A Firefighter's Promise. Patricia Johns

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      She shook her head. “I have to admit, I’m still angry about his death.”

      “It was pointless,” he said.

      “Exactly. Pointless. But that’s what firefighters do. They put themselves in harm’s way in order to save people.”

      “Did they save lives that day?” he asked. The risk was worth it if lives were saved—that was what kept a firefighter going.

      “The truck driver didn’t make it out...” She looked away toward her son, playing video games. “They both died that day.”

      No rescues. Two deaths. His stomach sank.

      “When you’re in that kind of situation,” he said, “your training has to move faster than your emotions do. You let your brain catch up when there’s time. Your husband was in the zone. He wouldn’t have been afraid, if that helps you at all.”

      “It does, actually.”

      He could tell that she hadn’t made her peace with everything yet, and he couldn’t blame her. It had been a year since Natalie Martin’s death, and he still hadn’t made his peace with it. She hadn’t been the first person to die in a fire, and she wouldn’t be the last. They were only people putting it all on the line for other people’s families, but somehow this one little girl had gotten past all his defenses.

      “Are you a Christian, Matt?”

      Matt pulled his mind back from the precipice. “I am.”

      “Me, too.” Rachel’s gaze roamed over the restaurant, settling on her son across the room. “Does it help?”

      “I suppose my faith is a part of everything I do,” he said quietly. “But even faith doesn’t answer every question, does it?”

      “I suppose not.” She pushed her glossy waves away from her face. “You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?”

      “There are people who have gone through far worse than I ever have.”

      An image of Natalie’s grief-stricken parents arose in his mind. They’d been in shock, their faces white, their eyes begging him to take it all away as if that fire-retardant suit gave him supernatural power. But he couldn’t. Natalie was part of the reason why he needed to learn about children. Natalie had run from him when he came to rescue her...and he never wanted that to happen again.

      “Look,” Matt said, tearing his mind away from those old wounds. “Do you think you could give me some of those tips for working with kids?”

      “Now?” She took a sip of her pop.

      “How about tomorrow? If that isn’t too soon.”

      “I’d be happy to.” She nodded. “I can bring by a few resources, if I find the right box tonight. What time works for you?”

      “How about two at my office?”

      She smiled. “Sure.”

      Chris came dashing back across the room, zigzagging around tables. He arrived at their table, out of breath and with a grin on his face.

      “I won something!” He held up a small stuffed rabbit in a victorious display. As the boy exuberantly showed his mother his hard-won prize, Matt fell gratefully silent. He’d done enough talking, more than he’d ever intended. He took a deep breath, mentally steeling himself.

      “It’s really hard to get one,” Chris was explaining. “It came down like this—” He used his hand to mime the game. “And then it went like this...”

      Rachel’s gaze flickered in Matt’s direction and her gentle eyes crinkled into a smile. Before he could catch himself, he felt his own return grin tickling the corners of his lips. He picked up the dessert menu, a sundae awash in chocolate sauce and crowned with fluffy whipped cream emblazoned across the top.

      “Let’s order that ice cream. What do you say?”

Chapter Three

      The next afternoon, Rachel leaned back in the chair across from Matt’s desk. The air-conditioning felt good after a morning of unpacking in the overheated house. Most people had personal effects in their work space, but Matt didn’t seem to have much. No pictures of pets or family, no crayon artwork, no tacky gag gifts. This space shone clean and efficient. Her desk at school was always covered with “I love my teacher” gifts and eraser collections. The kids liked to come look at her desk, and she’d use the erasers as rewards for good behavior through the year. Perhaps it was her background in elementary education, but this amount of order seemed sad. Everyone needed a little love, and love, most often, came in the form of some organized chaos.

      Then again, that might be the mother in her, too.

      Matt leaned forward, catching her eye as her gaze swung back to where the big firefighter sat across from her in his desk.

      “And this will work?” he asked.

      “Teaching is less of a science and more of an art,” she admitted, pulling her mind back to her purpose in this pristine space. “When you have the same class every day, you learn which children get distracted more easily and which catch on more quickly. But when you have a different group of children every day, it’s more challenging.”

      She’d been giving him a quick introduction to elementary-aged teaching, and he’d taken a few notes and questioned her for the past half hour. He seemed serious about this, which impressed her. Not many people worked so hard to improve their weak areas.

      “So you’re saying to keep them engaged individually, and that will encourage them to pay attention.”

      “Exactly.” She nodded. “If you call on kids randomly to ask them questions, ask their opinion or just use them in an example, the kids will want to listen because they might get your attention next. There will always be a few who distract the class, but at least you’ll have most of their attention.”

      “So this is pretty much on-the-fly decision making.”

      “Pretty much,” she agreed. “It takes a little practice, but it works.”

      “What about a problem kid?” he asked.

      “A ringleader of sorts?”

      “Exactly. How do you deal with one causing trouble?”

      “Engage him. You don’t have time to discipline or anything like that. You’re trying to give them information in a way that they’ll remember it. That’s all. You won’t be seeing these kids again, so don’t make it into a power struggle. You want to get the ringleader’s attention and ask him for his opinion about something. Don’t make it into a punishment. Ask him honestly. You’ll have the entire class’s attention, including your ringleader. That’s priceless.”

      “Great,” he said, jotting something down on paper.

      “And then there is always The Look. Most of the time a warning СКАЧАТЬ