Page 16 of Hearts & Embers

I looked toward the speaker, Ingrid Hobbs, a firefighter on ladder.

"It works for me."

"You need hobbies," she stated before popping a piece of pickle into her mouth.

"I have hobbies."

"Name one," she challenged.

I considered the question and when my silence lasted slightly too long, many of my colleagues erupted with laughter.

"That's what I thought.”

“Working out is a hobby," I argued.

"No. It's maintenance," Ingrid fired back.

Our argument continued while other firefighters contributed increasingly ridiculous definitions of hobbies. By the time another call interrupted the discussion, I was being informed that grocery shopping apparently also did not qualify as a personality.

The afternoon passed quickly after that.

A medical call involving an elderly resident who had fallen at home led directly into an elevator rescue, followed by a vehicle fire that generated considerably more smoke than actual damage. None of the incidents were particularly unusual, but together they created the kind of steady workload that prevented anyone from sitting still for very long.

The pace suited me. Activity always made shifts move faster. It also left very little room for unnecessary distractions.

By late-afternoon, Rescue 3 had finally returned to the station long enough for everyone to catch their breath. Equipment was restocked, reports were completed, and personnel scattered throughout the building while waiting for the next dispatch.

I was in the apparatus bay, checking equipment alongside Cole when the captain, who had been working quietly for several minutes, spoke.

"You seem distracted."

I glanced at him.

"According to whom?"

"Me."

"That's hardly objective."

"Fourteen years of friendship and experience says otherwise."

I secured a compartment latch.

"I'm fine."

Cole studied me briefly.

"Usually when someone says they're fine, they're not."

"I'm still fine."

"Good."

The response arrived so quickly it caught me off guard.

"That's it?"

"What were you expecting?"