him?”
“That’s the one. He passed away earlier this week, on Monday.”
“Oh, Lorraine. I’m so sorry.”
“I know I shouldn’t let it affect me. I know the reality of what’s going to happen when patients come in. My coworkers all remind me that I’m supposed to stay detached but pleasant. Don’t get emotionally connected. But how do you really do that? And this man, he had no one. I’d gotten especially close to him. I couldn’t help wondering why he had no family visiting, because he talked about them. He had regrets, talked about pushing his family away.” Lorraine swallowed, remembering how Douglas’s eyes had teared up when he’d talked about his son. “I wish I could detach myself from my patients, but I can’t.”
“You care. That’s who you are. But when you care, there’s always pain.”
“Tell me about it. Anyway, his death really reinforced my desire to get out of palliative care and be on the other end of the health care spectrum. Help people when I can make a difference.”
“But you did make a difference with him,” Rosa said. “When he had no one, you were there for him. He didn’t die alone.”
“Thank you for saying that,” Lorraine said, a swell of emotion rising in her chest. It did do her some good to think that her caring attitude comforted her patients in their time of emotional need. And it was true, Douglas Holland’s eyes had lit up every time she visited with him. She would sit at his bedside and talk to him, push him in a wheelchair to the facility’s courtyard so he could bask in the sunlight. She would read to him, which had been one of his favorite things. It was hard to believe that he was gone, even though she’d known he was dying.
“But I can only imagine how hard it is for you,” Rosa said. “Caring for your patients, then losing them.”
“Exactly,” Lorraine said. “Anyway, get this. Yesterday morning, I got a call from his lawyer. He said he wants to meet me Monday morning for the reading of the will?” Lorraine’s voice ended on a questioning note, because it was still so surreal to her.
“You’re kidding.”
“No, I’m not. It was the last thing I expected, and I’m still not sure how to process the news.”
“Why didn’t you mention it yesterday?”
“Because I’m still in shock,” Lorraine answered. “This has never happened to me before. Besides, I didn’t want to bring anyone down—including myself—with talk about his death.”
“What do you think he left you?”
“I have no clue. When I got the call from the lawyer, I was floored. Reading of the will sounds so official. I didn’t get the impression that he was loaded or anything. Just an average guy of average means.”
“What if he left you a million dollars?”
“Girl, you’re crazy,” Lorraine said.
“But what if he did? You never know.”
“I do know. If he had that kind of money, at least some of his family would have been around. A rich man who’s dying and has to leave his fortune with someone? Even if they hated him, the family would have been there, making nice.”
“You’ve got a point,” Rosa said. “Yeah, you’re probably right. And here I was, already planning a shopping spree! Just kidding.”
Lorraine rolled her eyes. “Rosa, you’re so silly.”
“So, are you going to go?”
“I’m not sure,” Lorraine said. “I’m debating it. I’m not his family, so in a way it doesn’t feel right. Then I thought about some of the conversations I’ve had with some family members who fight about a will. I always point out that everyone needs to respect the deceased person’s wishes. So I’d be a hypocrite if I didn’t do the same. I’m sure he just wanted to leave me something small to show his gratitude.” Lorraine pursed her lips, weighing her dilemma once again in her mind. One minute she convinced herself she shouldn’t go to the meeting, the next she convinced herself she should. Right now, she was feeling pretty positive about the decision to attend the meeting. Shouldn’t she respect Douglas’s wishes?
“I guess I’ll go,” she said. “I’ll respectfully accept whatever Douglas has left for me. Like I said, I’m sure it’s something small but meaningful.”
“It would be nice to have a keepsake from him,” Rosa said. “I know he meant a lot to you.”
“He really did.” Lorraine’s chest filled with warmth as she thought of him. Douglas was one person she’d remember for a long time.
“Someone else could mean a lot to you,” Rosa all but sang. “Your hot new fling.”
“Rosa, you’re crazy,” Lorraine protested. “That was one night, and it was great. But it won’t be happening again.”
* * *
The alarm sounded at Station Two. “Pump truck two, ladder truck two. Structure fire, 413 Fulmar way.”
Forks and knives clanked against plates as Hunter and his fellow firefighters, who were seated at the dining hall table for breakfast, promptly dropped their cutlery and jumped up from their seats. They rushed to get into their turnout gear.
“This is it,” Captain Mason Foley said to him. “Time to see what you’re made of.”
Hunter chuckled as he looked at Mason. He’d developed an easy camaraderie with him as he had with all the firefighters here. “Yep,” Hunter said. “Let’s do this.”
As Hunter got into his turnout gear, his body reacted the way it always did when heading out to a call. His heart pounded and his pulse raced, his adrenaline flowing.
Today there was an additional sensation. His stomach was flexing. Mason had been joking, but he’d summed up Hunter’s feelings. After arriving in Ocean City and securing his place with the fire service here, this was Hunter’s first day on the job. An hour into his first shift and he was heading out to his first fire. He wanted to prove to the guys here that he was a good firefighter.
Within sixty seconds, all the firefighters were in their bunker gear, something they were trained to do. Time was of the essence when responding to a fire or any other emergency.
Peter, another firefighter, patted Hunter on the back once they were all seated in the rear of the pump truck. “Ready to rock and roll?”
“Oh, yeah,” Hunter said.
The truck started off, jerking them all slightly to the right as it rounded the corner out of the firehouse bay. Tyler, who was driving, started the siren. Hunter looked out at the view of Ocean City as the truck moved rapidly down the street. This truly was a beautiful place. Unlike the dry desert of Nevada, Ocean City was lush and green. Lots of palm trees and thick green lawns and colorful flowers. Plus the view of the ocean never got old.
Sixteen years. Had it really been that long since he’d been here? When he’d left, he had seen Ocean City only as a place of despair and heartache. The place that had robbed him of his mother and twin sister. The place where his father had become emotionally distant. The fresh start in Reno had seemed the only thing to do for his sanity.
The truck headed up Cline Avenue, ascending the hillside. Hunter stared out at the small, colorful houses. Pale blue, yellow, green, some pink. This part of Ocean City had homes that were more like cottages and reminded him of the vibrant, colorful houses in the Caribbean. It was very picturesque.
Though Ocean City had a fairly large population, it had a small-town feel, with lots of diverse communities. There were neighborhoods like this, filled with young families and young professionals. Then there were the college students who populated the west side of the downtown area. There was an arts scene, and a vibrant night life. And yet the town never lost its charm. It felt warm and welcoming