Now there’s music in it #2
There’s a beat of silence, then Penny makes a strangled noise and folds over laughing.
Elle drops to the floor dramatically. “Daddy, noooo.”
I narrow my eyes at both of them and snatch my coffee back up. “This is exactly why I don’t participate in things.”
“No, no, it was great,” Penny wheezes, gripping the counter for support. “Five-star performance. You’re halfway to a professional full routine.”
“And you’re halfway to me remembering why I like quiet.”
She laughs louder, and there’s something in the way she looks at me, as though she’s watching a door crack open a millimeter at a time. The unsettling part is that she probably is.
A week ago, I was still mentally correcting myself every time I walked past the guest house and remembered someone else lived on my property. Now she’s standing in my kitchen, convincing me to dance, with my daughter wrapped around her legs, and somehow it already feels relatively normal.
She’s testing me, I know she is. Seeing what parts of me she can coax out into the open before I shut the door again.
But the part that should be pissed off by that isn’t nearly as irritated as usual.
The song winds down, and Penny turns the volume back to something reasonable, brushing her hair out of her face with the back of her wrist.
“Okay,” she says, businesslike now. “School mode. Let’s start with something to wear, then breakfast.”
“Yes!” Elle scrambles toward the hallway to change properly, already talking at full volume about who she’s going to sit next to and whether the classroom fish survived the holidays.
Penny moves easily back into motion, snapping the lunchbox closed and ensuring Elle’s water bottle is filled. After breakfast, I watch her kneel to zip Elle’s jacket when she comes barreling back in, then help her smooth down her hair and press a quick kiss to the top of her head.
“You’ve got everything packed?” Penny asks.
“Was the penguin sandwich in my lunchbox?”
“Present and accounted for, even approved by Dad.”
Elle grins at me. “Daddy, did you help?”
“I supervised,” I say.
“Judged,” Penny murmurs lightly.
She grabs her keys from the hook by the door—the spare set I added there last week without thinking too hard about what that meant—then holds her hand out for Elle.
“Ready, m’lady?”
Elle slips her hand into Penny’s and looks back at me once, with her big, bright blue eyes. Her grip tightens in Penny’s, and she glances toward the door, then back at me.
“Daddy?”
There’s something smaller in her voice that makes me immediately crouch in front of her, tugging the collar of her jacket a little more snug around her.
“What’s up, bug?”
“What if…” She frowns slightly, trying to find the words. “What if they already have new best friends?”
“It’s only been a few weeks,” I say gently, my chest tightening regardless. “That’s not long enough to replace you.”
“But what if they forgot I sit by the window?”
Penny kneels beside us without making it a big deal. “Then you remind them,” she says easily. “And if someone else is already there, you find a new good spot. Window seats aren’t the only cool seats.”
Elle’s eyes hold Penny’s for a beat as she considers that. “And what if I don’t remember where we keep our drink bottles?” she adds quickly, the worry picking up speed now that it’s out.
“You will,” I tell her.
“And if you don’t,” Penny says, reaching out to brush her thumb lightly over Elle’s knuckles, “you ask. Teachers love being asked. It makes them feel important.”
Elle smiles softly at that.
I tap the tip of her nose. “You’ve got this, bug.”
She studies my face for a second, like she’s checking I mean it.
“I’ll miss you,” I add.
Her mouth curves into a wider smile. “I’ll miss you too.”
She steps into me before I can say anything else, arms wrapping tight around my neck. Habit has me catching her automatically, palm warm against the middle of her back while she squeezes me hard.
“Alright,” I mutter tightly, kissing the top of her head once as she pulls back. “Go before you make yourself late on the first day back.”
When I glance over, Penny’s watching us with that same soft look she gets whenever Elle barrels into her orbit, but she rises first and offers Elle her hand again.
“Ready for Operation First Day Back now?”
Elle nods firmly this time and threads her fingers through Penny’s. They head down the driveway together, and Elle skips twice before remembering she’s supposed to be acting mature for school, then immediately forgets again and starts hopping along the edge of the path.
Penny matches her pace without trying to slow her down, bending slightly when Elle talks, and listening intently to whatever story or fact Elle is telling her.
At the end of the path, Elle tugs her hand and says something that makes Penny laugh. Elle glances back once, just to check I’m still there, and I lift a hand.
She smiles, then turns forward again. Penny squeezes her hand as they reach the end of the drive and turns back too, her eyes locking with mine as she smiles softly. I nod once and return the smile, then watch them until they turn the corner at the end of the street, still holding hands.
