Chapter Fourteen #2
“Noah made you a promise… that he’d see you when those who need him now are away from the immediate danger. Mark my words, your fella will want you to see he’s safe.” She chuckled. “My, would you listen to that? I’m starting to sound like an Appalachia native.”
“Oh, Noah’s not my—”
Bethany held out a hand. “Noah helped your father clear land in case you wanted to build a cabin on the farm. In the time that I’ve been in Service, I’ve noticed Noah’s friendship with Matt.
He’s a hopeless flirt.” Rachel started to look away until Bethany added, “But he’s also a man who cares deeply.
He’s brave, thoughtful, and loving. And he’s been waiting for you to come home for a long time, my dear. ”
“How can you know that? How can you be sure?” How could Rachel trust the hope erecting new beams to support the desire building in every ounce of her being?
“Didn’t, not until I saw how you looked at him.
Some part of Noah is home for you, too. When the emergency came through, you searched for him first. We don’t always share with one another how a man in love looks to his woman when he’s scared.
It’s okay to be afraid on behalf of your man when he can’t. ”
An image of Rachel’s mom, quiet, reserved, walled off, came to her.
Would Gladys Johnson agree with Bethany’s perspective?
Would her mother have suggested a similar response?
Were these the kind of conversations that happened between mothers and daughters?
Rachel couldn’t imagine having this exchange with her father.
“Rachel, sometimes a woman has to quiet her mind to hear her heart. Call me old-fashioned, but it’s a good thing to stand by your man, to want to be there for him. As long as you understand that in giving, it has to meet your needs just as much as his wants.”
“I doubt that’s what’s happening between me and Noah, but staring up at the sky didn’t clarify our situation either.” Rachel gestured to the door. “After you.”
Once downstairs, they’d pulled leftover pork, barbecue beans, and coleslaw from the fridge, eating in silence.
The lack of conversation heightened her worry.
Resigned that none of them could pig out on pork with knots in their gut, Rachel stress-cleaned the dishes, then lined up the canned goods in the pantry by color.
One static crackle had her lunging for the scanner.
“FriendFriend, you’re glued to that thinga-ma-bobble like it’s lotto time, and Noah’s your winning ticket. My heart and my manicure won’t survive the night at this rate.”
Bethany cleared the table before pulling out the preliminary redevelopment plans and the clinic proposal with original blueprint copies. Without prodding or coaxing them to participate, she worked in silence.
Slowly, Rachel refocused and opened Noah’s email regarding the abandoned mill.
Benji joined in, asking questions, offering suggestions, and trauma bonding.
With her as a best friend, the man had earned a therapy license through OJT—on-the-job training.
Heaven had dispatched one of its colorful, linen pants–wearing angels for her.
Speaking of his holiness, Benji lowered the budget spreadsheets Rachel had reviewed on her first day with the binder. “Anyone else notice the fire department has received more per capita funding than law enforcement?”
“Yeah, I see the trend.” Rachel sighed, wondering if Noah had any idea that while his department received adequate funding, other services went without. “Guess Pete’s policies delivered for some.”
“And that’s the problem,” Bethany added, “with poor leadership. Smiles at us all but only serves the select few. Service deserves better.”
Rachel agreed. Pete wouldn’t, but she hoped Noah would see reason.
If he returned home safe. No—when, when he returned.
She did her best to utter coherent thoughts through the haze of nerves and anxiety.
They tossed around ideas for two hours about the high school and the mill, with its courtyard, main building, and surrounding structures.
They reviewed previous public service budget allocations.
Refined cost projections. Expanded utility assessments. Sketch updates could happen later.
One more hour of torturing herself with terrible scenarios, each worse than the one before. Still no updates on Noah.
She held on for a final fifty-nine minutes before she crumbled.
“What can we do? Someone has to know something about the firefighters. If anyone has been hurt…” She trailed off, willing her mind to stop spiraling deeper into darkness.
Finally Rachel bounded out of her chair, the legs making a terrible scraping noise. “This isn’t working.”
“FriendFriend, please. I’ve mentally consumed two pints of pistachio almond custard,” Benji squawked. “My waistline can’t take another ounce. Trust that your hot guy knows how to handle his hose.”
“Too soon, plus one,” she grunted at Benji’s much-needed humor. “I do. Forgive me if I doubt the fire cares.” Sitting wouldn’t help Noah either. She needed to act. Do something.
“Save your breath, BW,” her father said. When had Benji earned a nickname? Guess his performance on the field had brightened his star for her dad. “The third time is no charm. When RJ’s nervous, she has to keep busy. Always been that way.”
“Dad, stop talking about me like I’m not here.” Where Noah had touched her, her skin tingled. Thoughts of him, in danger, battling nature, consumed her.
She could call Leah again. Noah’s mom had sounded confident in the crew, even in her worry.
Rachel didn’t have any experience with a man who ran into danger.
For goodness’ sake, why had she praised him for being a firefighter?
Noah was insane for risking his life repeatedly.
She’d tell him just that. As soon as he came home.
She said a silent prayer. Please, let him come home.
Her father stood, taking her by the shoulders. She stopped pacing. Inside, her mind raced on without her.
“Go get your tool belt, RJ. That’s what it’s for. Work through the worry.”
Her father released her. Off to the races her feet went. Don’t cry. She could stay strong. If they’d been married, this would be her life. Noah Calvary and tears. The package deal sucked.
Bethany, who’d been quietly watching her, a worried expression on her face, sat taller. “What’s this about a tool belt?”
“After we lost my wife, I could barely move, and RJ couldn’t keep still neither. I’d wake up to find breakfast made, and my baby girl off on the farm.”
“I was exploring, Dad.”
“You were running,” he said matter-of-factly.
“Agree to disagree. I liked watching the water, the sound of the waterfall.” She’d imagined the rushing water whisking her downstream, each tickle pushing her farther from the pain.
“No doubt you grew to love all that, with the hours you spent watching that water flow away from Service, down the mountain, away from a father who barely functioned.”
“Dad, I never saw you that way.” He’d never chastised her for all the times she chose Noah over the farm.
For every homecoming hayride, holiday parade, every teenage bonfire, he’d told her to have fun and come home safe.
The few times he had to see the straw Noah had missed tangled in her hair, or the scent of hops and barley on her breath, her father would remind Noah that some birds got shot, and some bass got smoked. Afterward, they were both more careful.
“Whether you recognized it or not—I know the truth. As your father, I should’ve done better.”
“What I remember is you doing the best you could,” she whispered. Minutes passed. All she could do was keep moving as three worried faces stared back at her. Finally, her dad offered them a reprieve.
“RJ,” her father called. “Go organize the toolshed… alphabetical order… by the manufacturer. When you’re done, we’ll all binge eat fake ice cream.”
Benji chuckled first. Then Bethany.