Fireman Dad (18 page)

D
ozens of red-and-white-striped tents dotted Jacob’s yard, sunshine slipping off their canvas roofs and painting the pristine yard with stripes of amber. At least one hundred people milled the manicured grounds, snacking on giant corn dogs and trying their hand at the midway games lining the edges of the roped-off gravel drive. Several children bent over their chalk squares on the road, away from the parking area, scribbling designs onto the warm pavement and giggling as they traded colors. To Marissa’s right, one particularly brave church member sat atop a collapsible seat in the dunking tank. To her left, another courageous volunteer balanced atop stilts.

So far, so good. Marissa surveyed the scene before her with a mixture of relief and anxiety, fingers itching to clutch her ever-present planner. But Liz had insisted Marissa stop working and enjoy herself now the carnival was finally here, going as far as to toss the planner into the glove box in Marissa’s car. “If you forgot something, it’s too late now anyway,” was Liz’s not-so-reassuring but logical explanation. “So eat cotton candy and have fun with Owen.”

The order wasn’t that hard to follow. Marissa pulled a tuft of sticky blue candy from her cone and let the puffed sugar dissolve in her mouth as Owen attempted to knock over a pyramid of pins with a plastic ball. His first throw missed, and he frowned as the worker retrieved the ball. “It’s okay, buddy. Try again,” she urged. Owen nodded, concentrating so hard his tongue peeked between the center of his lips.

CRASH!
The pins toppled to the ground and Owen jumped up and down with excitement. “I did it!”

“Good job, Owen!” Marissa slapped her son a high five before he raced to retrieve his prize—a small stuffed alligator.

“Here, Mom.” Owen tossed the animal to her and she fumbled to catch it without getting the cotton candy stuck to its green fur. “I need both hands to play again.”

Marissa couldn’t help but smile as Owen handed the worker another red ticket. Logical and determined, that was her son. How much of that did she pass down to him, honestly? And how much was built in from Kevin’s genes? There were plenty of qualities she hoped he inherited from his dad.

But there were plenty she’d love for him to learn from someone else. Marissa’s eyes darted once again to Jacob, drawn like a magnet as they’d been most of the morning. Jacob was under a tent across the yard, helping a group of young children with their blooming cacti. The sight brought the memory of their time together at the Boardwalk to the forefront of her mind. Marissa briefly closed her eyes, allowing the memory to sweep her away. Jacob, his hair catching the breeze from the river and eyes sparkling as he looked down at her. Jacob, goofing off in the party supply store with the princess paraphernalia. Jacob, sharing the honesty of his hero
heart as he assured Marissa every woman needed to be a princess for a day. Past circumstances had taught her to fear heroes, not seek them out. But somewhere along the way, Jacob had changed that mindset. And she had the feeling it had started the very second he popped the tire off her SUV over a month ago.

Marissa opened her eyes in time to find Jacob staring at her from under the striped tent. He lifted his hand in a hesitant wave, and she waved back. They really needed to talk. She couldn’t just pull him aside in the midst of the festival chaos and have a heart-to-heart conversation. What if Liz was wrong and he couldn’t forgive her? What if it ended badly? She’d have nowhere to go to nurse her broken emotions or hide the inevitable rash of tears. No, she needed something more subtle, but something Jacob would understand. How could she show him her change of heart without risking public humiliation?

“Mom, I want to get my face painted before we do our chalk square, okay?” Owen tugged at her arm, yanking her back to reality. “Come on!”

Chalk squares. That was another issue of the day. She had no idea what to draw in her and Owen’s square, and he’d already asked her twice. She couldn’t put it off any longer. Maybe she’d just let him pick. It’d been given to them free, anyway, so who cared if the picture didn’t turn out to be a timeless keepsake?

Owen fairly yanked Marissa across the yard to the face painting tables set up by the popcorn stand. “Look, they have fire trucks!” He pointed to the easel of options to pick from, and Marissa bit back an automatic groan. Always a fire truck. Could she never escape it?

Then it hit her. A fire truck. Chalk square. Jacob. Her heart raced with excitement. “Owen, I have an idea!” Now it was Marissa’s turn to grab her son’s hand and
tug him away. “We’ll do this next. Let’s do our chalk box first, okay, buddy?”

