Chapter 4
The sugary sweet aroma of the Nuthatch Bakery made Warren’s stomach rumble, but he wasn’t there for the cinnamon rolls. He and his C-Shift buddies, Dennis and Saul, strode through the Saturday night crowd and took charge of the medical emergency. Dispatch had told them a seventy-one-year-old man felt weak and had been acting erratically. That could signal a lot of things: diabetic emergency, brain bleed, heart attack, or something simpler, like dehydration or a urinary tract infection.
Dennis and Saul began taking the patient’s vitals while Warren asked the family questions. The wife, Martha, described Frank trying to take the tray of food and acting confused.
“How are you feeling?” Warren asked the man.
“Woozy.” Frank closed his eyes. “I feel woozy.”
“Can you describe what you mean by woozy?” Warren knelt on one knee so he’d be at eye level with Frank.
“Water might help.” The dark-haired man sitting at the table with Frank stood.
“No, wait.” Warren held up his hand. “Until we know what we’re dealing with, we need to keep his stomach as empty as possible.”
“That makes sense,” said a gorgeous blonde standing a few feet away.
Warren did a double take when he recognized her. Dawn Maddox, the woman from the beach protest, held a baby on her hip.
“Sir, I’m going to measure your blood pressure now, if that’s okay?” asked Dennis, drawing Warren’s attention back to the job.
“Thank you,” Martha said. She sat right by Frank’s side, holding his hand, which made it harder for the team to work. But she also made things easier by keeping Frank calm. “I told you he has Alzheimer’s, right?”
“Yes, ma’am. You mentioned that,” said Warren.
Dennis wrapped the blood pressure cuff around Frank’s arm while Saul attached the pulse oximeter to his fingertip.
Warren kept his eyes focused on the patient but felt his attention divide. How was Dawn related to them? She didn’t seem to be hooked up with the man named Aaron, who wore a T-shirt featuring a Sasquatch. He and the woman next to him wore matching wedding rings. She was Julia Harper, the FroYo shop owner. Everyone in town recognized Julia, even if they didn’t know her personally. She was the last Harper left in Harper Landing.
Warren snuck a glance at Dawn’s hand. Nope, he realized with a thrill, no ring. And wow, did her jeans accentuate every curve. The way she held the toddler on her hip made her look like a mud-flap girl. Warren loved watching her hold the baby. He almost chuckled at her T-shirt covered with brownie crumbs. Dawn kept the kid quiet by feeding him one bite after another.
Warren focused back on Martha and continued asking questions about Frank’s health. But he couldn’t help glancing at Dawn when she shifted the baby from one shapely hip to the other.
“Woozy,” Frank mumbled again.
After Dennis removed the blood pressure cuff, Saul checked for skin turgor, to see if Frank was dehydrated.
“I’m going to hold your arm for a couple of seconds.” Saul pinched the patient’s skin, forming a tent, and let go. The skin didn’t snap back into place as quickly as it should, indicating that dehydration might be an issue.
“Sir, we’d like to start an IV, run you to the hospital, and get you checked out,” said Warren.
“Yes,” said Martha. “Please.”
Frank squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m just so woozy.”
Warren wished that Frank could describe more details beyond that one word, but he had enough experience working with dementia patients to be grateful that Frank was able to speak at all. Many of them were the station’s frequent fliers, people who dialed 911 again and again because the eldercare system was so broken that families were in constant crisis. Families who could afford it put their loved ones with memory impairment in sheltered facilities that cost over seven thousand dollars a month or had care workers come to their house, which could be even more expensive. Those without means were stuck in impossible positions, caring for adults who might wander off into traffic, forget how to use the restroom, or worse, become agitated and violent. Warren had seen it all.
Things moved quickly once Martha gave the go-ahead to take Frank to the emergency room. Dennis and Saul were firefighter-paramedics. Thirtysomething Dennis, a father of two, had a contagious twinkle in his eye. He also had deft hands.
