Something Worth Saving (21 page)

News helicopters hovered, reporters searched for a story, but for the firefighters here, we were stunned, unable to answer their intruding interrogations as to what happened.

Watching the ambulance pull away with no lights was sickening. Revolting.

The bile rose, and I vomited on the side of the truck as the tears and trauma took over.

It took me twenty minutes before I was able to stand again. The rest of the guys started overhauling, and my dad went back to the station to meet the chaplain.

“We’re heading back to the station. The other companies will finish up here,” Mike said, tipping his head toward the truck where Kasey and Axe were standing, both with their heads bowed.

In the distance I saw a figure crouched near the edge of the pier about fifty feet from me on the other side of Ladder 17.

It was Denny.

His head was lowered as he silently cried into his gloved hands, his helmet at his feet. Everywhere I looked there were firefighters and emergency personnel, but for the four guys on that truck with Logan, the world had stopped.

Dragging myself to my feet, I went to him, my feet slogging through inches of water, and though nothing was said, nothing needed to be said. We stared out at the ship in flames, tears in our eyes, hearts broken. We stood there reflecting on what we needed to do.

“Sorry,” he said, fumbling with his helmet at his feet. His forearm swept across his eyes.

I said nothing. I had no words.

We both got on the truck, and my eyes didn’t leave the seat beside me that my best friend for twenty years, my brother, had just occupied. And now he was gone. The entire street and pier was lined with cops and fire trucks, the lights all blurring together with my tears.

B
ACK AT
the station, Mike addressed his crew.

“He’s gone,” Mike said, and we were all struck by a sudden silence but not really comprehending he was gone. For good. He’d confirmed what we already knew, but it was still just as shocking to hear him say it. As if it was final.

Axe shuffled his feet, his upper body twisted, and he punched the side of the engine, no doubt breaking his hand.

Kasey and Denny looked at each other and then at me, waiting for my reaction.

That was when I started shaking.

“Do you need to sit down, man?” Kasey reached for me.

I felt sick. I felt absolutely disgusted with myself.

I hurt. The worst possible pain I’d ever felt.

Voices shouted around me, ordering others around . . . or me, maybe. Hovering shapes moved about, and lights shone in my eyes.

W
E ALL
have these subtle . . . sometimes not so subtle . . . reminders that we’re not invulnerable. This was one of them. I could have died today. Logan William Jennings died tonight. At thirty years old he was gone. Forever.

We all accept the fact that we’re going to die someday. Most of us do. And we learn this early on. But are you ever prepared for it? Are you prepared for your loved ones to die? Will you be able to handle it?

It was at times like this I wish I could describe everything I was feeling and the smell of burning insulation and the feeling you get when you see the walls collapse around you. I wish I could describe the sensation of the soot in your mouth and the sound the flames make as they envelop you, the intense heat, that eeriness when the fire shifts. But I can’t. Nothing would do it justice. Nothing does this justice. I wish I could describe the feeling of being with someone day in and day out, every meal eaten together, and trusting your life to them as you walk through fire.

But I can’t.

Do you know the tragedy I’ve seen?

There would always be images and memories of my job that I would have forever. Today was one of them.

Logan died a gallant hero. He died with his own brand of valor, just as he always knew he would. Logan once joked the only way he’d go out was in a fire doing what he loved. Saving lives.

He possessed a brand of valor I would never have.

The fire chief met us in the apparatus bay when we returned, seven hours after being called to the pier, and talked to us calmly.

We stood, Denny, Kasey, Axe, and me, shoulder to shoulder. It already seemed wrong, because for years the guy to my right would have been Logan.

Mike spoke the way a chief would when he wanted us to know he was there for us. “Take as much time as you need. Jace . . . you’re on administrative leave until further notice. The chief is with Aubrey and Brooke right now.”

I sighed and nearly collapsed when my brother caught me. “I got you, buddy. Come on.”

He helped get me inside the lounge, where he sat beside me. “You need to get dressed and get to Brooke. She’s going to need you right now.”

She needed me?

How could I be there for her?

The truth was, I was far from holding up. I was an absolute fucking mess.

Command to Ladder 1, be advised, heavy fire above you. Back out. Back out now.

Command to dispatch, Medic 16 arrived, send all units.

Ladder 1 to command, be advised, first victim removed, request traffic block here. We’re still on four. We found two children.

Thursday, November 29, 2013

Aubrey

“B
ROOKE . . . ”
W
ADE
turned to her, his eyes glazed over. “I’m sorry.”

I don’t know if you can hear a heart breaking, or how quickly it happens. Does it happen instantly or over the years?

I know it can happen instantly. I know that much to be true.

Right then, I would have sworn I heard the sound in that moment.

Life isn’t fair. I don’t think it’s ever meant to be. For Brooke, there’s nothing that will ever be the same. Nothing is going to happen the way they planned because he’s not there now.

I knew my friend was hurting, and I could offer a certain amount of comfort, but it would never be enough. What she was feeling was a grief all on its own.

As her cries filled my apartment, the kids began to stir. Judie had just gotten there, along with Brooke’s brother, and they kept Amelia busy.

She knew. I could tell by the tears in her eyes that she knew her mommy was weeping for her daddy.

In that moment, as I watched the devastation unfold firsthand, knowing this could have very well been me, I wanted Jace here to comfort me. I wanted to hear him whisper “honey” in my ear with the slow raspy tenor he had with his teasing words and playful touches.

