Love Inspired May 2015 #2 (47 page)

Matt's gaze moved around the yard. A bike leaned against a scrawny apple tree, and a couple of yellow tractors sat in the middle of a flower bed. A roll of carpet lay, awkwardly bent in the center, by the blackened garbage can, and he frowned.

“What were you going to do with that carpet?” he asked.

Soft laughter bubbled up inside her. “I don't know. I think I wanted to hit the fire with it.”

Matt shot her a grin. “That's pretty heavy. If you'd been twice as big, it might have worked.”

“If you hadn't arrived when you did, I might have had to give it a try,” she retorted.

“You think on your feet.” He eyed her, impressed. She might be petite and appear to be as fragile as a teacup, but she had strength under there.

“Thanks.”

Matt shot Rachel a sympathetic smile.

“Normally, people start fires for profit—you know, insurance money, that sort of thing—but when kids do it, it's because they're mad and they don't have any other outlet.”

“If he is, it's my fault.”

“If he is that angry, it's resolvable,” he countered. “You can figure it out. I have the business cards of some family therapists, if you're interested.”

“Thanks.” She smiled wanly. “I'm not sure what I want to do yet, but I appreciate it.”

“Tough day, huh?” he said. “I guess you'll want to stay home tonight.”

“No, I want to go,” she said.

“You sure?” He didn't want to pressure her, take her away from her son when he needed her most.

“Yes, I'm sure.” She pushed herself to her feet. “I'll bring Chris with me, though. He could use a little fire-safety talk, and I think I could use the comfort of some church.”

She wiped at her cheeks one last time, smearing the dirt again. She had no idea how ruffled or endearing she looked right now, and for the life of him, he wished that he could comfort her. But before he could try, she pushed herself to her feet.

“Come on in. I won't be too long,” she said, sucking in a shaky breath.

He had nothing left to do but follow her into the house.

* * *

The Haggerston Christian Assembly was located in the downtown core of the town. It was a newer building, cheerful brick with a white steeple and cross rising up from a sloping roof. A church sign announced Fire Safety for the Community. Everyone Welcome. As they stepped into the foyer, Rachel steered Chris over to the side and bent down to his level.

“How are you doing?” she asked quietly.

“Okay.”

“That fire was pretty scary, wasn't it?”

“But Mr. Bailey put it out.”

“Yes, he did.” She brushed a wisp of his hair of his forehead. “And God took care of us, too.”

Chris nodded. “Are you sure you aren't mad?”

“Is there a reason I should be?” she asked carefully.

“No.”

“I'm not mad, Chris. I was really scared. I didn't want anything to happen to you, and I didn't want our new home to burn down.”

“Okay.”

“I love you, honey,” she said softly. “More than anything in the whole world. Do you know that?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.” She kissed his forehead. “I know we hadn't planned for you to come with me, but are you going to sit quietly for me while we listen to Mr. Bailey's presentation?”

He nodded. While she wanted to believe otherwise, the unpleasant suspicion that her son had started the fire nagged at the back of her mind, and she pushed it aside. There was time enough to sort it out later, and he wasn't in any present danger, thanks to Matt's timely arrival.

“Let's go in and sit down,” Matt suggested. “After the song service, I'm up.”

The back was blessedly empty, and they slid onto the polished pew. Matt's knee jiggled and when she glanced at him, he stopped the movement and gave her an apologetic shrug. He glanced around the sanctuary, and for the first time Rachel realized that he wasn't comfortable here—and she was pretty sure it wasn't anxiety over a presentation.

“You aren't much of a churchgoer, are you?” she whispered.

“Not lately.”

She nodded. Faith and church were personal, and she didn't want to pry into more than he was willing to share. They sat together as the preliminaries were taken care of—welcoming members of the community for this fire-safety seminar and making a few announcements about an upcoming wedding shower. Chris grabbed a pencil and a tithe envelope from the back of the pew, and she knew that he wanted to draw, but she tapped his knee and shook her head.

“Pay attention,” she whispered. “I want you to listen.”

