Page 11 of Hearts & Embers

The card itself was simple. She thanked the crews involved in her rescue and expressed appreciation for the professionalism shown throughout the incident. Nothing about the message felt dramatic or overly emotional.

In many ways, the straightforward nature of the note suited what little I knew about her. Reading it created an unexpected sense of satisfaction because it transformed the outcome from an assumption into a certainty. She had survived surgery, completed at least part of her rehabilitation, and recovered enough to write the card. More importantly, she was no longer simply a patient connected to an incident report. She was a person continuing with her life despite circumstances that could easily have ended very differently.

"You've been staring at that card for a while."

I turned slightly and found Cody Norris standing nearby.

"I was reading."

"You finished reading two minutes ago."

I laughed despite myself.

"You timing me now?"

Cody ignored the question, stepped beside me, and glanced toward the card.

"Good outcome," Cody commented.

"It is," I agreed.

"We don't get enough of those."

The observation carried a quiet honesty that required no elaboration. Firefighters learned quickly that effort did not always guarantee success. Positive outcomes mattered because they reminded us why the difficult days were worth enduring.

"Word is she's already home."

I looked toward him.

"You heard that?"

"Community liaison passed it along after receiving the card."

The information shouldn’t have mattered as much as it did. Nevertheless, relief settled through me almost immediately. Hospitals existed for recovery but home represented something entirely different. Home meant progress.

Cody studied me for several seconds before looking back toward the card.

"You don't usually stare at thank-you cards."

I laughed quietly.

"Maybe I'm becoming sentimental."

"I'll let Cap know. He should probably document it."

"Funny."

"I'm serious. This could be a medical condition."

I shook my head.

"You always this helpful?"

"Part of the job."

Despite the joking tone, his expression suggested he had noticed more than I intended. Fortunately, he seemed content to leave the observation where it was.

The conversation drifted toward other topics shortly afterward, but the exchange remained in the back of my mind. Cody possessed an irritating ability to notice things people preferred to keep to themselves, and experience suggested he was usually more accurate than I cared to admit.