17. Miles
CHAPTER 17
MILES
O ur second date was breakfast, coming off a night shift. Sophie suggested the diner, but I shot her down.
“We can do better.”
“But it’s right there . Come on, I’m starving.”
I motioned for her to do up her seat belt. “We could do that. Or you could come home with me. It’s up to you: stale diner hash browns? Or my delicious eggnog French toast?”
She melted back in her seat. “How far is your place?”
“Five minutes from here.”
Sophie cast one more ravenous glance at the diner. Then she fastened her seat belt. “All right. Let’s go.”
We ate in my kitchen while the world woke up, the sun turning the fresh snow first pink, then gold. Next door, a fight broke out, my neighbors’ four kids. One of them peeled off to pound the piano. Another let their dog out in the backyard. The dog set up yapping, wanting back in. Music blared, then switched off, then came on again.
“They’ll be gone soon,” I said, pouring Sophie some coffee. “It’s like this every morning: the kids charge around. Then their dad comes and yells at them to get in for breakfast, then five minutes later, they’re out the front door.”
The shout came on cue — Okay, kids! Breakfast! — then five minutes’ quiet, then the rush for the door. Sophie smiled.
“You know what we should do?”
I mopped up the last of my syrup. “The dishes?”
“No. After that, we should build a snowman.” Sophie stood up and went to the back window. She looked out at the yard with its fresh fall of snow. “This could be the last big snow of the year. We should make the most of it before it’s gone.”
I couldn’t tell if she was serious. “Really? A snowman?”
“Or a snowball fight.”
“What are we, eight?”
“What are you, chicken?” Sophie made a bawk-bawk sound. I gathered the dishes. She set to work rinsing them, and I nuzzled her neck.
“All right,” I said. “We can play in the snow. Let me just take the trash out, then we can go.” I left Sophie to the dishes and took out the trash. Then I snuck round the side yard and packed a big snowball, the clumpy, fat, loose kind that powdered on impact. I was just adding one last handful of snow, planning how I’d sneak up and ambush Sophie, when the neighbors’ dog let loose a volley of yaps. I turned on instinct to see what was up, and Sophie’s snowball hit me smack in the face.
“Damn it! You cheated!” I shook snow from my hair.
Sophie laughed. “ I cheated, huh? What’s that in your hands?”
I remembered my snowball and wound up my pitch. Sophie shrieked and ran off, kicking up snow. The dog squeezed under the fence and joined in the chase. It jumped on Sophie and tripped her, and she went down with a shout. She tried to get up again, but the dog swarmed in. It thrust its snout in her face.
“ Bad dog! Get off!”
The dog licked her. She yelled, then she cracked up laughing.
“Time out,” she gasped. “Dog interference.”
I pulled the dog off with one hand and thrust up the other, lifting my snowball to drop on her head. Sophie saw it and slapped it and it exploded over us both, a sparkling snow shower cold on our necks. The dog danced around us and snapped at the snow.
“What’s its name?”
“I don’t know. Rover, I think.” I bent to check its collar, and the bone-shaped name tag. “Not Rover. Dover. What kind of name’s Dover?”
Dover ran off and came back with a stick. Sophie took it from him.
“Aw. He wants to play.”
We played with the dog till it got tired and went home, then Sophie dropped down to make a snow angel. I took advantage of the moment to pelt her with snow, and she jumped back up like she had a spring on her ass. She chased me in circles around the backyard, hurling handfuls of snow at me, till I spun back and caught her.
“Hey! No! Let go!” She grabbed for more snow, but I pulled her close. For a moment, she struggled, then she went soft in my arms. She leaned back and smiled at me, and her cheeks were all red. Her nose and ears too, pink from the chill. A dusting of snow sparkled across her shoulders, and in her hair where it hung loose. I’d never seen her so beautiful, so I kissed her cold lips. She kissed me back and I felt the chill fade, heat rushing up as we deepened our kiss. I bit back a sigh. She slid her hand up my back. I thought, God, she’s perfect , and in that instant, it happened.
She stuffed a handful of snow down the back of my neck.