In the back of the aid unit, Warren watched as Dennis slid the IV tubing into Frank without incident, even as the vehicle climbed up Main Street toward the hospital.
Saul was a single guy in his twenties who had a great way with people, and Warren knew that up in the cab, Saul was probably putting Martha at ease as they sped through traffic. He might be flirting with her too. Saul flirted with anyone female, and old ladies usually loved it. Warren spent the ride filling out paperwork so they would be able to do a quick turnaround once they reached their destination.
At the hospital, they gave an oral report to the nurse as they moved Frank to his bed. Martha thanked them, and they hurried away.
Back at the ambulance, Saul changed the linens, and Dennis sprayed down the cot with disinfectant. Warren synced the report into the system and printed out paperwork for their records. Then C Shift headed to the station. Dennis rode with the equipment, while Saul and Warren sat in the cab.
“Hey, back at the bakery, did you get a load of that woman holding the kid?” Saul asked.
Warren decided to play dumb. “What woman?” The last thing he wanted was to let on that he’d noticed Dawn. When it came to gossip, firehouses were the worst. A guy could accidentally fart in front of a pretty ER nurse, and a few days later, every shift at the station would have heard and be stuffing Pepto-Bismol in his boots.
“The hot blonde holding the toddler.” Saul whistled. “I’d love to stroke the curves on that one.”
Warren bristled. He’d been thinking the same thing about Dawn but didn’t like hearing Saul fantasize about her. “She’s trouble,” he said stiffly. “That’s the woman who caused the ruckus at the beach the other day.”
“Really?” Saul raised his eyebrows. “She didn’t look like she was old enough to have a teenager.”
“Tweenager,” Warren corrected. “Her daughter is going into sixth grade, just like Mikaela.”
“How old are sixth graders again?” Saul, at twenty-four, was clueless about children.
“They’re eleven.” Warren held up his hand. “You start with the number five and then add the grade level. Kindergarten is zero, so those kids are five. First graders are six, and so on. Eleven minus five gets you sixth grade.”
“So the hot blonde’s probably what, thirty? That’s in my age range.”
Which would mean too young for me, Warren thought, considering he was forty-one. He wouldn’t mind a five-year age difference, or even six or seven, but a full decade was too much. “I doubt she’s that young,” he said, not because Dawn couldn’t pass for it but because he wanted her to be too old for Saul, who, despite his flirting, usually only dated women in his same decade. “Dawn’s at least thirty-five,” he said hopefully. He looked sideways at Saul to gauge what he thought about a ten-year age gap.
Saul shrugged. “I can work with thirty-five. That’s old but not ancient.”
“Watch it, man.”
“I mean, it’s not like she’s forty-two.” Saul smirked. “Forty-two-year-olds have that used look. That’s hard to escape.”
“Wow, I think there are some toilets to clean with your name on them,” Warren said, knowing full well that it was Dennis’s turn to clean the bathroom. “And I’m forty-one, wise guy. My birthday’s not until November.”
“Didn’t you graduate from the fire academy before there were cell phones?”
“Stop.”
Saul grinned and kept going. “And tell me again what your email address is?”
“I’ve had my AOL account since high school, and it still works fine.” Warren folded his arms across his chest.
“And why do we always have to listen to Soundgarden when you’re in the fitness room?”
“Because Chris Cornell was a genius. You know he was from Seattle, right?”
“Yeah, well, Macklemore’s from Seattle, too, but I never hear you play him.”
“Cuz I don’t like rap.” Warren shook his head. “Man, this is rich.”
“What?”
“You thinking I’m old. When I first joined Harper Landing Fire, the baby boomers thought the Gen Xers and millennials were lazy good-for-nothings.” Warren shook his head as he remembered. “Now millennials like me are holding the place together.”
“And you’re so humble too,” said Saul as he backed the aid unit into Station Two’s apparatus bay.