Owen surprisingly put up little protest, and Marissa knelt beside him on the pavement, the road warming her knees through her jeans, and handed him the sticks of chalk the artist had given them. Red, yellow and white. Perfect. “Here. Draw a fire truck.”

Owen sat up straight and flipped his hair out of his eyes. Doubt colored his expression. “Are you sure, Mom? You seem tired of those lately.”

Guilt pressed against her shoulders and Marissa drew a deep breath against the weight. “I’ve never been surer of anything in my life.” Time for some changes, including her tolerance of the things that interested her son.
Forgive me, Lord.
The guilt lifted away and she handed Owen the red. “Draw.”

Owen grinned and began to sketch a crude fire truck in their square. While he worked, Marissa drew a stick figure of a blonde woman beside it and a stick man beside her. There was just enough room between them for a little stick boy. She finished at the same time as Owen, and she watched him carefully as he examined their completed square.

“That’s me.” He pointed to the little boy wearing a fireman’s hat. “And that’s you.” He pointed to the stick lady with the blond hair. “But who’s that guy?” Owen searched Marissa’s eyes, his grin fading as confusion replaced his excitement.

A knot centered in Marissa’s throat, and she swallowed. Despite her newfound love for Jacob, if Owen didn’t want him in the picture, she couldn’t allow it. “That’s your fireman friend, Mr. Jacob.” She pointed to the white stick man, careful not to smudge the drawing.

“I thought maybe it was time for him to start hanging out with us more.”

Owen tilted his head, his gaze riveted to the picture as he thought.

Marissa held her breath. “Would that be okay with you?”

“Yeah, that’d be cool. It’d make you happy, right?”

Marissa nodded, unable to speak past the lump in her throat that was now twice as big as before. “It really would.”

“I think Dad would be happy that you were happy again.”

Tears filled Marissa’s eyes and she squeezed Owen into a tight hug. “I think you’re right, buddy.”

Where was Marissa? Jacob had looked everywhere, short of stooping to peek under the tablecloths of the bake sale booth. He stood on his tiptoes in an effort to see over the crowds lingering at various booths, but to no effect. With a sigh, Jacob handed a red ticket to the popcorn vendor and grabbed a handful of the crunchy corn from the paper bag. He hadn’t been able to talk with Marissa all day, just as he’d feared. But if he kept his feelings to himself one more minute, he feared he’d burst like that little kid’s purple balloon just moments ago.

“Jacob.” A firm voice sounded from behind, and Jacob turned to see Chief Brady in full uniform, resting his weight on a cane. Mrs. Brady hovered close to his side.

“Sir, it’s good to see you out and about.” Jacob held out his non-buttery hand, and they shook.

“He was determined to leave that place, regardless.”
Mrs. Brady swatted his arm. “Although the nurse did win the war about the wheelchair.”

“Ridiculous policy,” Chief grumbled. “I can walk out of a hospital just fine.” He tapped his cane on the hard-packed ground for emphasis.

Jacob smiled. “I’m glad you made it, cane or no cane.”

“Enough of the small talk. You know why I’m really here.” Chief glanced around as if searching for someone. “What happened with Marissa? Did she shoot you down yet?” The comment earned him another swat from Mrs. Brady.

“No, sir.” Jacob tried to ignore the word
yet
as he tossed his empty popcorn bag into a nearby trash can. Was his mission truly that impossible? “She’s been busy this morning. We haven’t had a chance to talk.” Unless she’d been avoiding him, which if that were the case, he couldn’t blame her. But he had to try.

The chief’s brow furrowed with concern. “I don’t think putting it off will help your cause any.”

“I was actually trying to find her when I ran into you.” Jacob looked around and shrugged. “But I think there are over a hundred people here now. I can’t find her.”

The chief snorted. “You just haven’t tried hard enough.” He straightened to his full height, his uniform looser across his chest now than before. He cupped his hands around his mouth and boomed, “Has anyone seen Marissa Hawthorne?”

A dozen arms pointed toward the road, and the chief beamed as he clapped Jacob on the shoulder. “I expect a full report in one hour.”