When Matt's time came, he rose to his feet and headed toward the front of the church. Rachel put her arm across the back of the pew behind her son. Matt accepted the mic from the man who had announced him, and his gaze moved over the audience, settling on Rachel. He smiled ever so slightly, and she found herself smiling back. Matt's voice echoed warmly around the church as he began his talk, and she settled into the back pew once more. He was eloquent and personable, but she could see why he had trouble speaking with smaller children—teenagers were his perfect audience. The teenagers were enthralled with his stories and looked generally in awe of him. She couldn't blame them. He spoke about the dangers of fire, how he prayed before dashing into each smoking building and how sad he was because most of those fires had been preventable. From there, he moved into some simple ways to protect homes and buildings from the risk of fire. She was impressed.

The talk went well, and when it was over, they filed out and Rachel and Chris met up with Matt in the foyer. He raised his eyebrows questioningly.

“So?” he asked quietly. “How was I?”

“Excellent.” She shook her head. “You're a wonderful public speaker.”

“Thanks, but I need some tips...”

“You don't need any for an older age group,” she said. “You had their attention the entire time, but I can see why younger kids are a challenge. Your natural presentation style is better suited to an older audience.”

“See?” He grinned. “This is what I need to hear.”

“With smaller children, your anecdotes would have to be much shorter—and less intense, of course.” She paused as Chris came up beside her. She looked down at her son. “Did you learn anything?”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “I want to be a firefighter when I grow up.”

Rachel smiled, then faltered. Had she achieved her goal here? She wasn't sure.

“Let's head out,” Matt said, putting a hand in the small of her back and guiding them toward the door.

Someone tapped her arm and she turned to see a woman in her forties. She wore a floral dress and had her graying hair cropped short.

“May I speak with you a moment?” the woman asked quietly.

Rachel nodded and hung back. Matt and Chris carried on toward the front door, Matt pausing to speak with a few people on the way. Rachel smiled uncertainly.

The woman opened one hand, revealing a pack of matches. Rachel reached out tentatively and picked them up.

Alphonzo's Pizza
.

“Where did you get these?” Rachel asked.

“Your son accidentally dropped them.” She smiled gently. “Mom to mom, I thought you might want to know.”

“Thanks.”

Rachel opened the pack to find only two matches remaining. Her stomach sank and tears pricked her eyes. It looked like the confirmation she'd been so afraid of.

“I'm Wendy Martin, by the way,” the woman said with a gentle smile.

“I'm Rachel Carter. Nice to meet you.” Rachel blinked back the mist of tears. “I'm sorry, I don't mean to be so emotional. It's been one of those days.”

“Don't I know about that?” Wendy squeezed her hand sympathetically. “Hang in there. Parenting isn't for the faint of heart.”

Sometimes it took another mother to understand these things. She glanced in Matt's direction. He stood at the front door of the church, said goodbye to a young family and turned toward her. He smiled at her, but when his gaze landed on Wendy, he froze for an instant, and he pasted on a professional smile. Rachel could recognize the difference.

“Hello,” Wendy said quietly as they walked up, and she and Matt exchanged an unfathomable look.

“Mrs. Martin.” Matt cleared his throat. “It's nice to see you.”

Wendy put her hand out to shake his but got no response, so let her hand drop, just as Matt responded to her initial gesture a beat too late. She laughed uncomfortably and put her hand out again and they shook awkwardly.

“It's nice to see you, too,” she said. “In church, I mean.” She cleared her throat. “It's nice.”

“I'm afraid you just caught us on our way out,” Matt said.

“Oh, of course.” Wendy nodded quickly and took a step back. “Well, take care.”

“You, too.”

Matt's gaze swept over them, any earlier intimacy sealed away behind that professional veneer. He reached out and put a warm hand on Rachel's arm, but when she looked up at him questioningly, she couldn't get past that grim reserve.

As they stepped outside, she voiced her confusion.

“What happened in there?” she asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Wendy Martin—is she related to Natalie?”

Matt didn't answer, and they walked toward his truck in silence.

“Who is Natalie?” Chris piped in curiously.

“Never mind, honey,” she said quickly. She'd explain later, as best she could, but this wasn't a conversation to have in front of Matt. He was most certainly not past the pain of that fire, but she didn't understand the tension between him and Wendy Martin—unless she was the mother.

Matt opened the back door to his pickup and Chris hopped inside. He slammed it shut, then turned to Rachel, his eyes clouded with dark emotions.

“Things get complicated in a place this size,” he said, his voice low. “Really complicated.”

“Is she Natalie's mom?” Rachel asked.

“Yeah. You know how you talk about how a fresh start is the answer?”

Rachel nodded mutely.