As much as Warren hated to admit it, Saul’s good-natured ribbing about his age bothered him. Warren was still thinking about it three calls later at two a.m., when he was finally getting to sleep. Station Two had individual rooms for the crew to sleep in, instead of a dormitory. That was important for the rest of the team because Warren snored. At least, he thought he did. He hadn’t slept next to a woman—really slept—in four years. But sometimes when he dozed off in front of the TV, he woke himself up with a snort. When he did, it reminded him of his father.
Larry Berg had always wanted to be a firefighter but had failed the Candidate Physical Ability Test four times and had finally given up. At least, that was what Warren’s mother, Astrid, told him one Christmas night after she drank too much spiked eggnog.
Astrid had been a school lunch lady in Olympia for thirty-nine years before she retired. His dad drove a school bus. Warren and his two brothers, Rudy and Neil, all shared a room so small that it could barely fit their bunk beds and trundle, let alone a dresser. They’d kept their personal belongings in laundry hampers in the hallway.
Thinking back on it now, as he tried to fall asleep, Warren was ashamed that he hadn’t realized those laundry hampers were a fire hazard. He wasn’t embarrassed by his parents or the way they’d raised him. He knew they’d done the best they could. But he couldn’t believe he’d been too stupid to see that all those hampers cluttering the exit path were dangerous. Plus, they only had one smoke detector in the whole house, hanging in the kitchen, far away from the bedrooms. Nine times out of ten, the batteries were disconnected because the alarm would go off when his mom fried bacon, and nobody would remember to pop the batteries back in.
Then there was the gas wall heater. Warren shuddered, thinking about the risk of carbon-monoxide poisoning. His mind went to dark places whenever he thought about carbon monoxide.
One of his first calls as a brand-new probie had been during a snowstorm that caused the power to go out. A family had brought their charcoal barbecue into the living room to heat the house. All five family members perished of carbon-monoxide poisoning, as well as the dog and cat. Harper Landing Fire Department considered thirty parts per million for carbon monoxide to be harmful. Warren’s meter had read one thousand ppm when he entered the structure. At levels like that, a person could only remain conscious for an hour before succumbing to the gas.
Shit. The clock said 2:03 a.m., and he was supposed to be sleeping, not reliving one nightmare after another. But that was what he got after twenty years as a career firefighter, enough drama-filled memories to ward off sleep forever.
Saul was right. Warren was old, maybe even too old to become a father again, even if he had more time to date. The last woman he’d gone out with was Terri, that cute woman who worked in the floral department at Safeway. Their relationship had only lasted six weeks before his work schedule had driven her away. Good riddance, though. Terri had never once asked him about Mikaela, and she pitched a fit when he suggested meeting for lunch instead of dinner so he wouldn’t have to get a sitter.
“Can’t you have those women watch her?” Terri had asked, referring to Laurie and Alison.
Red-hot anger boiled inside him. He should have dumped Terri then and there. Now all he could do was beat himself up about it.
He was starved for female companionship, though. Terri wasn’t interesting to talk to or kind to children, but she laughed at all his jokes and liked to drink beer. Plus, she was pretty, with long brown hair almost down to her waist and soft lips. Warren closed his eyes, remembering those lips. However, she wasn’t curvy like Dawn, and she didn’t have aquarium-blue eyes that begged a guy to look at them. She didn’t carry herself with a fierceness that demanded respect, like a woman who knew her own worth—and her daughter’s worth too.
Damnit. He was thinking about Dawn again. He really needed to stop doing that. Yet it was Dawn’s face he saw when sleep finally claimed him. It was Dawn’s lips he dreamed of under the covers.
Warren woke up the next morning at six after four blissful hours of uninterrupted sleep. Dennis was already in the kitchen, eating bacon and eggs and finishing his mug of coffee.
“Good morning,” Warren said as he poured himself a cup.
“I’m not sure this morning will qualify as good once you read this text my wife sent me,” said Dennis. He stared at his phone.
