Chapter 3 - Jimmy
The heat inside the shop is brutal, but it's nothing compared to the look I saw in Lily Anderson's eyes as I set her down on that stretcher.
I've seen that look before. In my own reflection the day I came home from school to find my father gone and my mother sobbing at the kitchen table. Complete devastation.
"I need you to check the adjoining wall," Chief barks through the radio. "Make sure this doesn't spread to the fortune teller's place next door."
"Copy that," I respond, motioning Tommy toward the back where the fire seems to have started.
We wade through puddles of murky water, stepping over charred displays and wilted flowers. The smell is overwhelming. Smoke mixed with floral perfume and melted plastic. Water from the hoses hisses as it hits hot spots, filling the space with steam.
"Looks like it started at the electrical panel," Tommy says, directing his flashlight at the blackened wall. "Old wiring probably couldn't handle whatever equipment she was running."
I nod, examining the adjoining wall for signs of spread. "The brick firewall is holding. Shop next-door should be okay."
A flash of color catches my eye. A half-burned photograph lying in a puddle.
I pick it up. It shows a younger Lily standing in front of what must be a college building, her smile wide and genuine, nothing like the shell-shocked expression she wore outside.
I tuck it into my pocket without really thinking about why.
"Let's finish the sweep and get out," I say. "Nothing left to save in here."
The words taste bitter. Twenty years of pulling people from burning buildings, and sometimes it feels like all I do is deliver them safely to witness their own destruction. What good is saving someone's life if everything that makes that life worth living is gone?
We finish our inspection and emerge back into the evening air. The ambulance is still on scene, and I can see Lily sitting on the back bumper, oxygen mask pressed to her face. She's so small against the backdrop of fire trucks and emergency vehicles, a lone figure watching her world burn down.
"I'm going to check on the victim," I tell Tommy, who nods and heads back toward Chief.
As I approach the ambulance, I see Lily's shoulders trembling, though she makes no sound. She's crying silently, tears cutting clean paths through the soot on her face. The paramedic—Dave, who I've known for years—is checking her vitals while she stares blankly at the smoking ruins of her shop.
"How's she doing?" I ask Dave.
"Smoke inhalation, minor burns on her hands," he replies. "She'll need to go to the hospital for observation, but physically she'll recover."
Physically. We both know that's only part of the story.
"Ms. Anderson?" I say, crouching down to her eye level. "I'm Jimmy Sullivan, with Pine Haven Fire Department."
Her brown eyes glance at mine, glassy with tears and shock. She pulls the oxygen mask away despite Dave's protests.
"Is anything... did anything survive?" Her voice is barely a whisper, rough from the smoke.
I wish I could lie. "I'm sorry. The fire damage is extensive."
She nods like she already knew the answer but needed to hear it confirmed.
"I just opened three months ago," she says, looking past me at the smoldering building. "Everything I had was in there."
The resignation in her voice hits me harder than I expected. I've been at plenty of fire scenes, watched plenty of people lose everything. But something about the quiet dignity in her devastation twists something inside my chest.
"Do you have somewhere to go?" I ask. "Family or friends in town?"
She shakes her head. "No. I moved here to start over. I don't really know anyone yet."
Dave catches my eye. "We need to transport her soon, Jimmy."
"Right." I stand up, suddenly aware of how filthy and intimidating I must look in my turnout gear. "The hospital will take good care of you."
"What happens after that?" she asks, and the pain in her question makes my throat tight.
It's the same question I asked the social worker when my mother died during my rookie year, leaving me truly alone in the world.
"There are resources," I say, the words sounding hollow even to my own ears. "The Red Cross can help with emergency housing."
She looks down at her dirt-stained hands, at the minor burns Dave has bandaged. "Thank you. For saving me."
"Just doing my job, ma'am." The standard response feels wrong, inadequate.
Her eyes lift to mine again, and there's something in them I recognize all too well. The look of someone who's had the ground ripped out from under them so many times they're not sure they have the strength to stand up again.
"Ma'am, we need to go now," Dave says gently, replacing the oxygen mask.
As they prepare to load her into the ambulance, I step back, suddenly feeling like an intruder in her private grief. But as the doors start to close, she looks directly at me one more time, and I'm struck by the thought that I can't just walk away from this—from her.
"Sullivan!" Chief's voice breaks through my thoughts. "Need you back on the line."
I turn away from the ambulance as it pulls out, sirens silent in the night. The water from our hoses has turned the street into a small river of debris and ash. Everything she worked for, washed away into storm drains.
"What's the status on the victim?" Chief asks as I rejoin the team.
"Minor injuries, but she lost everything." I pause, then add, "She's new in town. Doesn't have anyone."
Chief gives me a look I can't quite interpret. "That's tough. But we've got a job to finish here."
I nod, pulling my mask back on, but my thoughts remain with Lily Anderson as she's carried away into the night.
There's something about her strength and vulnerability in the face of complete disaster that resonates with me.
I know what it's like to start from nothing.
To have no safety net. To stand alone in a crowd.
As we work to fully extinguish the fire, I make a decision. Once we're done here, I'm going to the hospital. Not as a firefighter following up on a victim, but as a person checking on another person who's lost everything.
Because if there's one thing I understand better than most, it's what it means to watch your life go up in flames, and how much it matters to have someone—anyone—acknowledge that your loss is real.