Gus noses against my leg once before wandering back inside, and the quiet that settles over the porch feels strangely immediate after all that noise.
I feel the low tug again, but before I can try to decipher what it all means, I close the front door and head back inside.
***
When I arrive at the station, the bay doors are already open, the morning light cutting in. Fletch is leaning against the engine with a mug in one hand, running his mouth to Ghost about something that happened at Neverland last night.
“You’d think a grown man would know not to—”
The tones drop. The sound slices clean through my good morning greeting, and we’re moving before the dispatch finishes.
“MVC. Two vehicles—possible entrapment. Route 7.”
Beck’s already halfway to the engine. “Copy.”
Fletch tosses his mug onto the counter in the bay, then climbs up into the driver’s seat. Beck takes the officer’s position up front, tugging his headset on and confirming location and requesting additional EMS.
Colt, Ghost, and I grab our gear on the way past the racks, getting our turnouts on and helmets clipped. Then we pile into the truck, and by the time Fletch rolls us out of the bay, we’re strapped in and geared up.
The siren wails as traffic parts ahead, and my brain narrows the way it always does, drowning out the siren noise and truck horn.
In the back, it’s quiet, save for the sound of Ghost snapping on gloves. I map the street layout in my head. It’s a two-lane stretch with the tight shoulder, and the closest hospital’s twenty minutes away if traffic cooperates.
We pull up to twisted metal and steam rising from under a crumpled hood. One sedan’s front end is folded hard against the curb, airbags blown and windshield spiderwebbed white. The other’s spun halfway across the lane with its bumper hanging loose into traffic.
The sharp stink of coolant and burned rubber hits the second we step off the truck.
Beck steps off first, already scanning the scene. A guy in his twenties stands a few metres away, phone still in his hand and face pale. He lifts both hands the second he sees us.
“I called it in,” he says in a shaky voice. “She just—she swerved.”
“You’re good,” Beck tells him. “Stay back by the sidewalk.”
“Are you hurt?” Ghost calls over my shoulder.
“No.” The guy shakes his head too quickly, his eyes darting to the other vehicle. “I’m fine. I’m fine.”
Fletch guides him further off the roadway, while Beck reports back calmly.
“Engine One on scene. One trapped, one ambulatory.” He looks over at us. “Stabilize before we touch anything.”
Colt and I grab wheel chocks and cribbing from the truck’s compartment while Fletch kills the battery on the sedan, and Ghost moves straight to the driver’s-side window.
“Female driver. Conscious and alert. Possible lower extremity entrapment,” Ghost says calmly.
Glass crunches under my boots as I move to the driver’s door, and I hear the paramedics arriving on scene. The engine ticks loudly beneath the hiss of steam rolling from under the hood, and somewhere underneath it all, the woman’s breathing comes fast and ragged.
She’s conscious, but barely holding it together. Blood matts one side of her hairline, and her hands are locked so tightly around the steering wheel, her knuckles have gone white.
“Ma’am,” Ghost says, his voice calm. “My name’s Luke. We’re gonna take care of you.”
Colt wedges the chocks under the rear tires while I slide cribbing under the frame to keep the vehicle from shifting. Only when the car’s secure do we move in to get her out.
“Door’s jammed,” I say.
“Take it,” Beck replies.
Fletch brings the hydraulic line over, and I set the spreaders at the seam near the hinges. The spreaders bite into it, and the metal groans under pressure before the door finally tears loose with a violent shriek that makes the woman scream too, her head tipping back against the seat.
Ghost leans in and anchors a hand on her shoulder.
“Look at me,” he says firmly. “You’re okay. We’re gonna get you out.” His eyes dart downward, and then flick to Colt. “Leg’s pinned under the dash.”
The woman sucks in a sharp breath when Colt braces against the frame to look lower, the movement jarring the crushed footwell.
“Okay—okay, no, please—” Her voice breaks into a cry.
“I know,” Ghost says immediately. “I know it’s scary, but we’re going to keep this as smooth as we can, okay?”
Colt and I reposition, then spread the lower dash enough to create space without jerking the structure. Even moving carefully, the crushed metal shifts around her trapped leg.
Her whimpers are breathless, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
“On three,” I say.
We shift the metal just enough, and Ghost guides her leg free carefully, one hand supporting her knee as paramedics move in behind him with the board. The woman cries out sharply, but the sound breaks into a shaky sob a second later when her leg finally comes clear.