Page 29 of Free to Live
And we’ve tried to give back as much as we can.
Including donating to every fund-raiser hosted by the team of firefighters that reside in the building in front of me. My head swivels to the left. Not to mention the police in the building next door. We understand firsthand the sacrifices these men and women make to rescue people in need. After all, we were one of them. Even as recently as Cassidy being shot just a few years ago during one of our weddings. I shudder in remembrance at the dark days that followed, when we hovered in the waiting room of Greenwich Hospital wondering if she was going to live or die.
“Every second counts when God’s trying to decide whether or not to give you a miracle,” I murmur aloud.
“That’s profound, Holly.” Startled, I turn and find the kind face of Chief Bianco. “Not everyone sees what we do in quite that fashion.”
I respond simply, “Then they’ve never been on the edge of giving up on life when a miracle’s stormed through their door.”
He continues to hold my eyes. “I find it both disturbing and heartwarming to realize you understand that.”
“It’s like most pictures, Chief,” I tell him honestly. “There are many things I see through the lens that either could hurt or harm people. But if given a chance, I’ll focus on something else to find the beauty where I can.”
“That’s an interesting way of viewing the world.”
“That’s the way I choose to look at it,” I correct him. Turning my back to him, I reach into the back of my car for the camera I’m never without. “I’ve been called a dreamer.” Among other things.
“I wouldn’t say that.” He chooses his words carefully. “I’d say you’re made up of the same things the rest of the people in the world are, you just have a different perspective.”
“What’s that?” I challenge him.
“We’re all made up of broken pieces of those who have come and gone before us. Sometimes, that—” He nods towards my camera. “—can’t quite capture the depth of the scars that live within us.”
His words make me think he can see the red stains on my skin. Looping my camera around my neck, I shove my hands in my pocket. “True. And sometimes, the camera exposes too much.”
“Also true.” His eyes drift over my shoulder. “Are you ready for what you’re about to be exposed to inside, Holly? I can’t promise it’s going to be photoworthy today.”
Suddenly, the chief’s warning begins to make sense. “Something’s happened today, hasn’t it?”
Joseph Bianco Sr. lets out such a long breath of air, I’m afraid his chest is going to decompress. “Yeah, it did. We were called in to help with a four-car pileup on the border between here and Ridgefield.”
“There were casualties.” I’m not asking. His whole body is screaming in the agony of failure and loss.
He nods. “And Joe was there. You can’t imagine how it kills me every time I have to send my boy to an accident like that. I wonder if I’m doing the right thing as his chief—as his father. Am I ripping open wounds that are starting to scab over?”
I pull a hand from my pocket and reach over to touch his arm. “I suspect that if you tried to pull your son off of those calls, you’d be doing him more of a disservice than you are by sending him.”
He tips his head to look down at me. “What makes you say that?”
“Because we’re all forged of the things that have tried to break us. And in the end, if we win, we’re not only living, we’re shoving the Devil back into Hell the way he tried to drag us there.” With that, I move away from my car and toward the entrance of the fire station. Tossing my hair over my shoulder, I look back at the chief.
“Now, take me in. Let me show this town what they should be supporting.” As I watch Chief Bianco make his way over to me, I can see the pain plainly across his face. But now, I also see something else there.
A tiny bit of hope.
12
Holly
Iintended to come to the firehouse for informal shots, much like the ones I took at the police department. But unlike the CPD, who knew I was there, I used my instincts and became a ghost in the wake of what I learned happened.
Quietly, I stood at the entrance. Even I was taken aback at the two men and one woman inspecting the hydraulic lines and blades of the tools I knew must have been used to cut victims out of their car this morning. Each one still in their waterproof boots and yellow pants being held up by bright red suspenders, they didn’t take the time to change before they finished their job. Automatically, my camera flies to my face as I zoom in on their faces.
Absolute dedication to the mission.
Click.
My throat tightens.
