Chapter 8
When I walk into the firehouse, backpack-that-caused-me-to-tear-after-a-police-car in hand, the dulcet tones of the guys cheering on some sporting event greet my ears. I find everyone in the main room, quite literally the stereotype of the big guys sitting around watching football.
"Hey guys!" I call out as I walk in.
My greeting is returned with various forms of "Hey Kylie!" and "Hey Kiddo!" I perch on one end of the couch, momentarily drawn into the game as well.
After one particularly incredible touchdown that elicited cheers from all parties involved, I ask, "Are my mom or dad around?"
"I think Carlos is upstairs, Holly's still out on a run," DK answers next to me.
"Kay, thanks!" I say, shouldering my bag once more and turning for the stairs.
I trek upstairs and find my dad in his office. He made paramedic supervisor a few years ago. I rap lightly on the open door to announce my presence.
"Hey Honey, how was your day?" he inquires pleasantly enough, but I can see the build-up of a yawn which gives way to just how tired he really is.
"Pretty cool, it was more of the same stuff after I saw you at the hospital."
"Cool," he glances at the clock on the wall, "It's almost nine. Were you planning on hanging out here 'till the end of shift?"
"I guess so," I answer, "I can do some homework on a Friday night…a virtually unheard of concept."
"Well, that'll be enough to convince me to let you stay!"
Throughout the house, the clanging of the bell is unmistakable.
"Crap," my dad mutters. Hastily rubbing his eyes, he gets up and calls down the hall, "Grace, we gotta go!" The sounds of shuffling and racing toward gear is heard downstairs as everyone scrambles for the truck. Grace rushes the door and follows after my dad.
"Hey Kylie!" she calls over her shoulder to me as I follow her down the stairs. "Ally's been asking when you're coming back to 'baby-watch!'"
"Tell her anytime," I answer with a laugh. Ally is Grace and Finney's (okay, I know, Brenden, but he's always been Finney to everyone—and, I happily count myself as a member of "everyone") daughter. She's almost two, and completely obsessed with me. I'm her favorite "baby-watcher." The Finney's also have a son, Daniel, who's a couple years younger than me. He's still trapped in the clutches of middle school, but I have a feeling we're going to get married. Before you say anything, I know, I know. But it's a theory of mine—I'm going to be a medic, and he's going to be NYPD. Call it history repeating himself, whatever. All that I'm saying is that he's very cute, we've grown up together, and we're going to end up childhood sweethearts. (Not to say that I've already picked out our children's names and bedroom colors…unless of course, you promise you wouldn't judge me if I told you had.) And another thing: I know, I know. Justin. What about Justin, you ask? Are you a shameless scarlett vixen? No, no, no. No, I'm not. This Me-and Daniel thing is more of a running joke (minus the bit about the children's bedroom colors) among everyone. I'm absolutely crazy about Justin, Officer, no need to panic.
After a couple more minutes, the house is quiet except for the blare of the abandoned football game. I've always been in awe of how everyone here can just drop everything to rush to someone else's aid. Me, I require a good seven or eight minutes—to stop what I'm doing in the first place. I can only assume (and hope) that it's a talent acquired with time.