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Me: I haven’t had a picture of your dinner yet.
The message shows as read, just as the dots that show she’s typing a reply pop onto the screen.
Etta: I’ve eaten so much today already, I’m really not hungry.
Me: I expect you to eat dinner. Go find something, even if it’s small.
Etta: ***Rolling eyes emoji***
Me: Behave!
When her reply doesn’t come immediately, I find myself obsessively checking every few minutes, growing more and more anxious the longer it takes her to reply. When a message eventually comes through, my muscles hurt from the tension.
Etta: Grilled cheese and ketchup. Yum.
The picture shows a gooey grilled cheese sandwich with a bite taken out of it.
Me: Good girl. Sweet dreams, I’ll speak to you in the morning.
Etta: Good night, Oz.
We get a call out in the middle of the night to a wildfire about ten miles outside of town in the middle of the forest. It’s not uncommon for hikers and tourists to go wild camping and lose control of their fires, but there’s no sign of a campsite in the area when we get there. It doesn’t take long to get the blaze under control, but an hour after we get back to base, we’re called out again. This time it’s to a house fire caused by a pan setting alight in a homestead in the middle of the woods at the base of the mountain.
Alongside being smoke jumpers, since we came to Montana, we’ve all been training as hotshots, which are another specialist fire division that hikes into remote areas to fight fires on foot. It’s grueling, intense, but ultimately rewarding work, although nowhere near as fun as flying a helicopter into a danger zone.
Due to the remote nature of the homestead, we set out on foot with a couple of the guys on smaller ATVs that can weave between the dense trees. Thankfully it doesn’t take us that long to get to the homestead, but by the time we arrive, the owner is barely conscious, and his wife and young son are missing. Montana has a great mountain rescue team that we call in, but after we put out the fire and evacuate the husband to the hospital, Knight, Anders, and I join the search for the missing people while the rest of the team returns to base.
It takes sixteen hours to find them. The wife and child had run from the fire at the husband’s bequest, then gotten lost in the panic. Once the wife had found her bearings, she’d led her son to the river, intending to follow it back to her homestead, but had fallen and broken her ankle, leaving her and her child alone, fighting the elements.
Luckily, apart from a little exposure, the child was fine, and once the wife gets her ankle set, she’ll be fine too. But right now, I’m tired, hungry, and desperate to know if Etta has managed to follow my rules without me being there to prompt her.
It’s nearly three a.m. by the time I drop the rest of my equipment into the store, and my feet are dragging as I make my way into the mess. Looking to my right, I’m relieved to see that both Knight and Anders look as exhausted as I do. I love my job, and I’m glad that the woman and child were found safe, but right now I’m praying for no more fires until I can eat and recharge a little.
Even though everyone should be asleep, Buck is waiting for us, immediately scanning us over to check for injuries the moment we drag our feet into the mess room. I’ve worked for a lot of fire chiefs during my career, but Rockhead Point is the first time my teammates have felt like family.
“Everyone okay?” he asks, rising from the couch.
“We’re all good, Boss,” Anders assures him. “Just hungry and tired.”
“Danny plated your dinners up for you. Get showered, and I’ll reheat them for you,” Buck says, slapping Knight on the shoulder as he passes us on his way to the kitchen.
The three of us pad wearily into the huge locker room-style bathroom. I’m too tired to make conversation and itching with the need to see if Etta has behaved.
Stripping off, I pad naked into the shower stall, turning on the water and groaning the moment the hot liquid hits my skin.
“Fuck, I’m getting too old for this.” Anders sighs from the stall beside me.
“Statistically, very few firefighters continue to perform as effective smoke jumpers and hotshots after the age of thirty-five,” Knight informs us clinically.
“You’re thirty-seven, Knight, you planning on quitting anytime soon?” I ask.
“I’m at peak physical fitness. I intend to continue to do my job until my age or health become a factor or until I find a partner. At that point, I’ll more than likely resign.”
I love all of my teammates, but Knight can sometimes be so clinical and cold that he just sounds like an asshole. “You’d quit just because you got a girlfriend or boyfriend?” I ask.
“I’m predominantly attracted to women. I have kissed a few men, but I didn’t find it as stimulating as with a woman,” he answers matter-of-factly.
Blinking, I turn and look at the wall between my stall and the one Knight is in. This is the first time since I’ve met him that he’s alluded to his sexuality. I couldn’t care less who he wants to fuck, but it’s just not something he’s ever spoken about before.
