The Jenkins Girl
By RosalindB April 2011
No copyright infringement is intended. Emergency! Is owned by Universal/Mark VII . I don't own these characters, just taking them out to play. No profit from this work, only personal enjoyment.
I decided to step back. After Captain Stanley ripped me a new one in front of the crew, I realized I must have put foot in mouth one time too many. I always gave Johnny a hard time after the Pigeon bragged or acted smug after a date. But for some reason, this time around Cap lost it. Maybe Gage said something. Maybe this time the relationship is serious. Just wished he would have told me. I would've backed off if he just said something. I can't afford to get written up. Now that I think about it, with the new guy being here for a while until Stoker gets back, I'll have to reign it in. He seems like a nice guy, but he may have a thin skin too.
Chet sighed, walked into the dorms and started cleaning. Roy came in a few minutes later.
"Hey Chet."
"Hey Roy."
"Let me get the clean sheets and help you out." Roy reached into the linen closet. Chet held up a hand.
"No, it's okay. I got it."
Roy looked at his shift mate.
"You sure?"
"Yeah. Um, I'm good." Chet continued to strip the bed with his back to Roy. Roy walked back into the bay and joined his partner to check inventory. John noticed Roy's furrowed brow.
"What's up? You look confused."
"I just offered to help Chet with the dorms. He said no thanks." John stopped his count.
"That's not like him."
Roy nodded. "That's exactly what I was thinking."
Marco walked up from the hose tower. "I offered too. He told me no also. I think he took Cap's outburst to heart. "
The three firemen looked at each other for a moment. Finally, John spoke up.
"Maybe he did, but you know he was getting out of hand. I'm going to enjoy the quiet while it lasts."
"Well I hope it doesn't last too long," Marco replied.
The shift passed with Chet keeping to himself. Fortunately their runs were light, dumpster fires, a cat in a tree, a child caught in a wooden banister. He busied himself in between runs, cleaning Big Red with Ed, checking air tanks, and cleaning the latrine. The new engineer insisted on helping, but couldn't get Chet to open up.
When the group went home, Chet said a polite but understated goodbye.
"Hey amigo, why don't you come over to Mama's with me for breakfast. She hasn't seen you in a while." Marco patted his friend on the back.
"Thanks Marco, but I'll have to take a rain check. Give your mama a kiss for me."
Chet hopped into his van and drove off.
Next shift, Chet was early. Hank Stanley watched the lineman park and head to the locker to change.
"Mornin' Cap."
"Hey there Kelly. How's it going?"
"Fine thanks. " He continued into the locker room.
"Any particular reason you're early? Not planning any water tricks are you?" Hank asked with a smile, but didn't get one in return.
"No sir, just early. Today's the Patterson anniversary, thought I'd catch some of the memorial service on tv before chores."
Oh crap, Hank thought. I'd forgotten.
"You know that's a good idea. I'll tell the others. It's the tenth anniversary, a big one." Hank headed into the kitchen. Roy was also early and helped himself to some almost decent coffee.
"Today's the Patterson Fire anniversary. Chet thought we may want to catch some of the memorial coverage." Hank took the cup Roy offered.
"I was thinking of that too," the redhead replied.
"Mornin' Roy," Chet entered the kitchen with the newspaper.
"Mornin' Chet. Anything interesting in the paper?" Roy noticed the solemn look on Chet's face.
"Well the paper did a series on the surviving families. You know, how did the kids grow up? Which ones followed into the department, and so on. Today's is on the last kid-" Chet opened the newspaper. Hank and Roy looked over Chet's shoulder. There was a photo of a young woman, with curly brown hair, dark brown eyes, and a camera in her hand.
"Wow, she's a looker," Hank whistled.
