Fireproof (14 page)

There were some things too shameful to divulge, even to her mother.

The Internet, as great a tool as it was, had also brought temptation into her home, only a few keystrokes away from her husband's itchy fingers. Times had changed. In her mother's era, such things were hidden in boxes in the attic or garage. Now lurid images could be loaded onto the computer screen whenever he desired.

How could Catherine possibly compete with that?

“I don't know what to do,” she mumbled.

She wasn't an airbrushed image. She required actual care and devotion—things Caleb seemed to have forgotten.

Her mother reached out and touched her knee.

Catherine tried again. “You don't know what I've been competing with. I mean, when he looks . . .”Her voice failed her completely this time. Her lips quivered with the feelings of betrayal that had lurked beneath the surface for months. She buried her face in her hands, felt the prick of tears at her eyes. She pulled her hair back, shaking her head. “He makes me feel so humiliated, and he doesn't even know it.”

Mrs. Campbell gripped her hand, holding on tight.

“When,Mama?”With tears rolling down her cheeks, Catherine met her mother's eyes. “When did I stop being good enough for him?”

THE NEXT TWO weeks passed with no discernible improvement. Caleb followed each day's suggestions from his dad's notebook, but they seemed like small pebbles stacked against a flood of old patterns and emotions.

How did that saying go?
“Insanity is doing the same thing over and over, while expecting different results.”

That described this futile exercise to a T.

Of course, his dad would probably tell him that sometimes you did the same thing over and over because it was the right thing to do, regardless.

With these thoughts rumbling through his head, Caleb found himself once again at the computer on his day off. He reached for the Power button, then hesitated. He'd wasted hours yesterday, thinking of boats and fishing and time alone and other things he knew were off-limits to a married man—which only made them more enticing, of course.

He raised his head, took a deep breath.

On the wall, a large rectangular panel of dark wood hung as a keepsake from his grandfather. Crafted by the old man's hands, the panel had once graced the lobby of a church on the outskirts of town.

In 1982, the building had crumbled in a fire. Caleb, only eight years old, had been there with his family among the onlookers. Aghast, they'd watched the firefighters battle the blaze, and to this day Caleb could feel the heat on his face and taste the ash that had curled through the night. The steeple burned like a torch lifted high into the sky, smoking as a heavy rain began to fall.

That evening, Caleb knew what he wanted to do when he grew up.

This panel, salvaged from wreckage and returned to its original splendor, was a tangible reminder of his purpose, his heritage, and the suddenness with which life could take a disastrous turn. The words “Live—Laugh—Love” lined the tan middle portion. Furthermore, the panel hung as a symbol of his grandfather's godly demeanor and of the words that now graced the man's tombstone:

“In life, a friend of all . . . In death, a friend of God's.”

Caleb snatched his hand back from the computer.

What was he doing?

Taking hold of Catherine's college graduation photo next to the monitor, he thought about the woman who had stolen his heart there in the firehouse bay ten years earlier.

And he made his decision.

There came a time to start putting out fires, and that time was now. He shoved back in his chair and walked away from the computer desk.

CATHERINE SPENT THE next two weeks going through the motions of work and public relations. She tuned out Caleb's meager advances and gestures, determined that she would no longer play the fool in this relationship.

Yesterday she'd put on a brave face for the cameras, standing before Phoebe Putney's hedged garden area, answering questions from a female reporter. She'd cradled her hands in front of her, a picture of professionalism.

When it came to her husband, though . . .

The answer, Catherine had decided, was to stop trying, stop caring, and stop feeling. Like a local anesthetic, this tactic actually seemed to work.

She was no longer dying inside.

Or, if she was, she couldn't feel it. And that was all that mattered.

“Catherine,” Gavin said, catching her in the corridor on the fifth floor. “Have you taken a break yet this morning?”

“Uh, no. I was—”

“It's a beautiful day. Would you like to join me out by the fountain?”

“Sure, Gavin,” she said. “I've got a few things to put in my office, but I'll meet you out there in five minutes, okay?”