“Well, I need this job in South Maitland. Badly.”

He opened her door and gave her a hand up into the cab. When she was seated, he slammed it shut before heading around to the other side. She looked out the window to see Wendy Martin standing with a group of people in front of the church, but she was looking toward Matt's truck, an unreadable expression on her face.

Natalie's mother
.

Rachel couldn't imagine the kind of pain that woman had endured losing her daughter. She couldn't fully appreciate the pain Matt faced in not being able to save the child. She looked down at the pack of matches in her hand, her own parental misgivings rising up inside her.

Matt paused outside the truck to talk briefly with a man, and Rachel took the opportunity to talk to her son.

“Chris,” she said, turning around. “Are these yours?”

She held out the matches, and Chris blanched.

“Are they?” she pressed.

He nodded.

“And did you start that fire today?” She kept her voice gentle and low.

Chris nodded, his lips quivering. “I didn't mean for it to get that big.”

“I believe you,” she said quietly. “I wish you would have told me the truth before.”

“I couldn't. Not with Mr. Bailey there.”

She nodded, a lump rising in her throat. Confession wasn't easy, and she'd put him on the spot with an audience. “But you know not to ever do that again, don't you?”

“I won't,” he whispered. “Not ever. I promise.”

She reached back and took his hand, and then Matt pulled open the driver's side door. This situation was so much bigger than she knew how to handle. What they all needed right now was God's guidance.

Chapter Seven

T
he next afternoon, Rachel frowned at her computer screen, tabbing down a list of articles. An untouched plate of watermelon sat beside her, and a breeze whisked through the window, stirring the hair that lay on her moist forehead. The smell of smoke still lingered in the air from the day before.

“Hello!” Aunt Louise sang out, knocking at the front door. “Anybody home?”

“In the kitchen!” Rachel called back, not stirring from her spot. The screen door banged and her aunt appeared around the corner, a bag of fresh corn on the cob in one hand.

“I brought some corn for the birthday party,” Aunt Louise said, depositing her gift on the kitchen table. She looked over Rachel's shoulder at the laptop screen. “What're you doing?”

“I'm trying to figure something out,” Rachel replied, shooting her aunt a smile. “And I think I need your help.”

Aunt Louise looked down at Rachel's laptop in interest, pulling up a chair. “I'll do what I can.”

“Three years ago, there was a school fire here in town,” Rachel said.

“Yes, of course. That poor little girl died. It was awful.”

Rachel nodded. “What do you remember about that?”

“Why the sudden interest?” Aunt Louise asked. “You aren't reconsidering your job at the school, are you?”

“No, no,” Rachel replied with a shake of her head. “It's hard to explain, but I need to know more.”

“Because of Matt Bailey.”

Heat rose in her cheeks. “Sort of.”

Louise shot her an amused look. “I don't see any other reason why you'd be so interested in all the minor details.”

“I suppose this is about Matt. I just don't understand it. He's very private, and I know about the fire, but I also saw something at the church yesterday.”

“What?” The older woman leaned forward.

“Weird tension,” she replied. “And since I can't figure out what to do with my son at the moment, I've decided to try to figure this out instead.”

Upstairs, Chris's voice, singing his own version of “She'll Be Coming Round the Mountain,” rang out, and both women looked upward.

“Did he set the fire?” Louise asked, her voice low.

“Yes.”

“On purpose?”

Rachel shook her head. “He's seven. I don't think he fully understood the consequences of a lit match.”

“You know that saying, sometimes a cigar is just a cigar?” Louise asked.

“Sometimes a fire is just a fire?” Rachel sighed.

“Sometimes a child's mistake is just a mistake and not a sign of impending doom. I seem to remember you launching yourself out a window with a plastic shopping bag for a parachute, and you weren't suicidal.”

“No, but I broke my ankle.”

Her aunt nodded. “That you did. Your mom told me that you were the most popular kid in school that September. It didn't end your life. I know this is serious, but be careful how you handle it. Kids are like self-fulfilling prophecies. If you treat them like delinquents, they tend to meet expectations.”

Overhead, Chris plowed into the second verse of the song, and Rachel nodded. Even if there were bigger issues at play, he was happy and playing for the time being.

“You're right, Auntie,” she said.

“Good, now on to this handsome firefighter of yours,” Louise said with a smile. “What do you want to know?”

“What happened?” Rachel asked.

