Chapter 6 — James #2
I find myself smiling as I type. Her name is Tess. She's a fire investigator. We knew each other a long time ago and just reconnected.
How long ago?
Fourteen years.
Dad. FOURTEEN YEARS?
It's complicated.
Clearly. Is it serious?
I look at the question and realize the answer is the easiest thing I've said all day.
Yeah. It is.
Good. You've been alone too long. When do I get to meet her?
Soon. She's moving to Bloomfield.
There's a longer pause this time before Maya responds.
Wow. That's actually serious.
Yeah.
I'm happy for you, Dad. Really. You deserve this.
The message makes my throat tight in ways I don't entirely know how to process. I type back a simple Thank you and set the phone down.
Declan is watching me from across the table. "You're smiling at your phone like a teenager."
"My daughter's excited I'm dating someone."
"Your daughter has good sense." He plays another card. "When's Investigator Holt coming back?"
"Next weekend. And her name is Tess."
"Tess," Declan repeats, trying it out. "She going to be around here regularly, or is this a visit situation?"
"She's looking at the fire marshal position. If that works out, she'll be based here."
Murphy whistles low. "That's fast."
"Yeah, well." I take a drink of my coffee. "We wasted enough time already."
Travis looks up again, and there's something approving in his expression. "Good for you, Cap."
The shift continues. Dinner gets made, something involving chicken and rice that Declan insists is a family recipe and Murphy insists is from a website. We eat at the table, the conversation easy and warm.
I participate more than I usually do, aware that I'm different tonight in ways the crew is noticing but not commenting on directly.
After dinner I end up back in my office, but I don't close the door. I can hear the station around me. Television in the common room. Someone in the workout space. The particular sounds of people I trust occupying space around me.
My phone sits on my desk, and I pick it up, scrolling back through my messages with Tess.
The last one says: Six days until I see you again. I'm already counting.
I type back: Me too. Call me tomorrow?
Every day if you want.
I want.
I set the phone down and lean back in my chair.
Six days until she's here again. Six days until I can touch her, kiss her, wake up next to her. Six days until we start figuring out what this looks like in practice instead of theory.
It feels simultaneously too long and perfectly manageable.
Because this time, I know she's coming back.
This time, we're not ending it because the timing is wrong or the gap is too big or because I'm too scared to ask for what I want.
This time, we're building something.
The station quiets as the evening moves toward night. I finish the scheduling I was supposed to do hours ago. I respond to a few emails. I do all the small administrative tasks that make up the practical side of running a station.
But my mind is on Tess.
On the way she looked this morning with the sunlight coming through the hotel window. On the way she said my name when she came. On the way she agreed to move to Bloomfield like it was the easiest decision she'd ever made.
On the fact that I'm forty-eight years old and I'm getting a second chance I absolutely don't deserve but am going to fight for anyway.
My phone buzzes again. Another text from Tess: Still awake?
Yeah. You?
Can't sleep. Keep thinking about you.
Same.
Tell me something I don't know about you. Something from the past fourteen years.
I think about that. About what's happened in the years since I last saw her. About the person I've become and the things I've learned and the ways I've changed.
I think about you every time I run in the mornings. Have for years. There's this specific part of the route where the sun comes up over the fields, and I always wonder if you're seeing the same sunrise wherever you are.
The response takes a moment.
James Callahan. Are you secretly a romantic?
Only for you.
Good. I wouldn't want to share that side of you.
We text back and forth for another thirty minutes. Small things, meaningless things, the kind of conversation that's really just an excuse to keep talking. And when we finally say goodnight, I'm smiling again.
I head to the bunk room. Most of the crew is already asleep or heading that way. I claim my usual bunk and lie down, and for the first time in longer than I can remember, I'm not thinking about work or schedules or the dozen responsibilities I'm carrying.
I'm thinking about Tess.
About the way she fits against me. About the sound she makes when I kiss her neck. About the fact that she's mine now in ways that are recognized and permanent and real.
About the fact that I finally stopped protecting myself long enough to let someone in.
My phone buzzes one more time.
I love you. Goodnight.
I type back: I love you too. Dream of me.
Always have. Always will.
I set the phone on the small shelf next to my bunk and close my eyes.
Six days.
And then the rest of our lives.
I fall asleep thinking about her, and for the first time in fourteen years, I don't dream about what might have been.
I dream about what will be.