty minutes before we were allowed to finally leave from our very last class (our exam would be on Monday), we learned that we’d all be sworn in the next Friday at an official ceremony, assuming we all passed, and that would be when we found out what borough, which station, and what battalion we’d be attached to, as well as what shift. That was great news, but at that moment, we were beyond delighted to just be done. Bennie, Roy, and I practically sang as Bennie drove to Peggy O’Neills, and we got even giddier as it started to snow.

We got lucky enough to find a parking spot right around the corner and could hear the live band playing in utter earnestness as we approached. A traditional Irish tune set to a modern beat blew into our ears as I opened the door.

Roy, Bennie, and I stamped our feet, hung our coats up in the vestibule, and entered the bar proper.

It was past midnight and it was jammed; half our class was there, as well as a few of my buds from County, Bennie’s from Access, and Roy’s from 911.

Jean, waiting her turn for a shot at the dartboard, waved us over, a pint in one hand.

“Hey, we saved you seats!” she yelled, and we cut our way through the throng to the table.

Bennie nudged me as we walked. “You didn’t say anything about dating a medic,” she half shouted into my ear.

“We’re not dating, she’s a friend!” I half shouted back.

Bennie smirked. “You better fix that soon, or I’ll ask her out myself.”

I was shocked to feel the blood rush into my neck, and I tugged at my collar to give myself room to breathe. I stopped walking.

“Hey, don’t let me stop you.” I tried to smile. “Do what you want.”

Roy grabbed my shoulder. “Hey, put it back in your pants, guys,” he gave a teasing grin, “because I think we’re about to get a show.” He jerked his chin toward the band.

“Hey!” one of the guys on stage spoke into the microphone, his
very
Irish accent apparent from the first syllable. “Pat says his sister’s a hell of a singer, so we’d like to bring her up here to do the traditional, ever-classic ‘All Through The Night’ with us, for all of the new members of New York’s best. C’mon, Jean,” he paused and stretched a hand to her, “will ya do it?”

The band began to clap, and we all followed suit as a tall young man whose face was so like Jean’s he could only have been her brother pushed, pulled, and otherwise dragged her to the stage. Jean laughed and held her beer carefully above her as she stepped up onto the platform.

“Here, Pat,” she said into the microphone and handed him her glass, “and if you drink my beer, I’ll have to kill you, even though you’re my only brother and I love you.”

“Don’t forget I’m armed!” he called.

“Don’t forget I’m crazy, and crazy beats armed, every time.” She turned around and spoke with the guitarist, who nodded, then spoke with the bassist, who also seemed to agree.

He leaned into the microphone. “All right, then, there’s been a change. Still a classic, still traditional, though technically not Irish, but Scottish,” he gave Jean a mock scowl, “but since she requested it,” he shrugged, “here’s ‘Will Ye Go, Lassie,’ and…” Jean nudged him.

“Oh, right, then. This is for Scotty, lucky dog, you.” He smiled widely at the crowd, then stepped back.

Everybody laughed as the band clicked in the tune and I said hello to Barbara and Chuck as we found our seats. Roy waved a waitress over.

“I’ve got the first round,” he told me and Bennie as we reached for our wallets. “One of you can get the next.”

I thanked him and waved to Jean as she waited for her cue, and she gave me a quick grin.

Having grown up surrounded by Nina’s music and voice, I was curious to hear Jean’s.

“Oh the summertime is coming, and the trees are sweetly blooming,”
she sang, a melodious alto that suited her perfectly.
“And the wild mountain thyme grows around the blooming heather…will ye go, lassie, go?”

The beers arrived and I took a very thirsty sip.