The chief hobbled away with Marissa’s mother pressed close to his side, leaving Jacob in a confusing
pile of embarrassment and awe. He should’ve thought of that sooner, though he doubted his uniform and voice carried anywhere near the authority of the chief’s. Jacob made his way toward the road, where the chalk boxes lined the pavement in multiple squares. Stars, hearts, flowers and a variety of other childish pictures squinted at him from the hot pavement. Shading his eyes from the sun, he scanned the area for Marissa. No luck. She must have already left. Maybe he’d head toward the Porta Potties.

Turning, Jacob couldn’t help but smile at a picture of a fire truck. Then he did a double take. Beside the truck stood a picture of a stick woman, a stick man and a little stick boy wearing a fireman’s hat. His heart skipped and he leaned closer to examine the drawing. It could have been done by anyone, representing any number of families here today. It was the Fireman’s Festival, after all. But he searched the drawing harder, desperate to find any clue that would give merit to the hope now rising in his chest and threatening to cut off his circulation.

There. Sudden joy pierced his lungs and Jacob exhaled sharply. In the bottom left corner were scrawled initials.

O.H.

Marissa stood by the face painting tables once again, watching as Owen remained shockingly still for the college student hovering over his cheek with a brush. She had yet to find Jacob to show him their square, but Owen insisted he couldn’t wait another minute to get his face done. She’d have to keep searching for Jacob when Owen was through. Jittery nerves clawed her senses and she shifted her weight, ready to find Jacob and see his reaction before she could dare to hope any further.
The future had never been so uncertain, yet she had to stand here beside a bright palette of colors as if everything were normal.

With red paint, the teen carefully began the outline of a fire truck. For the first time, the sight brought more joy than pain, and Marissa drew a deep breath of relief.
Thank You, Lord.
She could do this, with God’s help. One fire truck at a time.

“Marissa!”

She heard Jacob’s voice before she saw him, his tone loud and slightly panicked. She turned and searched the crowd, finally spotting him jogging toward her. His wide smile disarmed the panic rising in her chest, and she clutched her heart as he came to a stop beside her. “You nearly scared me to death. Why all the yelling?” His grin was contagious, and she didn’t hesitate as he took her hand, threading his fingers through hers.

“I’ve been trying to find you.” His breathing slowed to a more regular pace and he shuffled a step closer. “I’ve looked everywhere.”

“So have I.” Marissa gulped at the emotion darkening his eyes and tried to decipher it. Hope. Fear. She could relate.

“I saw the chalk box.”

She licked her lips, anxiety cutting off all the words she’d planned to say.

He brushed his fingertips along the side of her cheek, and she shivered despite the noon sun shining down on them both. “Does it mean what I hope it means?”

Marissa nodded, catching his hand with her free one and clutching it close. “I realized something after leaving the hospital.” Tears burned the back of her throat, and she struggled to continue. “I’ve been so foolish. So afraid.”

Jacob tightened his grip on her hands, urging her to continue.

“But I don’t want to be scared anymore. It’s not about avoiding risks, but loving through them. Trusting through them.” She drew courage from Jacob’s strength and stared straight into his eyes, forgetting the fact that she was opening her heart before the entire community and her own son. “I’m choosing life. Choosing you.” She smiled as a rogue tear slipped down her cheek. “That is, if you’ll still have me.”

Jacob caught the tear with his finger and wiped it on his jeans. “That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard. Of course I’ll still have you.”

“We can talk to my dad together,” Marissa rushed, not wanting Jacob to yank back to reality as she’d done too many times before. “We can convince him, I’m sure of it. In fact, he’s supposed to be here today. Maybe we can—”

Jacob’s finger, still damp with her tears, pressed gently against her lips. “I’ve already handled it.”

Her eyes widened. “You talked to my dad? When?”

“After you left me in the hospital.”

He’d pursued her, even after her rejection? Respect and love flooded her veins and she stepped closer. “You’re my hero, you know that?”

“That’s all I want. I love you, Marissa.” He leaned forward, drawing her close and resting his forehead against hers. “And because of that, I’m taking a new job at work as a driver.”

Marissa jerked back. “Driver? But what about firefighting?”

Jacob explained the rules of his new promotion. “I would still fight some fires, but not as many. I’d be manning the truck on calls.” He shrugged. “You and Owen are worth more to me than any job.”

“I can’t let you change positions because of me.” Marissa shook her head, regret squeezing her chest in a
vice. It sounded tempting, so very tempting, but she wouldn’t let their relationship begin on resentment.