Chapter 13
Greyson
You know me … I can't resist a good prank.
~ Justin Bieber
Hallie seems to be getting the hang of equipment checks.
This morning she’s methodically running through her checklist, focused and all business.
I’m watching her closely, but trying not to be obvious.
I keep picturing her in the bleachers at practice—the way she lit up when Mia practically hit the ball out of the field.
Hallie gets to the step where she’s going to check the radios.
They basically always work, but since they’re such a critical part of our work when we’re on a call, we check them daily.
We insisted on each holding a radio today. Normally, she’d stack them all and run through checks from her pile. Dustin told her we’re testing for clarity or transmission at a distance. Something like that. I couldn’t look at her when he explained the sudden change of routine.
She just shrugged and went along with it.
The three of us are standing by the turnout lockers across the bay from her. Cody’s in the office, but he’s got a radio too.
I watch as Hallie makes sure her radio is powered on, the battery is properly seated and charged, and the unit is set to the correct channel. She appears to adjust the volume to an audible level. Then she presses the push-to-talk button and waits a beat so the transmission doesn’t clip.
“Engine One, radio check.” We can hear her voice from across the bay, but nothing comes through the radios.
No one responds.
Hallie glances our way.
She checks her display and tries again.
“Engine One, radio check.”
Still nothing. She shouts over, “My radio’s not sending.”
Dustin sends her a thumbs-up. “Check the battery!”
I bite the inside of my cheek.
Hallie turns her unit over. The battery is secure and connected. Of course it is.
She squints at us. But she keys up again. “Engine One, radio check.”
Nothing.
We don’t respond.
Hallie frowns.
She stands, walking toward us with determination in her steps.
“Dustin, swap with me, would you? Something’s wrong with that unit.”
Dustin gives Hallie his handheld and takes the one she had.
She goes back to her spot next to the engine and tries again.
Her eyes narrow when her voice doesn’t carry through any of our handhelds.
She strides our way again.
Patrick asks, “Are we having radio issues?” He’s the picture of innocence.
Dustin chimes in, his tone dead serious. “Radio issues? No bueno.” Then he asks Hallie, “Want me to take a look?”
Hallie’s frustrated expression turns earnest. “Yes. Please.”
Dustin grips her shoulders lightly and turns her around. He walks with her over to where she’s been testing.
Patrick casually reaches down, and holding his radio behind his back, he flips it on.
Dustin tells Hallie, “Here, give me that one.”
Hallie hands him the handheld she just tested.
Dustin speaks into it. “Engine One, radio check.”
Dustin’s voice comes through Patrick’s radio, echoing through the bay.
Patrick presses the talk button and says, “Got you, Engine One. I copy you loud and clear.”
Then Cody’s voice rings through the handhelds from the office “Engine One, receiving. Recommend hearing test for the rookie.”
Hallie puts her hand on her hip. “What do you mean, a hearing test?”
I stifle a chuckle.
Hallie turns to Dustin. “Give me that.”
She snatches the radio away from Dustin.
We all quickly and covertly click off our radios.
“Engine One, radio check,” she says.
No one’s radios receive.
Hallie looks around, pointing a finger at each one of us in turn. “What’s going on here?”
“Did you depress the override button?” Patrick asks, his voice deadpan.
I can’t even look at Patrick. There’s no such thing as an override button.
“The override button?” Hallie’s face contorts with confusion. She turns her unit over in her hand, thumb brushing along the casing like maybe—just maybe—there’s something she’s missed.
“Rookie mistake,” I add, reciting the line they gave me.
Hallie shoots me an annoyed look mildly laced with daggers.
If I didn’t think we’d all be laughing later, I would not put her through this, but she’s the rookie. She doesn’t want to be treated any differently than any other rookie. This is part of how we initiate the new guy—or woman.
“Let me try,” I say, stepping across the bay to the spot where she and Dustin are standing.
Everyone discreetly flicks their radios on. I pretend to press a pad at the back of the radio. Then I say, “Engine One, radio check.”
My voice rings through the radios of every crew member.
Patrick speaks into his radio. “Engine One, copy. Override works.”
“Copy that,” Dustin says.
“Loud and clear,” Cody says from the office.
Hallie grabs the radio out of my hand. “Engine One …” she says before anyone can flick their radios off, but then radios go silent as each man thumbs his power button.
Cody’s voice comes through. “You’re breaking up, Engine One.” He pauses. “Try standing on one leg.”
Hallie’s foot momentarily comes off the floor. But then she looks around at each of us and stomps it down. “Oh, no. No you don’t.” She squints her eyes at us like a mom who just fully busted her children.
