11. Jeb
Chapter eleven
Jeb
It takes me almost two weeks to find the strength to do something challenging, like Fallon said. But today, I’m walking the bright, sparkling aisles of a grocery store—one a few towns over, so I can almost guarantee I won’t know anyone, but it's still a big step for me. It’s hard.
I’m strong. I can tackle this challenge.
The smell of fresh dough at the bakery hits my nose.
The display case is filled with cakes and pies of all different sizes and flavors. Everything looks delicious. At the firehouse, we’d gorge ourselves on their carrot cupcakes. Rick and Mike live out this way, and they’d pick them up for every occasion. Anytime we had a call out in Garris County or were training at the academy, we’d stop to get something sweet.
I grab two containers of Silvy’s cupcakes and drop them in my cart without thinking twice. My mouth waters just thinking about the gooey cupcakes filled with spice topped with fluffy cream cheese icing.
I peruse the store at a snail’s pace, like a kid in the toy aisle at Christmastime, examining all the foods I forgot existed and anything new that catches my eye. I stroll through the little garden section, and a flowering pink hydrangea bush stops me in my tracks. It would be perfect for Fallon as a housewarming gift. If I can remember right, Mrs. Montgomery used to have hydrangea bushes in her yard years ago. There’s a bare spot out back where she used to have a small shed that would be a perfect place for a bush.
The warm sun feels toasty on my back as I load the groceries in the back seat of my truck, and for a minute, I forget about the last six-ish months of my life. I place the containers of cupcakes on the front seat so they don’t get squished in the back, opening the calendar on my phone to figure out when I’ll be at the station next. Then it hits me: I don’t work at the station anymore. Old habits die hard .
Rick and Mike should be working today. It’s B shift’s day work, so I'll make a quick detour to visit and drop the cupcakes off. They guys love a midday treat.
I shift the truck to park in my old spot on the side of the firehouse, getting a sinking feeling in my stomach when I hear the tones on the speakers in the engine bay. It’s not our call, but somewhere else in the county, there’s an emergency. I wait for a nervous response as I listen to the dispatcher repeat details of the call. Nothing comes. No erratic heart palpitations, no sweating. I walk through the open bay doors, hoping I won’t want to be sick suddenly like I was at Fallon’s.
“Jebidiah? That you I see?” Danny Holt walks toward me. I almost forgot about that dumb nickname.
“It’s me,” I reply choppily, wondering if my stomach will to lift to my throat.
“Good to see you, brother.” He pats me on the shoulder. “It’s really nice to see your face.”
I set the cupcakes down on the big table and look around at the medic unit and the rest of the apparatuses. It feels good to be here. Since the accident, I’ve been pushing pencils, helping HR, doing payroll, and filling supply orders. The boring stuff.
I don’t want to jinx anything, but right now, it feels like coming home.
The smells, the sounds, the brotherhood. Nothing about this place makes me want to relive the accident or the aftermath. I don’t look at the medic unit and think about Rhett. No, the place I think about Rhett is a dark and sad place when I’m in my head at night. Thankfully, the firehouse is free from that, so far.
“Guys, we have a visitor,” Holt yells out, his voice echoing off the concrete walls.
“Jebby Jeb, you brought us gifts?” Rick’s greeting gives zero hints that I haven’t been here in over six months.
“I was at Silvy’s this morning, and when I saw the cupcakes, I knew I had to bring them by,” I say, hesitantly.
“You missed your anniversary a few weeks ago, so you owe us anyway.” Mike crinkles the plastic container as he opens it and pops a cupcake in his mouth. It’s tradition to bring in a treat on your birthday or department anniversary. Some guys even bring a dessert for their own wedding anniversary.
“We’re about to head to the basement to lift. Want to join?” Sparky, our lieutenant, saunters out of his office and grabs a cupcake.
“Eating before lifting?” Rick backhands Sparky’s stomach, who swats his hand away.
“Mind your own business, fucker. I’m just trying to make sure Jeb knows we appreciate this, and maybe he’ll start coming around more.”
I almost forgot how the guys at the firehouse don’t give a fuck if they hear you talking about them.
“Yeah, I’ll go down for a bit. I haven’t lifted since…” My voice trails off with no intention of finishing the sentence. I follow Rick down the steps to the makeshift gym.
“I thought you were looking a bit weak. Don’t worry, muscle memory is wild. You’ll regain quickly.” Rick hands me a 15-pound kettlebell. “Squat that ten times. Take a little break and squat it again.”
I finish my first set while Sparky hops on the treadmill, Rick on the Smith machine, and Holt and Mike both stretch on the floor. My legs are starting to feel fired up. “I can’t stay too long. I have ice cream in the car,” I tell the guys.
“Day work again next week. Come back in workout clothes.” Rick grunts between squats, and I think I might take him up on it. I squat the second set, putting the kettlebell back on the shelf.
“One more, Jebby. You can do it.” I smile, knowing Rick’s a stickler for the triple round, and likes to think of himself as the station’s personal trainer.
Mike cooks, Sparky’s in charge of all the training, Holt buys the food for dinner, and Rick trains us in the gym.
“I might be back if I feel like dealing with you piss-asses,” I joke, then smile at the guys and head up the stairs while they continue their workout. “Gotta go.” My yell echoes down the stairs.
Then it hits me.
I made a joke.
I smiled.
I forgot about Rhett and the accident twice today. I was… dare I say… happy?
The sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach returns, and chills travel up my arms. I don’t deserve to be smiling and laughing and joking , for fuck’s sake.
I got carried away. It felt like no time at all had passed since I was here, working. And that’s what scares me.
Currently, my brain doesn’t know what’s ok to feel and what’s not. You know those life lessons you learn when you’re in preschool? It’s not okay to cross the street by yourself, say please and thank you, put your shoes on before getting in the car… All of those life lessons have been tossed out the window.
My dad used to say there’s a time and a place for everything , and slowly but surely, for most things, I figured that out.
Then I went and killed a man.
I’m smart enough to know I’ve been slowly finding my old self. Moments of happiness, even rare, didn’t seem possible a few months ago. They’ve been creeping their way back into my life, and I don’t know whether to dampen the happy feelings or let myself move through the grief in a healthy way where I start to feel more and more like myself one day at a time.
Every time happiness rears her sun-shining head, I kick her away.
Out of grief?
Out of fear?
Out of guilt?
Probably all three.