Epilogue – All Good Things Must End

Evvy watched the clock with a strange mixture of excitement and dread. She could hear the quiet hum of B Shift members arriving–a different vibe from the panic-to-avoid-latrine-duty atmosphere of A Shift. She wondered how 86s' shift change would feel. Well, she'd find out in a little less than seventy-two hours. She hefted the duffel bag containing the last bits from her locker and carried her helmet in her hand. Another couple days, and it would sport a different number on its crown.

Well, it was time. She walked out the kitchen door toward her car. She had already said goodbye to Captain Stanley in private, wanting to express her gratitude to him for agreeing to accept her assignment to 51, for supporting her Advanced Rescue application, and to let him know how much she had grown and learned during the past year. To thank him for the thousand daily boosts to her confidence and skills. To tell him how much it had meant to her that he had stood by her and believed her about that bogus complaint. But all she could say was, "Thanks for everything, Cap." He'd given her a small smile, shaken her hand firmly with both of his, and said, a little gruffly, "You're going to make a damned good Rescue Man, Evvy. See you around."

Mike had left the prior evening, having completed a split shift. The replacement Engineer was almost as taciturn as Stoker. Evvy wondered if that was a requirement for that particular position. Chet and Marco had already left, after awkward goodbyes. The three of them would never all work together again; if Evvy covered a 51 A Shift, it would be because one or the other wasn't there. They promised to meet for drinks or dinner when their schedules allowed. Evvy smiled and shook their hands as if those plans had any chance of reality. The Squad had gone out on a run just before six a.m., and as she opened her driver's side door, she saw the boxy red truck backing in. As she started the engine, she decided it would be rude to leave without saying goodbye.

Roy came out first, his placid, encouraging smile the same as it had been since her first day. He wished her well, gave her a half-hug the way married men are allowed to do, and a brief wave. As he strolled back inside the station to close out his shift, John came meandering out. Oh, Scarecrow, I think I'll miss you most of all.

She leaned back against her Bug and watched him approach. His normally smooth stride hitched a little; the twisted knee he'd suffered during the mid-shift rescue of some dumb citizen who'd gotten stuck on his pitched roof trying to retrieve a Frisbee was still painful. He leaned back next to her against the rumbling car, mirroring her posture, and crossed his ankles. At his slight grimace, Evvy said, "You're gonna ice that knee when you get home, right?"

He looked down his nose at her. "Who's the paramedic here?" he said. She rolled her eyes. He wasn't ever going to give her any rest from that–not even after she'd nearly fainted the first time she'd seen a compound leg fracture in the field. No amount of dedication to service was worth having to see that kind of injury day in and day out. He was just needling her one last time, for auld lang syne, just as Roy expertly pushed John's buttons for the sheer entertainment value of it. If John was the station's "kid brother," then Evvy had become John's Irish twin, the slightly younger, less experienced member who was both gently and mercilessly teased and fiercely protected by her older brothers.

They relaxed in companionable silence for a while, neither one in any rush to get home to an empty apartment. "Hey, Ev," John said suddenly, and she cocked an ear. He sounded serious, and he hadn't used her mascot nickname. "You don't have to put up with any shit at 86s." She didn't say anything in response; John didn't curse very often, so she should probably just keep her mouth shut and listen. "You're a good firefighter, even though you're a little squeamish about blood," he added, mock-dismissively. "Those guys at 86s will come around, if they're not already there yet, but you're gonna have to fight a lot of those battles all over again when you start Rescue Training. A lot of guys aren't gonna want you at the other end of their rope, if you know what I mean. Just do your job, that'll prove them wrong."

"Yeah," Evvy said. Advanced Rescue Training attracted some of the most macho personalities in the Department. A lot of them washed out because they were reckless and arrogant, didn't listen, and didn't take orders well.

He squinted at the morning sun. "I can't tell you what to do," he said, echoing an earlier conversation, "except. . ." He paused.

"I'll remember to check my own knots, John," Evvy finished his thought quietly.

"Mmm." After a moment, he reached behind him and pulled out an object that was tucked into his belt. It was a small blue hardcover notebook, secured with a leather strap and a brass buckle. "Probably gonna need this, first couple of months." She took the blank journal. He didn't look at her, but merely straightened up, stifling a grunt and wincing a little when his knee locked. "Well," he said, "you need anything, call. Be careful out there. See you around, Gumby."

"'Bye, Pretty. You take care of yourself." She slid into the driver's seat and let him close the door. He tapped on it twice, as if signaling an ambulance to go, and she eased out of the parking lot. John stayed in her rearview mirror, hands stuffed in his trouser pockets, until she turned left into the flowing traffic and out of sight.

THE END