“Uh oh.” Warren’s mind immediately went to the worst-case scenario. This was four years ago all over again, only instead of Raquelle leaving him, it was Dennis’s turn to be dumped. “I thought you and Irene were good.”
“We are good,” said Dennis. “So good, in fact, that she woke up at five in the morning to send me a picture of—” He stopped. “Never mind. Irene made me promise to stop blabbing about personal stuff.”
“So don’t blab.” Warren scooped eggs onto his plate. “Jeesh. The last thing I want to do is see a picture of Irene’s...” He stuck a piece of bacon into his mouth and chewed.
“Peloton bra,” said Dennis as his neck turned red. “She got a new sports bra, okay? And oh man, does it look good, especially since she’s breastfeeding the baby right now.”
“How’s Denny doing?” Warren sat at the table and loaded eggs onto his fork. He loved poking fun at Dennis because the guy couldn’t keep a secret if his life depended on it. It was sweet how much he worshiped his wife. Sweet but foolish. Hopefully, Irene wouldn’t ride off into the sunset in that fancy sports bra of hers and break his friend’s heart.
“Denny’s great. He’s crawling now and getting into everything. That’s why Irene’s up so early to work out. Usually, he sleeps in until six or six fifteen if we’re lucky.”
“You are lucky.” Warren reached for the newspaper and looked at the headline. The Seattle Times usually devoted their frontpage space to city or national news, but they did have one reporter who covered Harper Landing.
Warren flipped through the sections until he found an article with an update on Harper Landing Senior Center’s remodeling project, written by Ben Wexler-Lowrey. Warren didn’t know Ben personally, but he knew that the guy’s parents owned the Nuthatch Bakery.
“Wait,” said Dennis. “I didn’t finish telling you what Irene texted me.” He clicked a link on his phone and slid it over. “It’s all over Facebook.”
“What is?” Warren held up the phone and looked at the screen.
As soon as he saw Dawn’s picture, he felt his pulse elevate. Her posture, her strength, the way she gazed at her daughter—she was grace under pressure. And she was clearly a good mother too.
Warren’s eyes lingered on the picture before he read the text beneath it. “Save Harper Landing Beach,” it said. “Don’t let politicians and property developers destroy Mother Nature.” The online petition already had over six hundred signatures. Warren read the number again just to make sure he’d gotten that right. Six hundred fifty-two signatures? That didn’t seem possible.
“How long has this petition been circulating?” he asked Dennis.
“Less than a day.” Dennis scratched his head. “That woman in the picture, the one from the Alzheimer’s call last night at the Nuthatch, she posted it last night.”
“And it’s already gotten that many signatures? That doesn’t make sense.”
“It does when you realize there are over five thousand women in that Facebook group Irene’s always talking about.”
“What Facebook group?” Warren didn’t do social media. He had a Facebook account he’d made years ago, but he didn’t even remember the password.
“Harper Landing Moms.” Dennis stood and poured himself more coffee. “Irene’s on it all the time. There are even people who post every time they hear sirens in their neighborhood so they can find out what call we’re on.”
“Why don’t they just listen to the Snohomish County scanner?”
“Some of them do, and then they report what they heard.” Dennis added a generous amount of creamer to his coffee. “It really freaks Irene out when she sees posts like that because she doesn’t want to know what I do at work, and I don’t blame her.”
Warren nodded. Over the years, he’d seen it all. Some spouses wanted to know every gory detail and would be angry when their firefighters wouldn’t confide in them. Others preferred to be blissfully ignorant so they wouldn’t live in constant fear about their loved ones being in danger. But the moms Facebook thing confused him. “I still don’t understand why anyone would want to join a group like that,” he said. “What would you talk about with five thousand strangers?”
