Chapter 24 – Hannah
Chapter Twenty-Four
HANNAH
I crochet another chain. Then another. Then another.
“Hannah? Would you like anything from Tall Order?”
“Huh?” I look up and blink the person standing in front of me into focus. It’s Cynthia. “Oh. I’m fine. Thank you.” I put down my crocheting, feeling like an insensitive jerk.
Here I am, sitting in the corner of Knit Happens, worried half to death about Michael. And how must his mother be feeling? I can’t even begin to imagine the stress of knowing your child is in a building that just exploded from a chemical fire.
She smiles gently at me. “This is just part of the job, you know?”
A lump forms in my throat. “Yeah,” I rasp.
And she’d know. Her husband was also a firefighter—a firefighter who died while fighting a fire.
So how can she so nonchalantly say it’s “part of the job”? How can she be so accepting?
I’d never ask her this, and she’s gone anyway—out the door to the coffee shop. It’s just me…and the other fifteen or so people who have gathered in Knit Happens to wait for news about Pine Island’s fire crew.
All that we know is the chem lab at the high school exploded. We don’t know if anyone was injured or…worse.
Waiting for this kind of news is the type of hell I wouldn’t wish on anyone. Worst-case scenarios keep running through my mind. Michael injured. Michael trapped under rubble. Michael dead.
Swiping at my tired eyes, I catch the news that the group—including several shop owners and Devin, Alexis, and Flick—are watching on a tablet. A shot of smoke drifting skyward fills the screen, with a grim-looking reporter in the foreground. My stomach clenching tight, I look away before I vomit and pick my crochet needles back up.
At least I have this. I can focus on this. I don’t have to worry about Michael or Katie, who is with Jenny at home… I can just crochet… One…chain…at…a…
“Hey.” Someone touches my shoulder, making me jump.
“Hi,” I mumble to Flick, who is crouched in front of me.
“You were falling asleep.”
“Was I?” I rub my face. I can’t fall asleep. It’s barely dinnertime.
“Yeah.” Her eyebrows knit together in concern. “How are you doing?”
My brain is slow to formulate an answer. “Fine.”
It’s a lie. I’m exhausted, that’s how I’m doing. I can’t think straight, can barely keep my eyes open.
The truth is glaringly obvious—I’m having a fatigue flare.
They’re even harder to treat than pain flares. The only thing that helps is lying in a dark room and sleeping for as long as my body needs. But that’s impossible right now. I’m too wired.
Not that I need to tell Flick any of this. She’s reading it all on my face.
“I can push through,” I assure her. “Once I hear about Michael, I’ll go home. I promise. But I can’t rest until I know that he’s okay.” She sighs and stands. “I understand.”
The front door opens, but I don’t bother looking to see who it is. Instead, I drop my head against the wall and close my eyes. Just a few minutes of rest, then I’ll open them back up.
“…flare,” Flick says to someone, her voice sounding like it’s on the other side of the room.
“…do for it?” Someone—Cynthia?—asks.
A phone rings. Like every other sound, it’s distant, foreign. There’s a moment of talk and then an exclamation of joy.
“Everyone is safe!” Pat calls out.
My eyes pop open, and I sit up straight. “Michael’s safe?” I croak.
Flick hugs me. “He is. They all are.”
I touch my cheeks and find that they’re wet. How long have I been crying?
“I’m going to take you home.” Flick gently urges me up. “Then come back and lock up.”
“I’ll take her.” Cynthia steps forward, looping her arm through mine.
I want to protest—being taken home and put to bed never stops being embarrassing—but I don’t have the strength for that. Instead, I let Cynthia load me into her car.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur, curled up in her passenger’s seat like a child.
Cynthia clucks. “Oh no, don’t say that. You don’t have to apologize to me.”
“I’m glad Michael is okay,” I murmur, doing my best to keep my eyes open.
She pats my shoulder. “Me too.”
Giving her directions to my cottage proves about as challenging as solving a Rubik’s Cube, and by the time we pull into my driveway, I’m more zombie than human. She walks me inside and helps me into bed.
“What can I do for you?” she asks.
“Nothing, thank you.” I snuggle deeper under the covers. “I just…” I yawn. “…need to sleep.”
“Of course.” She shuts off the light and tiptoes out of the room.
“Cynthia?”
“Yes?”
“Say hello to Katie?” I ask.
“Certainly. Sleep tight.”
The boards in the house creak as she walks across the living room and lets herself out the front door. Her headlights cut through my bedroom window, and I stare at the glass even after they’re gone.
It’s the second time in a week that I’ve been tucked into bed by a member of Michael’s family, and the guilt is heavy. This isn’t what any of them signed up for. One time is fine, but taking care of someone like me on a regular basis can quickly become exhausting.
Remembering that gives me more sympathy for my aunt. Her ability to hover now looks more like a superpower than an annoyance.
Have I made a mistake getting involved with Michael? Is our relationship proving to do more harm than good to him and his family?
And what about me? My worry today about Michael has caused a flare.
What happens when he’s in another fire? It’s not like I can turn off the part of me that’s concerned about him. Undoubtedly, I’ll flare again since emotional distress is a big trigger. And that will suck for both me and him—and his family.
Tears fill my eyes. I’ve changed so much of my life to make it fibromyalgia-friendly, but the cold, hard truth is that there are a lot of things that don’t fit into this lifestyle. Like teaching full time. Playing sports. Having more than one cocktail per weekend.
Or having a boyfriend who is a fire chief.
As long as Michael and I are together, I’ll worry about him. And I don’t think I can handle the emotional toil of loving someone who has such a dangerous job. Sure, I’ll have the comfort of our relationship, but I’ll also have the fear of losing him at any moment. I’ll be doing serious damage to my mental and physical health.
Is it really fair to put myself through that? To put Michael through that?
Tears slide down my face as I stare at the dark window, waiting for answers that never come.