“There was a fire.” Louise sighed. “They say a parent started it. His wife left him and she got full custody of the kids. He wanted his family back, but he had some large emotional problems. He set the fire and thought he would swoop in and save his kids and prove something to them, or their mother. The school went up in flames and almost all the kids got out, except for Natalie. They couldn't account for her. Matthew Bailey went once more after the rest had given up, and by the time he brought her out—” Louise stopped.

None of this was new information, and it didn't explain what she'd seen. She was silent for a moment; then she asked, “How did the community react?”

“In grief, of course.” Louise picked up a piece of watermelon, then put it back on the plate without tasting it. “There were vigils in her honor, a plaque was put up at the school in her memory...” She frowned. “Last year, City Hall held a memorial day for the fire and collected donations to be given to a children's charity in Natalie Martin's name.”

“It sounds like they meant well,” Rachel said softly. “What about the family?”

“The mother was in the news at first, very tearful and heartbroken. She had other children to care for, though, and eventually the family asked for some privacy from the papers and local TV channels. Everyone respected that.”

Rachel pushed back her computer and sat in thoughtful silence for a moment. She could understand that desire to grieve alone, but something was missing in her mental picture of the tragedy.

“What about Matt?” she asked.

“What about him?”

“Was he ever mentioned in these tributes?”

“From time to time. He was the heroic firefighter who did his best.”

“A public memorial to his most crushing failure,” Rachel concluded.

Louise paused, then winced. “I don't think anyone meant it that way.”

“No, of course not.” She smiled sadly. “No one knows how to do these things. Grief is awkward and ugly. Memorials and tributes help to clean it up a little.”

Her aunt nodded sympathetically. “You understand him, don't you?”

Rachel glanced over in mild surprise. “I suppose I do, in a way.”

“Is he—” Louise looked to the side, then sighed. “Does the fire—”

The fire followed him, as did the memory of little Natalie, that much Rachel knew for a fact, but she also knew that he was too private to share that with just anyone. He shouldered his grief alone, and by some happenstance, he'd shared a small piece of it with her. She couldn't betray his confidence.

“I don't think it's the sort of thing that a man just forgets,” Rachel replied. “But I couldn't speak for him.”

“No, of course not,” Louise agreed.

Rachel clicked on a news photo of the previous year's memorial on her computer. The mayor held a large check for a children's hospital charity, given in Natalie Martin's name. In the background, Matt Bailey stood rigid and professional. His uniform was crisp and the buttons gleamed. His hat sat perfectly straight across his forehead, and his expression was as blank as a palace guard's, but something in his eyes gave her pause.

Agony
. His eyes betrayed the emotions battling inside him, the emotions no one else noticed in that brief moment, captured by camera.

If it isn't this job, it will be another one
, she realized
. He's leaving this town one way or another.

And she couldn't say that she blamed him.

* * *

Matt straightened his back and pushed the report across his desk. It had been a long morning of paperwork—prefire safety reports, employee fitness reviews and all the sundry running of a town fire department.

There was a tap on the door and Firefighter Johnson poked his head into the office.

“DC, we're heading out to get some lunch. Interested?”

“I'm good,” Matt replied with a wave of his hand. “Thanks, though.”

“Oh, we came across this...” The man tossed an envelope onto Matt's desk and Matt gave a distracted nod in thanks, shoving the envelope to the top of his inbox.

The door shut again, and Matt turned his attention back to the report. The words swam before his eyes and he rubbed his hands over his face. His arms and chest still burned from his morning workout—admittedly, a more intense workout than he normally did on a Monday morning. The weight room in the fire station always had at least one guy in it, lifting weights or running on the treadmill, but this morning Matt had had the machines to himself, which was just as well. He had a lot of frustration to purge from his system, and that kind of workout was most effective without an audience.

“What was I even thinking yesterday?” he muttered to himself.

He'd stayed away from church to avoid those awkward encounters like the one he'd had with Wendy Martin. He could deal with some discomfort, and he could recover from hard memories, but his biggest irritation was having Rachel front row center to see it all—that audience he so resented. It was more than that, though. Rachel was different. She wasn't a firefighter whose respect he needed to retain. She was... He sighed.

Don't go there
, he reminded himself.
No use starting something you can't finish.

His desk phone rang, and Matt picked up the receiver, grateful for some distraction.

“Deputy Chief Bailey,” he said.