I yelled. She ran off. I gave chase, still shouting. She ran inside, kicked her boots off, and raced up the stairs. I pounded up after her and caught her on the landing, and dragged her into a punishing kiss.
“You’re pure evil,” I growled.
“Yeah? I’ve been bad?”
I scooped her up so fast her left sock flew off. She yelped and I bounded up the rest of the stairs, two at a time, then straight down the hall. I tossed her on my bed and she pulled me down with her, and leaned back and smirked at me.
“So, what’s my punishment?”
We developed a sort of sixth sense at work. I’d hop in the driver’s seat when I could see she was tired. She’d take the lead when a patient got scared. She knew when my experience gave me the edge, and rushed us back to the hospital while I worked in the back. More and more, we just moved when we rolled up on-scene, no need to check what the other was thinking.
It was a gray, sleety Wednesday when we got the call: some little kid stuck in a tree. We went in expecting a quick, routine scene — fire department would grab the kid. We’d check him for splinters. His parents would thank us and we’d be on our way. But I could see, pulling up, this was something else. Two cop cars were parked alongside FD, and a small crowd had gathered around a hollow oak. Sophie shaded her eyes.
“I don’t see any kid.”
I couldn’t see any, either, except on the ground, two little boys bundled up in snow pants. One clung to his mom’s leg, sodden with tears. The other kept trying to get to the tree.
“He must’ve fallen,” I said. “Grab a spine board.”
Sophie was already on it, hopping into the back. One of the cops came trotting over.
“It might be a while yet before they need you.”
“Yeah? Where’s the kid?”
“Up there somewhere.” The cop jerked his head back at the tree. “He crawled into that crack, and it’s hollow in there, and I guess he kept climbing until he got stuck.”
“Stuck?” The crowd parted, and we headed through. One firefighter was down on her back in the mud, shining a light up the hollow trunk. Another stood watching, and he tapped her foot when he saw me.
“Medics are here. Want to let them look in?”
The firefighter slid out and got to her feet. “He’s about ten feet up, too high to reach. And it’s narrow in there. He says he can’t breathe.”
I crouched down and shone my own light up the crack. I couldn’t see much, just one dangling shoe. “Can’t we climb up and get him? Pull him out by his feet?”
“No, it’s too tight. An adult won’t fit.”
“We tried a catch pole,” said the other firefighter. “Like you’d use on a dog, but over his ankle. We thought we could pull him out by the leg, but he’s in there too tight. We’ll have to saw through.”
“ Saw through?” Sophie had come up behind me. “How do you know you won’t saw him too?”
One of the cops peered up the tree. “We’re waiting for an arborist to bring an, uh… X-ray?”
“An arborsonic scanner,” said the second firefighter. “They said it can give us a 3D image, let us see what we’re looking at inside the tree. Then we’ll saw partway through and crack the trunk open, and pull the kid out through the hole in the side.”
Sophie knelt down and reached for my light. She squeezed herself sideways into the tree, till only her shoulder was still sticking out. Her voice sounded hollow as she yelled up the crack.
“Hey, can you hear me? Hey — what’s his name?”
“Joey,” said a haggard man I guessed was his dad. “He was screaming before. Did he run out of air?”
“Hey, Joey?” Sophie wriggled in deeper. “Joey, you hear me?”
I didn’t hear anything, but Joey must’ve replied, because Sophie yelled back to him.
“No! Don’t do that. What we need you to do is, uh… don’t move, okay? Try to breathe slow, and… You hurt anywhere?”
This time I heard something, a low, muffled sob. The cops shushed the onlookers and herded them back. Sophie called up again, and Joey whimpered and cried. After a while, Sophie wriggled back out.
“He says he can’t breathe, but I think he’s just scared. He’s talking all right, no shortness of breath. But when I asked where it’s pinching him, he said his leg. His left leg’s asleep from the hip down.”
I frowned. “That’s a problem. Let me in there.” I nudged Sophie aside and jammed my head in the crack. “Hey, Joey?”
“Yeah?”
“Can you feel your leg at all, or is it asleep all the way?”
