Page 132 of Sparking Sara

“It’s protocol,” the orderly says. “Just doing my job, sir.”

“Come on, big boy—humor them,” I say.

“But we’re going to see the kid.”

“So we’ll turn around and come right back in.”

Denver rolls his eyes and then sits in the wheelchair. “Is this how it’s going to be? You telling me what to do?” he says with a snarky rise of his brow.

“You two married?” the guy asks.

“No,” I say.

“Engaged?”

I shake my head.

“Well, sir,” he says to Denver as he wheels him out into the hallway. “I suggest you get used to it now. In my experience, the key to a great relationship is that the woman is always right. Always.”

Denver laughs, looking at the orderly who’s barely more than a kid. “How old are you?”

“Nineteen. But my parents have been married for thirty years, and my grandparents—fifty-five.”

“Sounds like you’re going to make some lucky girl very happy one day,” I say.

“I hope so,” he says.

The orderly rolls Denver outside the main doors of the hospital. Then he salutes him. “I heard what you did, sir. I truly admire you. I hope to be a firefighter myself one day. I took the exam last year. Haven’t got the call yet.”

“It can take years for them to get to you,” Denver says. “Don’t lose hope. FDNY needs good people like you.”

“Thank you, sir.”

As soon as the orderly leaves, Denver picks up his duffel bag and turns right back around, leading us through the hospital doors.

“I just need to make a stop,” he says, walking into the gift shop on the first floor. He takes a few minutes, looking around at all the choices. He finally picks something out. “This is perfect.”

We go up the elevator to pediatrics on the third floor. I’m glad I brought Denver an FDNY t-shirt to wear; it makes him look more official, like we’re not here to kidnap anyone.

As it turns out, however, I didn’t need to worry at all. As soon as we turn the corner, five nurses and a few others start clapping. One of them steps forward. “We heard what you did for Joey. Your nurse told us you’d be coming to see him.”

Denver looks embarrassed by the attention. “Anyone would have done the same. I’m just sorry about his parents. Have the authorities found his next of kin?”

The woman shakes her head. “I’m afraid not. A social worker has been assigned to his case. She may be able to tell you more, she’s in with him now.”

We’re directed down the hall to Joey’s room. We look inside and see him sitting in a hospital bed that looks like a crib. He’s playing with a stuffed animal. When he sees us walk into the room, he looks scared.

Denver immediately walks to the side of the bed. “Hey, Joey. I brought something for you.” He puts the soft fire truck down next to the boy. “I know all of this is scary for you and I’m sorry.” Denver turns to the social worker. “Can he understand me? Does he know what’s happened? I don’t have any kids, so I’m not sure what I should say.”

“You’re doing just fine,” she says. “He’s only fifteen months old, but he understands simple commands. Your tone of voice is probably more important than what you actually say. He’s scared because at this point, we’re all strangers to him. So don’t be offended, he’s bound to be stand-offish with people, especially men.”

I watch as Joey assesses the stuffed fire truck. He looks at it, maybe not knowing if it’s okay to touch it.

“Go ahead,” Denver says. “It’s a fire truck. Do you know what kind of sound a fire truck makes? It sounds like this—” He makes his best siren noises as he pretends to drive the truck around the bed.

Denver continues to do this for a few minutes and then the boy reaches out and takes the toy from him, mimicking his motions of driving it around. He even makes a high-pitched sound like a siren.

“That’s right,” Denver says. “Maybe one day, you can drive a real fire truck. I can tell you’re going to be very strong.”

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