“Hi, this is Abe Bernard. How are you?”

“Can't complain.” Matt's mind refocused and he pulled a hand through his hair. “What can I do for you?”

“I'm coming through Haggerston on Friday, and I was hoping to shadow you for a few hours and see you in action.”

“This is the observation that you emailed about, isn't it?” Matt asked with a smile.

“Yes, sir, it is.” Mr. Bernard agreed. “We are very impressed with you. This will be the last stage before we make a decision.”

Matt leaned across his desk to check the calendar and inwardly groaned. He'd be addressing a day camp full of kids that day. He'd decided to do the presentation himself so that Rachel could give him some tips with a younger group, but it looked as though time had run out.

“I could probably shift my schedule around a bit—” Matt began.

“If you need to, but I won't need any babysitting,” the other man said. “I'll just be there to observe. I'll need to see you in a managerial capacity, but before this process is done, I'll also want to see how you are with community groups.”

“You might get both on Friday,” Matt admitted grudgingly. “I'm going to be addressing a kids' day camp about fire safety.”

“Excellent,” Mr. Bernard crowed. “That would certainly speed things along for me. Do you have any questions at all?”

“I do,” Matt said. “How many candidates are there for this position?”

“Four, but I have to admit, you're standing out from the group. You've got the experience, the recommendations and the education.”

“That's good to hear,” Matt said, satisfaction flooding over him. Hopefully, his standing wouldn't change after Mr. Bernard saw him with a school group.

“I'll see you on Friday, Matt. Take care.”

As he hung up the phone, Matt nodded to himself. He'd worked hard toward a fire chief position for years. He was young, he knew. Most men put in a lot more time before they qualified for the position, but then he wasn't most men.

Lord, I've been working toward this since the beginning
, he prayed silently.
I want this.

Matt turned back to the paperwork, but his eye moved to the envelope on the top of papers. He paused for a moment, then reached over and picked it up. He slid a finger under the flap to tear the seal and looked inside to find a single Polaroid picture. Before he pulled it out, he knew what it was—a grainy photo of Matt sitting in one of the firehouse armchairs, a newborn in his arms. He looked awkward, the sleeping baby being the more comfortable of the two of them. With one hand he supported the infant's diapered rump, and with the other he held an empty baby bottle aloft. Written in ballpoint pen across the bottom were the words
Bailey's Baby
.

That was how everyone had referred to Christopher that night, and Matt recalled being mildly annoyed at the playful picture taking. Normally at that time of night they'd all be turned in for sleep in the bunks, but the hours stretched out in sleepless baby duties. All Christopher seemed to want to do was drink bottle after bottle and sleep in Matt's arms.

Secretly, under the gruff exterior, Matt had been proud that the baby preferred him, and when he handed the sleeping infant to the social worker, he'd felt a pang of loss.

Without ever meaning to, he'd bonded with the kid.

“I forgot we took this,” he murmured to himself, running his thumb over the thick edge of the photo. He moved to put it down, but then he changed his mind and tucked it into his front shirt pocket.

Glancing at his watch, he logged out of his computer and grabbed his hat. He had an appointment for a prefire inspection at Doug's Bakery. Doug wanted to renovate his kitchen, but he had to be sure he wouldn't be breaking any fire codes in the process. Matt couldn't really complain. Doug was not only the source of the best doughnuts in town; he was also Matt's second cousin. Matt needed this distraction. Work was better than overthinking the things he couldn't change.

* * *

Rachel scanned the bakery display case, filled with a mouthwatering array of chocolate-dipped cream puffs, sugar-powdered doughnuts and flaky turnovers. Just the aroma probably carried calories, and Rachel stared down at the options, attempting to exert some self-control. The sweet scent of baking wafted through the small shop. One whole wall was dedicated to a variety of freshly baked breads and bagels, and a platter of bread samples sat just out of her reach next to a little dish of butter. She eyed them hungrily.

“Can I help you, miss?” a teenage boy asked. He wore a white smock and a hair net—not a flattering look for the young man, but his smile was easy and his stance carefree.

“Yes, I'd like to order a birthday cake,” she replied, tearing her eyes from the cubes of rye bread and forcing herself back to the task at hand.

The young man pulled out a binder of cake options, and she flipped through glossy photos of everything from wedding cakes to cupcakes.

“I just need a simple sheet cake,” she said. “Like this.” She pointed to an example in the binder.