“Make it ten. I'll stop at the café and grab us some drinks.”

“Mmm. Sounds good.”

“A skinny vanilla latte for you, is that right?”

“How'd you know?”

“I pay attention.” Although the doctor's tone was polite, the passion in his gaze was undeniable.

“I'm impressed, Gavin.”

“Well, good. That's what I was hoping for.”

She joined him there ten minutes later, on schedule. As the fountain bubbled, she did too, reacting to his dry humor and brightening at his flattery. She was a married woman, true. But he didn't know that, not since she had removed her ring and left it in the dresser drawer. Of course, Gavin might've heard it through the hospital grapevine—there was no stopping the rumor mill around this place—but he might assume that she was currently separated.

His intentions are completely noble
, she told herself.

Hers, on the other hand, were not quite so honorable. She'd pointed the finger at Caleb, but was this really any different?

She pushed that thought aside and laughed at Gavin's next joke.

By increments, she was giving herself away.

A FEW MONTHS ago, Catherine would've seen it as a black-and-white matter. She should not be opening her heart to another man—not to mention that workplace romances were almost always ill-advised. At twenty-eight years of age, she knew better.

These days, however, the matter didn't seem so clear-cut.

She felt her heart skip a beat as she entered her office and saw something waiting for her beside her business-card holder.

It was a Hallmark greeting card, accompanied by a single long-stemmed rose. Already, the deep red petals were sending their sweet aroma through the room.

For a moment, she wondered if it could be from Caleb. He never visited her here at work, but he had been acting strangely the past few weeks. Maybe this was another one of his attempts to soften her up for the kill.

She settled into her chair and lifted the rose, holding off on opening the card. She drew in the bloom's soft scent with eyes closed.

Caleb?

Or Gavin?

She pulled out the card and, at the sight of the doctor's scribbled signature, felt a heady delirium rush through her. It reminded her of falling in love all over again, and she dashed from her office.

She found the good doctor in the corridor. “Thanks, Gavin.”

“You're welcome,” he said.“My pleasure.”

“That was very thoughtful of you.”

“So, my bedside manner is improving?” Behind placid eyes, his question was loaded with innuendo.

Catherine leaned back against a door frame, clutching her planner, lifting one foot up on her toes. She knew Tasha was just over there, within earshot, at a desk. In her peripheral vision, she also spotted her friend Anna eyeing her from across the nurses' station.

None of that seemed to matter.

“Oh,” she said, “we've had a few complaints, Doctor, but one particular woman says you've been as nice as can be.”

“You mean the great-great-grandmother on the second floor?”

“Don't give me that.” Catherine leaned forward, laughing, and squeezed his hand in a playful gesture. “You know exactly who I mean.”

Gavin smiled. “I'm beginning to think that I do.”

From the left, Catherine felt Anna's stare drilling into her with unspoken accusations, but she refused to pay it any heed. Let the older nurse think what she wanted. Catherine was a grown woman and she could make her own decisions. This was her life.

And no one else's, thank you.

CHAPTER 20

L
ieutenant Simmons was manning the barbecue on the station's side patio. Grease sizzled, coals spat, and the scent of grilled meat wafted through the air. Close by, Caleb was reading this day's entry in
The Love Dare
. Recently, he'd been sharing portions of it with his friend.

Simmons flipped medium-well-done patties onto a plate, then looked up from beneath his fireman's ball cap. “So what day are you on, Caleb?”

“Eighteen.”

“And?”

Caleb glanced back at the men circling the ladder truck. Although they were doing their job, probably paying no attention to his conversation, he didn't feel like sharing the details of his little dare. Simmons was his friend, and that's as far as this would go.

Simmons flipped another burger.

“And,” Caleb answered, “it's still difficult. Every day has me adding a new concept to the way I treat Catherine.”

“For example?”

“Well, here . . . Day Sixteen was about praying for her.” He looked up. “I kinda skipped that one.” He flipped the pages and continued.“Day Seventeen was about listening to her, and Eighteen's about studying her again.”

“Studying her?”