He sniffled. “All the way. I can’t feel my toes.”
“Okay. That’s fine. You’re doing great. Did your leg just go to sleep, or has it been a while?”
“I don’t know. It’s dark, and there’s bugs.” He hitched a big breath and let it out in a wail. I pulled my head out.
“Yeah. He can breathe. But that leg’s bad news. We could be looking at crush injuries, compartment syndrome?—”
“Can’t you dig from inside?” Joey’s dad had pushed in. “The wood should be soft in there. Easy to scrape. Can’t you dig it away where it’s squishing his leg?”
I poked my head back in, but I couldn’t see how we would. The tree’s trunk doglegged about ten feet up, right where the kid had wedged himself in. Anything we shoved up there, we’d be probing blind. And if Joey couldn’t feel us, we’d risk hurting him. I got to my feet. “What’s the ETA on that scanner?”
“Forty-five minutes,” said one of the cops.
“That’s no good,” said Sophie. “Not for his leg.”
Joey’s dad muscled in again. “Joey? Hey, Joey? You hear me up there?” Joey didn’t respond, and his dad banged on the tree. “What if he digs his leg out himself? The wood should be rotten. He could scratch himself free.”
Joey wailed louder. Sophie dropped to her knees. She squeezed back in the crack, and I couldn’t hear her at first. Not over Joey’s terrified screams. But whatever she said to him, it must’ve got through, because little by little, his cries tapered off.
“You’re so brave,” she called. “Now, can you move your arms?”
Joey must’ve said no. Sophie tried again.
“How about your hands? Can you wiggle your fingers? Yeah? Yeah, that’s perfect. Now, can you touch where your leg’s gone to sleep? Okay, right there, I want you to scratch. See if the wood’s soft. If it splinters away.”
Joey said something, and I heard Sophie laugh.
“No, hon. It’s winter. I promise, no ants.”
For a while, I heard nothing from inside the tree. Sophie shifted, then hissed, and I saw her back was cricked, canted all sideways to fit up the crack. It hurt just to look at, but she squirmed in deeper.
“It’s okay. Keep digging. Feel anything yet?”
Joey sniffled and sobbed. Sophie kept talking. I could hear the strain creeping into her voice. I knelt down beside her.
“You want to switch out?”
Her head was jammed up the tree, so she shook her foot no. She was telling Joey a story about when she was a kid, when she got stuck in a concrete pipe on the playground. I doubted it was true, but she made it funny, and every so often, I heard Joey giggle.
“Pretty funny, right? That’s it. Keep digging. You know what my mom said, when she pulled me out?”
Joey yelled “ ow! ” Sophie went tense.
“Hon? You okay? Talk to me, Joey.”
“Pins and needles,” he screamed. “ Owwwwwwww, pins and needles!”
Laughter went up, and sighs of relief. I reached to help Sophie up, but she stayed in the tree. She stayed as Joey screamed through his pins and needles, and through his blind panic when he felt a bug. She talked and she sang to him till the scanner arrived, and kept Joey calm as they set it up. She only pulled out when it was time for the saw. The press had showed up by then, and they thrust their mics in. Sophie ignored them, massaging her back.
“You’re soaking,” I said, as she stood up. She looked down at her pants, where the mud had bled through.
“I’ll get changed in a minute.”
“You should do it now. It’ll take them a while to saw through that tree.”
Sophie didn’t move. She fixed her eyes on the saw. We both watched, hardly breathing, as they cut through the trunk, stopping every few seconds to check their bearings. Joey’s dad drifted over to stand next to us.
“It must be so loud in there. He must be so scared.”
“He’s a brave kid,” said Sophie, but her voice shook. A tall, blonde reporter had set up behind us, and now she turned to the camera and took a deep breath.
“I’m here on the scene at Elm and Fourth, where a six-year-old child is trapped high in a tree trunk, and firefighters are working to set him free. Right now, they’re cutting a window, and through that window, they’ll soon lift him out. This has been a truly high-tech rescue, involving sonar imaging to map out the tree, and precise calculations on where to cut. One inch too deep, and?—”
“Oh, would you shut up?” Sophie stepped in front of the camera, blocking its view. “I’m sorry, but I need you all to step back. We need the scene clear and quiet, so?—”
“We’re behind the caution tape.” The cameraman sidestepped. Sophie held out her arms, barring his way.
