Page 22 of Hearts to Mend

“What are you, five?” It’s another member of her crew who says this from behind me. I turn to face off with a Black man who somehow manages to tower over my tall frame.

“To be fair, she did start it.” Drew lends me support, only to turn on me an instant later when he joins the chorus of puffed-up men and adds, “But if we hear one word from Dee that you’ve hurt her again, you will regret it. Are we clear?”

I consider defending myself further. I want to explain the situation to them, except I don’t actually understand the situation myself. And anything I have to say now just sounds pathetic, even in my own head. So I simply acknowledge Drew’s warning. “I understand.”

At that, the three men temper their aggression toward me, uncrossing their axe-wielding arms and nodding as they walk away, back to their truck to pack up the hoses and gear. One by one, the fire trucks extinguish their lights, like they extinguished the fire, and with the hiss of air brakes, they return to their stations.

The last of the ambulances leave, too, heading back to the hospital, some transporting patients, some mercifully empty. All that remains are police, volunteers, onlookers, and displaced residents. I take a few photos and interview some witnesses, including Margaret. Someone brought a chair so she’d have a place to sit, but it’s a small consolation considering all her possessions were destroyed tonight.

When she finishes giving her statement to a young officer, she looks at me and says, “Looks like the new AC you bought me couldn’t cool down the apartment after all.”

“How are you doing, Margaret?”

“Oh, you know, I’m alive.” She doesn’t sound exactly happy or relieved about that, mostly exhausted.

“Are they finding you a place to stay tonight?”

“Oh yeah, some of the parishioners at my church are organizing rooms in their homes for us to stay for a little while.”

“Good, I’m glad—”

“What are you still doing here? Shouldn’t you be at the hospital with that girl of yours?”

“She’s not my—”

“Coulda fooled me. Now get going!”

“I… Uh… Okay. I’ll be back out here in the morning. You take care, Margaret.” I lean in to kiss her cheek before leaving.

On my drive across town, I check in with the news desk—aka Gary—and relay my brief story to him so he can publish it online tonight. Tomorrow, I’ll reach out to the fire investigator for details about the fire’s cause, then write a more in-depth piece to publish with my photos in our weekly.

Once we hang up, I call my mother from the car, too, staring up at the hospital as she answers. “Hola, mamá, have you heard about the fire?”

“Sí, mijo, it’s terrible news.” Of course she’s heard about it. Her ear is always to the ground, knowing the town’s news sometimes before it happens.

“Well, Dee was injured as she rescued a resident.”

“¡Ay dios mio!”

“Not seriously, it looked like maybe her ankle was broken. But I’m going to go to the hospital now and sit with her.” If she’ll let me.

“Por supuesto.”

“I might be out all night. Do you mind keeping Matty overnight?”

“Don’t be silly. Of course I don’t mind. And we’ll be by in the morning with breakfast.”

“Mamá, you don’t need to bring—” I glance over at the call display to see that… “She hung up on me. And now I’m talking to myself.”

With a deep centering breath, I linger in my car for a moment longer, staring at the hospital entrance, trying to collect my thoughts.

It’s been a long day. I’m exhausted.

It’s been a weird day. I’m exhilarated.

From the panic and adrenaline rush of the fire to the ecstasy of that kiss… God, that kiss.

I lick my lips like I can still taste her there. But it’s just a memory now, like all our other kisses.

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