15. Jeb
Chapter fifteen
Jeb
Every time I see her, I make her cry. After the fundraiser next weekend, I’m going to keep my distance, and I mean it. Rhett wouldn’t appreciate me making her upset, and I don’t want that, either.
Two nights ago, I lay in bed, replaying the afternoon at Fallon’s. I should’ve brought up safe and fluffy topics or avoided talking at all. I fucking told her she could hug me and think of him. What a creepy thing to do. Nobody in their right mind would say something like that.
Fallon Charlotte McCann
I dreamt about him!
It took an extra night, but I’m glad she managed to.
I hope it was everything you needed.
“Hello?” I answer Fallon’s call, wondering for a second if she butt-dialed me.
“Hey, so it was weird because, at first, it was Rhett and I having breakfast at the diner in town. Next thing you know, it was you and Rhett golfing. You were laughing, and you both cheers’d your beers. I was on the golf cart, watching and taking pictures. Rhett put his arm around you and turned and pointed to me, and we all waved. That’s all I can remember right now, but I feel so good about it! I’ve only dreamt of him a few times since he died, so this was so, so awesome.”
“Wow, Fallon, that’s great. That’s so good. I’m really happy. I can’t believe Rhett and I were playing golf.” I laugh. Of all dream scenarios, I’m in the one she has of Rhett.
“He was happy. You guys were chatting it up, drinking beer together like old pals. Rhett wore the blue Happy Gilmore hat he’d only wear when golfing.”
“You deserve this moment, Fal. Why don’t you write it down so you don’t forget anything.”
“Great idea. I have a journal, but so far, I haven’t written anything in it.” The pitch of her voice raises. She sounds like she’s smiling. “I’m going to hang up and write it down while it’s fresh in my mind,” she squeals, and I can feel her energy through the phone.
“Have a great day. It seems like you're off to a good start!”
“I am. Thanks for putting the idea in my head. It was so good to dream about you both. I’ll talk to you later.”
“See ya.” I let her hang up before I do.
I open my laptop to finish supply order sheets and check my email. When I catch my reflection on the laptop’s black screen, I’m smiling. It's…strange.
Fallon deserves this more than anyone. Seeing a deceased loved one in a dream—a happy one, at that—is cause for celebration.
Rhett and I were golfing and drinking beers. He put his arm around me and pointed to Fallon. I tip my head back to stare at the ceiling. My stomach dips and my breath holds. Seconds later my stomach lifts when laughter gurgles from deep inside my gut—a sensation practically foreign to me.
It's possible I needed this dream, too. It’s been a long time since I laughed out loud. I don’t think Rhett wants to show up in my bed at night, but he practically told Fallon that he doesn’t hate me. At least, that’s what I’m going with. I’m no dream analyst, but if he puts his arm around me and points to Fallon, he’s introducing us.
That makes me feel a little bit better for making her upset, even if crying is a healthy grief response.
The next couple of hours creep by. Time moves like molasses when you work in a basement. The same one you live in with only two small windows and a computer for a friend. It’s a lot of waiting, too. I can’t order supplies until I know which stations need what. Certain days of the week are busier than others, with most stations turning in the bulk of their orders on Monday or Thursday. Months ago, I started charting which stations needed what supplies and how often they ordered them.
I’m pretty close to automating the system and punting myself out of a job, something the guy before me should’ve done years ago. Then again, that’s probably why he kept his mouth clamped.
Between emails, I tidy and declutter the basement, getting my steps in while listening to the fire and EMS calls through the scanner app on my phone. I hand-wash the dishes I used this morning for my egg white and spinach omelet. I wipe the counter and think about grabbing the vacuum from my mom, but instead, I order a small cordless one on the internet. It should be delivered in a few days.
The warble tones shred the silence—a dwelling fire. I listen as stations 17, 31, 55, and 12 arrive on scene. When I hear Medic 17 tell the dispatcher they’ve arrived, my veins thrum. I yearn to be there with the rest of the crew instead of this drabby basement.
It’s the first time I’ve visualized myself riding an ambulance again. The pulse in my neck throbs. The crew of Engine 171 rescues a woman stuck on the second floor. It sounds like she was shut in a bedroom, away from the fire. When medic 17 takes over, undoubtedly providing oxygen for the rescued patient, a startling buzz bounds through my body. I want to be there . I want to be the one who takes the patient’s vitals, consults with the doctors on staff at the hospital, and makes small talk about the weather with the nurses.
Maybe I’ll talk to my Captain and see what he thinks about me coming to the station to do a ride-along. That way, we can see how I would handle stressful situations without actually performing in them.
I thump my foot on the floor nervously. When my leg tires, I tap a pencil against the table. I need to burn off some energy. It’s hot outside, but when the weather cools off, it should be perfect for a jog.
Hey, I’m going to go for a jog later, want to join?
Fallon Charlotte McCann
Sure! Tell me when, and I’ll meet you at the bottom of my driveway. My day went crazy after we talked this morning.