Chet pointed to the story under the photo. Roy began to read aloud:
Cynthia Jenkins, now 25, is today's featured update. The young woman was the youngest orphan, and had the most difficult time of all the surviving children. Her father, FF Charles Jenkins, took the lead into the factory that fateful night. He had taken the Engineer's Exam the week before in an effort to move into a slightly less hazardous position, since his wife passed of an aneurysm the year before. In a cruel twist of fate, Jenkins had passed the exam. He was posthumously promoted to Engineer, increasing the daughter's survivor's benefit. Unfortunately, her aunt, Elmira Jenkins-Renault decided to place the girl into foster care.
"This child represents a relationship our family did not approve of. We were not emotionally prepared to care for her," was the aunt's statement at the time.
"Several of my father's crew mates offered to take me in", said the young woman now known as "CJ". "But my aunt refused. Since my mother was black, Dad's side wanted nothing to do with me. My mother's side felt the same way since Dad was Caucasian."
Roy took a breath. Johnny and Marco had entered the kitchen in time to hear Roy reading the story.
"How could someone be that cruel?" Marco asked. Roy held up his hand to finish reading.
Cynthia refused to discuss her time in foster care. She would only say "it was a difficult time ." The savvy young woman petitioned for emancipation at 16 and won. With the support of her "Uncle Mickey" (Battalion Chief McConnike) and his wife Mary she finished high school and went on to earn a Bachelor's Degree in Fine Arts.
"My mother and father loved photography. When I graduated, Uncle Mickey gave me their cameras. My father asked him to keep them and pass them on to me if anything happened."
Cynthia will give the keynote speech at today's memorial service. "I'm honored that it's now my turn, but terrified also. Public speaking was never a strength of mine." Cynthia is now a wedding photographer, and has a book of photos of the American Southwest about to hit bookstores.
The crew looked at each other. Roy shook his head.
"That is a father's worst nightmare."
"But she managed to get through," John replied.
Roy continued to shake his head.
"I can't see Jennifer-" he stopped short.
"The coverage is starting any minute," Hank interrupted. "Let's watch what we can. I think this young lady is going to need all the good thoughts we can send."
"Are you ready kiddo? The car is here." Mary McConnike called out to the young woman she watched grow up.
"Yes Auntie." Cynthia walked into her living room, her olive green wrap dress freshly pressed. Her black patent leather pumps matched her clutch. She lifted her house keys from the hook by the door.
"Nervous?" Mary asked.
"Terrified," came the reply "But I'll make it. I always have."
Her Uncle Mickey hugged her before they got into the waiting car.
"You'll be fine honey. I'll be right next to you if you need me."
During the car ride, CJ's thoughts wandered.
I'm not ready for this. Yesterday I begged my therapist for an appointment. Needed to let out anything and everything.
"So, you have a big speech tomorrow. How are you feeling?"
"Well, considering it's the biggest speech of my life. And it's about my dad. And it's in front of his colleagues, and their families, and the press. I'm losing it. My hands haven't stopped shaking."
Dr. Westin nodded her head.
"It's a heavy responsibility."
"And it's in a church. A Catholic church." The tissue in my hands shredded from the tremors.
"Why does the church bother you?" She handed me another one.
"My parents were Catholic. Most of my father's friends are Catholic. But my so called aunt that threw me away was Catholic. The foster family that was nothing like a family dragged me to mass, then put scars on my back. My head no longer accepts the notion of saints protecting, spirit moving, and some old man in Italy telling people what to do. "
"So you question the existence of God?" Dr. Westin asked.
"How can there be a God that allows this to happen? I know I may never get an answer."
"Have you considered how far you've come? Other children in your predicament would be in dire straits."
"Yes, I know. I've heard it before—could have ended up on drugs, or a streetwalker, or in jail, or dead. I'm grateful for the people who stepped in, and where my life is now but-"
"But?" she urged me to finish the thought.
"But it didn't have to be that way in the first place."
Dr. Westin made a note in my file. She's got the neatest handwriting I've ever seen for a doctor.
"No Cynthia it didn't. But it happened, and you got through. You are more stable and in control of your life." She leaned over her desk, folded her hands. Forgot to ask where she gets her manicures.