“I’m moving the tape. You need to get back.” She took the tape by one end and strode back from the scene, shooing the camera crew along with her.
“We have a right to be here!”
“Behind the tape.” Sophie tied it up again a good six feet back, out of earshot of Joey’s dad. She’d just turned back when there came a great crack , and a section split off from the side of the tree. Joey’s dad yelled. The reporters leaned in. A small, dirty hand reached out of the tree, then two flailing arms in a red coat.
Cameras flashed as Joey crawled out, into the firefighters’ waiting arms. I glanced over at Sophie, and she was covered in mud, flecked with wood chips from head to toe. Her hair had come loose and hung in wet knots. Her nose and her ears were red, her eyes wet with tears. She was half-laughing, clapping her hands, and I’d never seen anyone so lovely or perfect.
How could anyone be this lovely? This perfect?
Brian flopped back in his seat as my ball hit the gutter.
“I don’t believe you,” he said.
“Bad day, I guess.”
He got up, rolled a strike, and watched the pins fall. The arm came down and scooped them back up. “Didn’t you just say life’s going great? You’re happy with Sophie. You’re happy at work. So what’s with the dark cloud over your head? You’re moping around like your doggie just died.”
“I don’t have a dog.” My ball rolled back up. I tested its weight. Brian watched, frowning, as I gave it a trial swing.
“What is it, then? You’re playing like crap.”
I let the ball go. It rolled straight and true, but not with enough force to take all the pins. It left one on the end standing there, mocking.
“Damn it.”
“So, talk. What’s going on?”
I picked up another ball and aimed for that last pin, but I didn’t hit it, or anywhere close. “It’s too perfect,” I said.
“What is? Not your game.”
I gave Brian the finger. “Everything. Sophie. We’ve been dating a month. And it’s all been amazing, but…”
“But what? That’s great!”
I tried to think of the words to frame what I felt. To put my fear in a way that didn’t sound stupid. I felt like a pirate walking the plank, and the sun was still warm, the sky clear and blue. If I closed my eyes, nothing was wrong. But the moment I opened them and I looked down, the sea was there yawning, deep, full of terrors.
“We don’t fight,” I said. “Not when I’m out with her, and not on the job. She’s the best partner I’ve ever had, but… that can’t be it. No one’s that great. Not all the time. There’s got to be another shoe waiting to drop.”
Brian looked at me like I’d lost my mind. “Why can’t she be that great?”
“Because… I don’t know.”
“Am I not that great? I mean, as your friend?”
“Yeah, but that’s different. Sophie’s… she’s…” I dug deep for the words to describe what I felt. “I could build a whole life with her if things went right. And there’s no way, there’s no perfect life. Not for me, anyway. I’ll never have that.”
Brian studied me like I was a puzzle. A puzzle that might be missing a piece. “So, you deserve a good friend, but not a good life?”
I started to protest, but that was what I’d said. I wasn’t sure if I felt it, but it sounded right. No one lucked into a beautiful life. You either earned it or you were rich, and I wasn’t rich, so?—
“Sometimes, there’s just one shoe.” Brian reached for his ball. “Like those little wooden ones you fill up with candy. Or the kind you deal cards from. There’s just one of those.”
I rolled my eyes. Brian rolled a strike. He turned and scowled at me.
“Relax, okay? Maybe there’s another shoe and maybe there isn’t. But none’s dropped so far, so why not enjoy it?”
I dug my hand in my pocket and pulled out my wallet. I didn’t need to open it to see Nick in my head, screaming his head off as we plunged down the slope. Would his loss have hurt less if we’d been less happy? If I’d held back on loving him, just in case? I couldn’t answer that question, and it felt wrong to try.
“You’re right,” I said, and I went for my ball. I swung it, determined to live for today. To savor what I had, not dread what might be.
The ball plopped in the gutter, just like the others.