“Not all of them are strangers.” Dennis sat at the table and sipped his coffee. “Irene’s met lots of friends through Harper Landing Moms. It was hard for her when she quit her job as a bank teller to have Molly. That was five years ago, and let me tell you, her loneliness hurt. This one day, I came home from my shift and found Molly on a blanket on the floor, all by herself and Irene sobbing in the bathroom because—” Dennis paused mid-sentence, his eyes open wide. “Shoot, I promised her I’d stop blabbing.”
“I get it. Being home with kids can be isolating. I remember when Mikaela was at school and the twins and I were home alone. It seemed like all I did was change diapers and clean up puke.” And yet he missed it. He wanted to do it all over again with another child. He couldn’t believe this was the end of the road for him. One kid wasn’t enough. The giant hole in his heart grew bigger by the minute. “That stage goes by fast, though,” Warren added in a husky voice. “Being home with kids becomes easier once they’re old enough to talk.” And harder once they start talking back to you .
“Yeah, well, it sucked for me too,” said Dennis, “because I’d be gone for twenty-four hours, and Irene didn’t have anyone to talk to. I felt like the bad guy every time I went to work. But then someone told her about Harper Landing Moms, and almost as soon as she found it, she made friends. She joined a walking group, met other moms for coffee, and then started doing weird stuff, too, like cleaning the windows with Vodka instead of Windex.”
“What the hell? Why would anyone waste booze like that?”
“Cheap booze. She says it’s better for the indoor air quality of the house.”
“Huh.” Warren was intrigued. The possibility of breathing in toxic fumes concerned him.
“By the time Denny was born, she was a different person. Calm, collected. Part of that was from it being our second baby but also because she had a support system.”
Warren wondered if Alison and Laurie were part of the group. Neither of them had mentioned it to him. Then an annoying thought occurred to him. Was Raquelle in it? “Do women ever talk about their ex-husbands?” he asked.
Dennis shrugged. “I don’t know. Probably.” He drained his coffee cup. “Oh, wait,” he said as he set it down again. “You think Raquelle might have bad-mouthed you on there?”
Warren squared his shoulders and tried to appear indifferent, as if he wouldn’t be bothered if Raquelle had trashed him like that. “I don’t know,” he said gruffly. “Maybe. But she moved to Seattle and doesn’t live here anymore, so probably not.”
“I’ll have Irene check.” Dennis swiped his phone to life.
“No, wait.” Warren held up his hand. “I don’t want to know. It makes no difference to me what a bunch of women gossip about.” He rubbed his jawline. “Except when it comes to public safety,” he added, thinking about the petition. “Dawn Maddox has got it all wrong. We need that bridge to save lives.”
“Who’s Dawn Maddox?” Dennis picked up his breakfast plate and grabbed Warren’s dishes too.
“The woman from the petition you were just telling me about. The one from the bakery last night.”
“Is that her name? I didn’t know.” Dennis opened the dishwasher and began loading it.
“Yeah,” said Warren, picturing Dawn. “Somebody needs to explain to her how important that safety bridge is to the citizens of Harper Landing. We’re one train wreck away from disaster. Does she understand the loss of life we could face if one of those coal trains derailed in front of the ferry? It would cut off access. We would have no way to?—”
“You don’t have to convince me, Captain,” said Dennis.
“Convince him of what?” Saul asked, stumbling into the kitchen. The youngest firefighters always seemed to have the hardest time waking up.
“That Harper Landing needs a safety bridge to the marina,” said Warren. He knew Dennis was right. Preaching to the choir did no good.
“The blond lady with the baby last night at the Nuthatch started a petition to save the beach,” Dennis explained, “and it already has a gazillion signatures.”
“The hot one?” Saul dumped sugar into his coffee mug. “I’ll go explain to her why we need a bridge.” He rested his elbow on the counter and grinned. “I’d be happy to have a one-on-one chat with her in the name of civic duty.”
“Like hell you will,” Warren growled, annoyed with Saul for calling her “hot.” The last thing he wanted was Station Two’s biggest flirt oozing his charm over Dawn. “That job’s for me.”