"You have to remind yourself every day of how far you've come. Until the past truly becomes the past, in your mind as it has everyone else's. It won't be easy, as you know, and not painless." She handed me another tissue. I managed to blow my nose and not rip it into shreds.
"Tomorrow," she continued, "will be hard. I want you to call me afterward."
"It'll be on television," I told her. "You'll get to see how I do."
"Yes, but I want to hear your perspective," she smiled. "Call me at home, here's the number." Dr. Westin handed me a card with her home number written on the back. "I don't usually have patients call me there, but once in a while I sense a need. Good luck."
The car pulled up to the front of the church. St. Sebastian's was across the street from the Patterson Factory site. Cynthia noticed the dilapidated factory was transformed into a wellness center and day care, with a small playground. Some of the staff, in scrubs, stood outside, watching the arrivals. Children played tag, and some dashed up the ladder of the slide. Their laughter carried over to the street. Cynthia managed a smile hearing and seeing what was once a scene of a tragedy become a life-giving place.
"Okay, maybe I'll be fine after all."
She felt a gentle tug on her arm.
"Hey CJ, let's head inside. Nice to see that old monster gone,eh?" the chief smiled. She smiled back, then recognized some of the other surviving "children" heading up the steps. Quick hellos and hugs followed as they walked into the cathedral. Monsignor Marriot greeted them at the door.
"Hello everyone! Beautiful day for a remembrance service. Cynthia darlin', how are you?" He hugged the young woman he hadn't seen since the year before.
"I'm—well, nervous, but I think I'll be okay."
"It's perfectly fine to be nervous. We are mere mortals, being nervous 'tis a sign of grace." He held Cynthia at arm's length for a moment.
"Forgive me my dear, but you look like your father. Same expression, same eyes."
Cynthia blushed. "Thank you Monsignor." She turned to follow the Chief and others to the front pews.
She didn't hear the monsignor whisper to the sky, "Ahh Charlie, what a lass you and Dianne raised."
The men at Station 51 sat in front of the television set. The local news reporter began describing the scene.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we are live at St. Sebastian's Cathedral for the tenth anniversary memorial service of the Patterson Factory Disaster. To quickly give some background, the original building across the street was a wholesale fabric storage facility and alleged sweatshop. Six firemen were killed when the first floor ceiling collapsed. Accelerant was discovered during the investigation, and the building owner convicted of arson and manslaughter. Today, the families and friends of those brave men gather to celebrate their lives and remind the public of the danger and sacrifice these men make."
Chet caught sight of a familiar face.
"Hey, isn't that Stoker?"
Johnny leaned closer to the television.
"Well I'll be! It's him alright. Check him out in his dress blues."
"I heard he worked with the former captain for a bit before coming here," Stanley said. "Not surprised he's there. The captain had a hard time of it after."
Another reporter began broadcasting from inside the cathedral.
"Sorry to break in Jim, but the service is about to start. The families are taking their places. The young woman in the olive green dress is Cynthia Jenkins. She's the daughter of Charles Jenkins, and giving the main address. And we've just found out that Elmira Jenkins-Renault is also in attendance this year. She's wearing the uh-large black hat. Hold on, I'm going to try to speak to her..."
Next sight was of a middle aged woman with too much makeup.
"Mrs. Renault, what brings you to this year's remembrance?" The reporter stuck the microphone in Elmira's face.
"Charles was my only brother. Ten years seems like a long time, but I miss him terribly." She dabbed her non-teary eyes with a handkerchief.
"Have you had any contact with your niece?" the reporter asked.
"Unfortunately no. I'm hoping for some kind of reconciliation of course. But it depends on how civilized she will be."
"Bullshit," Marco said to the television.
"Lopez! Watch it," Stanley warned.
"Sorry Cap."
Elmira continued her musing.
"I just don't understand the green dress," Elmira continued. "It is a memorial service. One would think she'd dress better."
"Bullshit," Stanley muttered.
"Cap!" the other men said in unison.
"Rank has its privileges."