Men In Uniform: Burning For The Fireman. Barbara McMahon

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СКАЧАТЬ kind of surprise? It’s not his birthday.” Cristiano was glad it was not a surprise party for him. Why did women want to have those?

      “Just a surprise. But I don’t want him to suspect, so, if you’re well again, I thought we could say it was a celebration of your recovery. That way he will know about it, but not that it’s for him.”

      “I’ve been fine for a few weeks now.”

      “Not that any of us knew. I haven’t seen you since you got home from hospital. If you’re really okay, come by the restaurant one day. Come to dinner.”

      “I’ll let you know.”

      “Keep the last Saturday free for the party.”

      Once he hung up, Cristiano almost groaned. Attending a party was the last thing he wanted. Yet how could he continue to deny his family? He missed them. He was fortunate to have a brother and sister, cousins. An aunt he didn’t see much of. Still, maybe he could manage one evening.

      He resumed his work on the child’s table, thinking about the baby, trying to picture him growing up. The countryside was beautiful here. Maybe they could spend holidays in Lake Clarissa. There were endless acres of forest a young boy could safely explore. Water sports in summer on the lake. He worried Dante might dart into traffic in Rome or wander away and get lost and who would know him to help him home? No wonder Mariella worried—there was a lot to worry about when thinking of raising a child. His admiration rose at her willingness to take on that role.

      He finished cutting the pieces by late afternoon, telling himself over and over their future had nothing to do with his. Cleaning up, he headed inside. The balmy fall weather couldn’t continue forever. He’d eat his dinner on the patio if it wasn’t too cold, watching the last of the sunshine as the shadows of night crossed the lake.

      And he’d try to keep his mind off Mariella and the baby.

      As he cooked dinner he realized it had been days since he’d had a nightmare or flashback. The night of the fire had been bad, but since then—nothing. Maybe he truly was getting better. Too early to know for sure. He’d gone several days between episodes before.

      Still, if he continued this way, he’d make it back.

      If not, he had a long, lonely life ahead of him.

      Conscious of how fast her vacation time was speeding by, Mariella placed Dante in the stroller the next morning, making sure she had bottles and baby cereal, and headed out. The weather was ominous with dark clouds on the horizon and a breeze that was stronger than before. She hoped it wouldn’t rain before she got to the cottage. Surely if it began after she arrived, Cristiano would give her a ride back to the village.

      She wore her sweatshirt and jeans and wished when the wind blew that she’d bought a coat. But she had winter clothes back in Rome so had not needed to spend the money. She would have to return home sooner if the weather got worse.

      Rounding the bend before the cottage, she shivered. It was growing colder by the minute and the dark clouds building on the horizon indicated it would surely storm before long. Maybe she should have stayed at the guest cottage. But her time with Cristiano was precious.

      She reached the house and was disappointed not to find Cristiano sitting on the patio. Not that anyone in their right mind would be sitting out on a day like today, she thought. Knocking on the door, she blew on her hands. Unprotected while pushing the stroller, they were freezing. She checked Dante, and he smiled his grin at her. He was bundled up and felt warm against her fingers. Of course, they were so cold, how could she judge?

      She knocked again.

      There was no reply. Moving to the window, she peered inside. The living room was empty; no lights were on even though it was growing darker by the moment. A gust of wind swirled a handful of leaves around, dancing near her, then moving off the patio.

      Mariella heard a high whine from a power saw. She pushed the stroller around the cottage and heard the sound again, coming from a small shed at the far back of the cleared area. The stroller was hard to push on the uneven ground, but if Cristiano was there, she needed to find him. It looked as if it would pour down rain at any moment.

      She found the door opened. Cristiano stood with his back to it, cutting a piece of wood. Pushing the baby inside, she was glad to be out of the wind. It felt much warmer in the shed, though she didn’t see any sign of a heating unit.

      She did see lovely pieces of furniture on one side. Cristiano cut another piece of wood and the baby shrieked at the sound.

      He stopped suddenly and spun around.

      “I didn’t know you were here,” he said with a frown. Reaching back, he turned off the saw. “Did you drive?”

      “No, we walked. I think it’s going to rain.”

      “It’s supposed to storm.” He took off safety glasses and tossed them on the wood. Walking over, he grinned at Dante.

      “Hey, little guy. You warm enough?”

      “Of course, I wrapped him well. I have a favor to ask.” She had thought up the request on her walk up—to give herself a reason and not look so blatantly as if she couldn’t stay away.

      “What?” he asked warily, looking at her.

      “Nothing dangerous, though I thought firefighters risked their lives daily for people. Are you telling me you wouldn’t even do a little favor that does not involve risk of life or limb?”

      “I’m waiting to hear what it is.” He stood back up and crossed his arms across his chest, watching her.

      Dante played happily with the plastic keys he was gnawing on. Mariella stepped around the stroller.

      “Friday is Ariana’s birthday. I wanted to go to the cemetery and put some flowers on her grave. A quick trip to Rome would enable me to get some winter clothes. Signora Bertatali said she’d watch Dante.”

      The thought of going with her to Rome made the bile rise in his throat. It was too soon. He wasn’t ready. He stepped away, looking through the door, seeing the back of the cottage and the trees beyond. He couldn’t see the lake from here. A moment went by. He wasn’t flashing back to the subway tunnel. He took a deep breath, testing his reactions. Nothing. He could hear the baby with the keys, see Mariella from the corner of his eye. No flashback, no terror residual from the bombing.

      He had to return to Rome sometime. What better than a fleeting visit knowing he could return to the cottage within hours? Maybe he worried for nothing. Maybe the worst was past and he could move on.

      He could visit Stephano’s grave.

      Cristiano had not been able to attend Stephano’s funeral. He’d been in hospital. Nor had he attended any of the many services for all the victims he had been unable to save. Rome had been in mourning for weeks. He’d escaped the worst of it drugged for pain and undergoing skin grafting for his burned hand.

      He’d pictured it a thousand times, though. Stephano’s coffin lowered into the ground. His wife weeping. His parents stunned with the loss of their only son. He drew in a breath, trying to capture the scent of sawdust to ground him in the present.

      The faint hint of flowers caught СКАЧАТЬ