2. Off-shift
Off-shift
WYATT
I'd figured out most things about raising a daughter alone. The one thing I couldn't figure out was how to be everything she lost.
"Lantern tonight?" Travis already had his locker open.
"Jill's got me on deck for her sister's birthday dinner tonight." Carl pulled his bag from his locker. "If I miss it, I'm sleeping in the truck."
"It's a Tuesday." Travis leaned out from behind his locker door.
"Her sister's birthday is on a Tuesday, Travis. I didn't pick the day."
Greene was heading to his parents' place. Knox was heading home to work on his bike.
I grabbed my keys off the hook. "I've got to get home before Barb walks Birdie out."
"What time is it?" Greene checked his phone. "Dude, you have like twelve minutes."
I was already moving.
Every shift change was about how fast I could get home, how much traffic was between me and my front door, and whether I'd pull up to my daughter running toward me or a quiet house and a note on the counter that said Birdie ate two waffles, we're out of milk.
This morning I made it.
Birdie came out the front door at full speed. Backpack bouncing, already talking about something that happened in her dream or at dinner or possibly both. I crouched down. She slammed into me hard enough to rock me back on my heels. Forty-five pounds of pure momentum.
"Daddy, did you know that starfish don't have brains?"
"Good morning to you too."
"Mrs. Metcalf told us. They don't have brains and they don't have blood. They have sea water instead of blood."
"Sea water?"
"Yeah. So if you cut them, the ocean comes out."
Barb stepped out behind Birdie, pulling her reading glasses off and letting them drop to the chain around her neck. Her husband's ring hung beside them. She pulled her cardigan closed against the morning air and shrugged.
"She's been like this since six-fifteen." Barb zipped Birdie's lunch bag into the backpack. "Peanut butter, no crust, carrots instead of celery because celery is, quote, too crunchy for a Tuesday."
I set Birdie down. "That tracks."
Birdie tugged on my shirt. "Daddy, are you picking me up from school today?"
"Yes, I am." I patted her head.
"Okay!" She smiled so wide I could count her missing teeth. "I'll see you later, Daddy!"
Barb took Birdie's hand. "Get some rest. I'll be back by five."
"Thanks, Barb." She squeezed my arm on her way past.
They started down the sidewalk toward the bus stop. Barb held on to Birdie's hand while Birdie yanked it in every direction, acting out what, from where I was standing, looked to be the story of a bird having a very bad day.
I watched them walk down the street until they turned the corner, then went inside.
Barb lost her husband ten years ago and still wore his wedding ring on a chain around her neck.
She'd been in our lives since before Birdie was born.
She was Lillian's landlady before she became her closest friend.
When Lillian didn't come home from the hospital, she showed up the next week with a casserole, took one look at me holding a baby I didn't know how to hold, and said I'll be here tomorrow.
That was six years ago. She never stopped coming back.
I apologized once for how much I relied on her. She waved me off. Her kids were overseas, and Birdie was her grandchild as far as she was concerned.
I dropped my keys in the bowl by the door, kicked off my shoes, and headed for the bathroom.
The 24-hour shift came off under the water. Smoke, sweat, the particular exhaustion that settled into your bones after a full day and night of being ready for the worst.
I dried off, brushed my teeth, and walked to the bedroom.
When I opened the closet for a clean shirt, a ball of yarn rolled out. Pale yellow, trailing from an unfinished sweater still on the needles. Lillian started it the week she found out she was pregnant. She was going to finish it before Birdie came, but she never did.
I picked it up, set it back on the shelf, and closed the door.
I climbed into a bed that was made for two, set my alarm for eleven, and lay down in a house that was too quiet.
"Wyatt!" Gus was behind the counter drying glasses. He put one down and started pouring my coffee before I reached the stool.
This was my routine on my days off. I'd come to the Lantern for lunch and help with whatever repair Gus had been putting off, fix a loose hinge, swap out a light. I'd hang around until it was time to pick up Birdie from school at two-thirty.
"The usual?"
"Please."
"Good afternoon, Mr. Brooks!" Terrence looked up from his laptop in the back corner.