“Yeah. Here . . .” Caleb read aloud: “‘When a man is trying to win the heart of a woman, he studies her. He learns her likes, dislikes, habits, and hobbies. But after he wins her heart and marries her, he often stops learning about her.'”

Simmons scraped at the grill, all ears.

“‘If the amount he studied her before marriage was equal to a high school degree,'” Caleb continued, “‘he should continue to learn about her until he gains a college degree, a master's degree, and ultimately a doctorate degree. It is a lifelong journey that draws his heart ever closer to hers.'”

“That's a pretty good concept. I never thought about it like that.”

“So do you study Tina?”

Simmons tilted his head. “Yeah, but I don't think I've got my college degree on her yet.”

Caleb smirked and looked down at the notebook.

“You think maybe I could borrow that book?”

Caleb's head snapped back up. “You?”

“Just to brush up, you know? Maybe work on my master's.”

“You don't need it. You and Tina, you seem pretty happy together.”

“That's exactly why we need it.”

“You lost me.”

“Well,” Simmons said, “you know how we're always trying to teach fire prevention around here, going into the schools, doing community work and all?”

“Yeah?”

“You and Catherine, me and Tina—we're in the hot seats. Just 'cause we wear the rings doesn't mean we're safe. We have to do all we can to keep our relationships fireproof.”

Caleb let that sink in, while choosing not to dwell on his wife's absent ring.

“So,” Simmons said. “Tell me a little bit more about, uh, studying her.”

“Well, I'm supposed to make her a candlelight dinner and then ask her a whole list of questions.”

“Hmm. My advice is, go all out.”

Caleb wore a confused expression.“Meaning?”

“Don't go cheap. If you don't cook, get it from a good restaurant. Take it home, use your best dishes, glasses, music . . . everything.” Simmons aimed the grill spatula at Caleb. “You make sure it's a memorable date.”

KP: KITCHEN PATROL. Terrell chose to sweep while Wayne was left to do the dishes. The driver seemed okay with that, smiling, boasting as usual, as he cleared the table and shoveled garbage into the trash can.

“I just tell 'em I'm a fireman,” Wayne said, “and the women can't stay away.”

Terrell came to a halt. “What women?”

“The ones kissin' up to me every Friday night.”

“Man, whatchu talkin' about? You ain't had a date in a year.”

“Hey, I'm like a fine wine. I need about thirty-five years to reach perfection.”Wayne tossed down a napkin, sucked in his gut, and gestured at himself.“But the lady that gets Wayne Floyd, she'll get a complete package.”

“You mean, a complete wreckage.”

“Nah. I'm two hundred and fifty-five pounds of pure love. All you need to make marriage work is a li'l bit of romance, and that comes from right here.”With two fingers,Wayne inscribed a heart on the front of his blue Fire/Rescue shirt.

“What?”Terrell could hardly believe his ears.“That's easy to say when you ain't never been married. I been with my wife almost five years, and it's a lot harder than you think, man.”

Terrell continued to pepper the driver with jibes and sarcasm, yet none of it was mean-spirited. Wayne was Terrell's opposite—tall, Caucasian as they came, blue-eyed, and blond. Their camaraderie as firemen was only strengthened by the playful banter. Sometimes Terrell even lay in bed just thinking of new ways to get under Wayne's skin.

Some nights that's all Terrell Sanders had to think upon.

Truth was, the past few months his wife had made a habit of sleeping on the couch or going to her sister's place downtown by the river.

Yeah, marriage was hard. No doubt about that.

Wayne was not to be discouraged, though. Not tonight.

He put glasses away in a cupboard and said,“You watch,Terrell. One day I'm gonna walk in here with a tanned beauty on my arm, and I'll show you how easy it can be.”

Captain Caleb Holt walked in, trailing barbecue smoke and a pair of bees as he brought plates and condiments from the outside patio area.

“I'm tellin' you,Wayne . . .” Terrell propped both hands on his broom handle and jeered. “The only thing you'll ever come in here with, hanging from your arm, is a bucket o' chicken.”