My body jerked at the sound of the door opening again, two hours after Wade arrived, and I gasped when I saw Jace. His breathing was heavy, gasping breaths, and his face was soaked with tears.

He didn’t make it in the door two steps before he broke down at my feet, holding his face to my thighs.

I fell next to him. Drawing me against his chest tightly, he whispered, “I love you.”

Brooke stood there, staring at the wall, held up by her brother, and you could see the tears already forming before Jace said anything.

We both knew when he walked through the door and Logan didn’t, that the outcome was exactly what Wade had said it was. Logan was gone.

What does pain look like when you’re in so much emotional pain that you can barely breathe, let alone speak?

It looked like her. Brooke Jennings.

For her, words were being spoken, but nothing was being heard. Her eyes, so distant, rimmed with tears and bloodshot to the point where their brown was no longer distinct.

Her face was sad and tired but, given she had lost her husband, it was understandable.

Grief had a way of festering.

Anytime you lose someone suddenly, the grieving process is different from that of let’s say, losing someone to an illness you knew they had.

I think it’s because you had a little time to prepare and wrap your mind around the fact that you would lose them someday.

But when it’s sudden, the grieving process is delayed. At first you’re just trying to come to terms with the fact that you’ve lost them. Then comes the anger that they were taken from you.

Imagine this. Let’s say you’re standing on the freeway facing oncoming traffic. And then you’re hit by a car. You’re tensed, ready for it, closing your eyes in hopes you won’t see what’s about to happen, but you know it’s coming.

Now imagine turning your body away from the traffic. You’re never going to see that truck coming at you. Instead, you’re relaxed, thinking life will go on. And then a minivan crushes you.

It’s like a backdraft or flashover — you never see it coming, but when it does, it’s devastating.

When something as tragic as this happened, I wanted to blink and have it not be real. I wanted to believe sorrow like that didn’t exist.

I blinked. It was still there. Image after image of my life with him and how much he’d changed it. I couldn’t imagine how Jace or Brooke must feel.

How do you move on? How do you even walk away from them when you’re told they’re gone?

As the day destroyed the night, we were left with the numbness that this was real. Logan William Jennings was gone. Forever.

I’ll be completely honest, the thought of never feeling what Jace and I had again, in the ways Brooke had, was devastating to me. How she managed to go on was beyond me.

She sat there, unable to look at anything but the wall. When Jace walked up to her, she broke down again. As if his face was a reminder she couldn’t bear.

Without touching her, Jace sat down on the couch, his head in his hands. “This can’t be real. It’s not real.” He shook his head and swallowed, his hands trembling as he tried to compose himself. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, and Brooke fell into his arms.

Friday, November 30, 2012

I
WATCHED
Jace that night as he slept. The warmth of his skin against mine. His left hand curled around my calf over his legs, and though there wasn’t much distance between us, I felt like we were miles apart right then. The rise and fall of his chest was only visible against the orange city-lit sky. His callused hands, lips, eyes, all things I would never want to forget . . . and he was right here.

My chest ached as I thought of Brooke constantly that night, her hurt becoming my hurt, for her, for Amelia, and for Jace.

I had no idea what he was feeling right then, and I almost felt like, if I had, it would have been crushing.

I cried into my pillow, imagining the heartache Brooke must be feeling. I’d let Brooke cry alone where she wouldn’t be forced to talk or be comforted. Sometimes, to deal with a loss, it’s better to be alone. It’s better to be in a place where you don’t feel the need to apologize or care that you’re crying like a lunatic or blubbering so badly you can’t breathe.

The early morning light poured through our room. It was a harsh reminder that the day was here, and the pain had returned.

I could hear Jace’s light breathing beside me, and I wondered if he was awake. When I turned over, I saw that he was, and staring at the ceiling. Another reminder.

As he lay on his back, arms resting on his stomach, I studied his measured breathing. His left hand rose to run through his hair and I noticed the cut above his eye, no doubt from the fire last night.

So easily it could have been me who was grieving a loss and not Brooke.

My head fell forward onto the strong chest, and I waited to see what his reaction would be. Would he comfort me? Would he push me away?

His eyes moved back to the ceiling.

And if I knew Jace, which I did, he was going over every detail of last night, trying to wrap his head around it and looking for anything he could have done differently. With anything tragic, you look for the learning experience in it, what you could have, would have, should have done differently. But there wasn’t one.

Turning to me now, he swallowed back tears, his lips finding my forehead.

Unconsciously, we both moved a little more slowly, making the moment last that morning. As he held me, a touch I needed, it was hard not to cry. We had lost a great friend, and the very real possibility that it could have been us made the loss that much more real.

What hadn’t been said between us was there, and it needed to be said, but it suddenly seemed as if it didn’t matter right now.

“Have you slept?” My question hung in the air, stillness following.

“Yeah.”

“Liar.”

He sighed and looked out the window. “They want to put me on administrative leave.”

“I think that’s for the best.”

“The best for me would be getting back on that engine, doing what he taught me to do.” His tone held a certain amount of defensiveness I could understand. “Saving people. I need to be fighting fires.”

I reached my hand up, pushing away his hair to see his eyes, so tired, so sad, but also lost. “I’m sorry, Jace.”

As we sat there together, I hoped that by being there I was at least giving him some sort of comfort.

He leaned over and rested his forehead on mine. Sorrow took over, and I tried to take a deep breath. “It hurts, but part of me is a little relieved that I’m still here . . . for you . . . for our kids. And I feel guilty for thinking that way.”