My ears heat, and I suddenly find the concrete floor extremely fascinating.
Dustin shakes with suppressed laughter.
Hallie extends her hands. “Radios. Now.”
Each of us hands over our radios—one by one. Hallie inspects each one carefully—quietly.
When she looks up, there’s a note of triumph in her eyes.
“I think I found the problem,” she says, smiling around at the three of us.
Then she proceeds to flick on each power button in turn.
“Engine One,” she says slowly, hearing her own voice come loud and clear through all the units simultaneously. “Radio check.”
She smiles a satisfied smile, handing each radio back to its owner.
Then she makes pointed eye contact with each one of us and, with a flourish of her hand, she says, “Just as I suspected. You see this here?” She points at the power button on the side of the handheld she’s still holding.
“It’s called the power button. If you use it, there’s no need for the override.
” She pauses, and with a mischievous glint in her eye, she says, “Rookie mistake, boys.”
Then, without another word, she turns back to the engine to finish checks.
We’re all quiet for a moment and then Dustin bursts into laughter. “We got you there for a minute, though!”
She smiles at him.
“You were about to stand on one leg!” he pushes. “I saw you lift your foot. We got you!”
“That’s what you think,” Hallie says.
And the smile she flashes at me nearly levels me.
The young woman I met in Munich swept me away with her free spirit, warmth and wide-eyed naivety. Hallie’s obviously lived a lot of life in the nine years since we first met. But that girl still lives and breathes within the woman.
The next day, I’m head and shoulders deep in a kitchen cabinet, refitting a gasket in the pipes beneath Mrs. Kinkaid’s leaky sink.
“It’s probably just old,” she says. “Old things leak. Trust me on that one, Greyson.”
I chuckle softly under my breath. “I’ll take your word for it.”
“There,” I say, tightening the coupling and emerging from the cabinet. “Hand me that pan, would you?”
She hands it down to me and I place it under the belly of the pipe.
“Okay, turn on the water,” I tell her.
She does. Nothing leaks.
“Good to go,” I announce, pulling my head out and standing to my full height.
“Let me make you lunch,” she offers.
I glance at the clock on the wall. “I have to run a few errands and pick up some groceries,” I tell her.
Her face falls.
“But,” I add, readjusting my plans. “I could eat.”
“A man has to eat,” she says, brightening.
“I’ll clean this up,” I tell her, gesturing at the towel and tools scattered around the floor.
“I’ve got ham and cheese. Do you want it grilled or cold?”
“Whatever’s easiest.”
“You know what?” she says, popping a hand on her hip.
“What?” I ask, bending to retrieve the wrench, screwdriver and towel.
“You’re as good as a son to me.” She turns and looks at me from her spot in front of the fridge where she’s pulling out meat and cheese and a bunch of bowls of things.
“Thank you?” I say, her tone giving me pause.
“And when I ask my son what he wants to eat,” she continues. “I want him to tell me.”
I softly chuckle. “Okay. Okay. Grilled then. What can I do to help?”
“You can sit your handsome, overgrown butt on that stool and entertain me while I grill you a sandwich.”
“May I return the toolbox to the garage first?” I ask.
“Don’t get smart with me, Greyson. I still know how to spit in someone’s food and hide the fact.”
I hold my hands up in a gesture of innocence and grab the toolbox.
When I come back, the sandwich is sizzling in the pan, the smell of garlic filling the air.
“Did you use garlic butter?” I ask.
“Does a bear fart in the woods? Of course I used garlic butter. And I buttered both sides of the bread. Now, grab the chips from the pantry and slap some of that coleslaw on each of our plates.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say.
Once I’ve loaded our plates with sides, including some pickled vegetables she jarred last fall, I take my seat at the island.
“So?” Mrs. Kinkaid asks. “Tell me about life.”
I fill her in on practice and work, general stories, nothing too specific.
She brings our sandwiches to the plates and takes a seat across from me. “How’s the new firefighter?”
“She’s good,” I say. “Fitting right in.”
She stares at me and I take a big bite of my sandwich.
“What’s she like?”
I chew, considering the fallout of sharing.
“Funny story,” I finally say.
Mrs. Kinkaid perks up.
“And one you can’t repeat.”
“I won’t.”
“The night before Zach and I deployed, he was asleep in our hotel.”
She smiles softly. It dawns on me that I don’t tell her stories about Zach often enough. She should own as many memories of him as she can, and I’m keeping so many to myself.
“I was restless, so I went out for a walk.”
She nods. Her food sits untouched on her plate, her hands folded softly in her lap.