"Afternoon, Terrence. How's school?"
"Cost accounting. It's destroying me."
"I'm sure you'll get there."
Terrence had his usual setup in the corner Gus had set aside for him.
Glasses, textbook, laptop, a coffee he'd been nursing for two hours.
Kid was on a scholarship, working every angle he could to build a better life than the one he came from.
He'd walked in looking for work, taken one look at Gus's books, and offered to fix them.
Gus handed him the ledger. Now Terrence studied here during the day, left for class, came back after, and put on his apron every night to serve customers.
Gus paid him for what he worked, fed him lunch and dinner, and told anyone who'd listen that Terrence was going to run his own firm someday.
That was Gus. If he believed in you, you knew it.
"Lockwood's people came by again yesterday." Gus set my coffee down. "More handsome offer this time."
"What did you tell them?"
"Same thing I said to the last one. I've been here thirty years and I'm not going anywhere." He picked up another glass and started drying it. "Guy said I should think about it. I told him I already did."
Lockwood Development Group had been circling the block for months, buying up parcels for a hotel project. Half the businesses on this stretch had already sold. Gus hadn't returned a single call. This bar was where he'd built his life.
"You think they'll back off?"
Gus shrugged. "They'll have to. I'm not selling."
"Good afternoon, Selena!" Daphne came in through the side door carrying a crate of flowers, the unsold ones from her shop two blocks over. She brought them to the bar every week rather than let them go to waste.
"Excuse me a second." Gus wiped his hands on his apron and walked over to help her. I watched him take the crate, say something that made her laugh, and start setting the arrangements on the tables.
"Are the boys coming in tonight?" Selena set my plate in front of me.
"Some of the guys owe their wives a night. Friday might work."
"Alright. I had Terrence order an extra case of the Belgian beer. You boys drank us dry last time."
"Thanks, Selena."
That was the bar. Gus behind the counter, Selena running the floor, Terrence in his corner, Daphne's flowers on the tables.
The fire crew's second home. Half the guys on my shift spent more time here than they did in their own kitchens.
Our group photos were framed on the wall.
Every time someone graduated the fire academy or made a promotion, they came to Gus's for a beer.
Lillian used to meet me here after her shifts at the hospital.
Gus poured her a glass of wine every time without being asked.
He kept a photo of Birdie's first visit behind the register.
Lillian never saw it, but Birdie was there, tiny and screaming, and Gus put the picture up like she was his own granddaughter.
No developer with a checkbook was going to take that from him.
"Are the fish tacos any good?" A woman sat down two stools over from me. I'd seen her before. Dark hair, nice smile, a regular on the weekday lunch crowd.
"Gus's fish tacos are the best in the city."
"Do you come here often?"
"Most days."
She was pretty. She was direct about it, too, leaning in just slightly. It took courage, and I respected that.
"Would you want to grab a table? I hate eating at the bar alone."
"I'm actually just grabbing lunch before I pick up my daughter," I said. "But the tacos really are good."
She smiled and turned back to her menu.
I'd been on dates. Three in the last year, all arranged by members of my crew who believed it was their professional obligation to fix my personal life.
Each one ended the same way. A nice woman across the table, a decent meal, and the moment about twenty minutes in when she'd ask what I did for fun and I'd say well, mostly I read to my daughter.
I could see her adding it up while her eyes glazed over.
A six-year-old and a 24-hour shift schedule.
The equation didn't work for most people. I couldn't blame them.
I left Gus's around two-fifteen after helping him rehang the TV at a better angle before the weekend games. Gus on a ladder was a conversation neither of us wanted to have.
I was a few blocks from Birdie's school when I saw her.
A head shorter than her partner, her braid catching the sun.
Andy Walsh was standing between two drivers who'd clipped each other at the intersection.
A fender bender, both cars still running, neither driver happy about it.
Doug was directing traffic around the scene.
I thought about rolling down the window and saying something just to see that look she'd give me.
There was a small chance Andy Walsh would actually handcuff me for being a nuisance.
But however fun that mental picture might be, she was working and Birdie was waiting for me, so I drove past. I caught myself glancing at the side mirror until she was out of view.