and waved. “Gotta go, sweetie.”
Samantha didn’t have any more appointments at the clinic, so she followed Nurse Madison and watched as the doctors ran to and fro working on the firefighter.
“He’ll be lucky to walk again. Both legs are broken—the tibia and fibula on the right and the tibia on the left, and the injuries to the back and spine are extensive.” Dr. Lardner, a blond, old world, Viking-looking man, noted with a frown.
“The cervical, thoracic and lumbar regions of the spine are severely damaged. We have to operate if he is going to have a shot at walking again, much less fight fires,” Dr. Samuels, an older fair-skinned African-American concluded.
Samantha winced as she listened to the doctors. As a physical therapist, she knew enough about back injuries to know it didn’t look good for the man. And back surgery had the fifty-fifty chance of making things better or worse.
“A damn shame, too. He’s so young…” Nurse Madison tsked as they rushed the patient out of the E.R.
“Let’s roll, people. Let’s get him prepped and ready for the O.R.…” The bass in the doctor’s voice more than hinted at the urgency.
The doctors and nurses rolled the patient away, and Samantha walked back toward the waiting room. More firefighters had shown up, just like Nurse Madison had predicted. They were all pacing the room as they waited to hear about their colleague.
Several more people came bursting through the automatic door and into the waiting room. They all had on formal wear and went right toward the firemen. The men were in tuxedos, and some of the younger women were dressed in matching red satin gowns. The family looked as if they had been at a wedding or something.
Nurse Madison walked out and spoke to them. Many of the women buried their heads in the men’s chests and cried. The men had stunned expressions, and they looked as if they wanted to sob. Watching them hold each other and support one another, Samantha found it hard to leave and return to the clinic. She couldn’t seem to pull her gaze away, and she couldn’t stop thinking about the firefighter they were all pulling for. The energy in the room felt electric, and the family was doing exactly what they were supposed to be doing at a time like this. They were there for each other to lean on. She knew firsthand that didn’t always happen.
A searing pain laced up Joel Hightower’s spine and cut clear through to his soul. He could hear faint crying in the background.
Is that my mother? What is she doing crying?
He tried to open his mouth, but even the slightest movement caused the pain to slice him even more.
What in the hell happened to me?
He could vaguely remember fire. There had been flames all around him, and heat…Such intense heat…He remembered falling. The floor must have given way.
Oh, God.
Now, the pain in his spine took on new meaning, and he almost cried out.
What if the pain signaled something larger?
What if he could never walk again?
Never put out another fire?
They might as well kill me now.
He heard it again. Delicate sniffles and a soft voice. He was sure it was his mother. He felt her hand on him, and he heard more crying, familiar voices.
Men. His brothers. His father.
Joel Hightower tried to open his eyes, but the drowsiness overcame him like a dark cloak numbing his senses and dulling his brain. Tired and overwhelmed, he could no longer fight.
Samantha flipped through the channels, stopping at the news coverage of the warehouse fire. The images were horrific. Thankfully there hadn’t been any fatalities. Yet.
“Tragedy has befallen one of North Jersey’s most beloved families of public servants, the Hightowers. This family, with its legacy of firefighters and police officers, is waiting to see if one of their own will walk again after a horrendous accident. Thirty-five-year-old Joel Hightower, a Paterson, New Jersey, fireman, was gravely injured fighting a fire in an abandoned warehouse in downtown Paterson today. The well-liked young man joined the fire department right out of college and has been a fireman for thirteen years. Hightower fell nine stories down through a burning floor, and doctors are speculating on whether this young hero will walk again.”
The young newswoman’s upbeat tone seemed to be in direct contrast to the news she reported. As she spoke, a picture of Joel flashed on the screen.
He was casually dressed in the picture. He had big brown eyes with a slightly mischievous gleam. Remembering his supportive, large family and looking at his frozen smile now, Samantha felt as if she could glimpse a piece of his soul. She gazed at his deep chocolate pools. She bet his somewhat devilish smile constantly kept folks guessing. She couldn’t tell for sure if he was a serious guy or a practical joker, but she would have put money on practical joker.
His strong jawline and features were softened by the hint of playfulness that seemed to exude from him. Then, all too soon, the picture she’d been studying moved from the screen, and the perky blond newswoman was back.
Nothing like being jerked right back to reality.
“Like many members of the Hightower family, including the chief of the Paterson police department, Kendall Hightower, Joel is very active in the community, coaching Little League and being a member of the Big Brother program.”
The screen showed footage of what appeared to be a Little League baseball team winning a game. Seeing Joel jumping up and down in a celebratory manner with the little boys made her heart swell. The young boys looked almost as happy as Joel did. Exuberant was not too strong a word to encompass the person who seemed to leap from the screen. The community couldn’t afford to lose a man who did so much good with the youth.
She really hoped he pulled through.
The news program switched to footage of him and a bunch of men playing basketball. Samantha moved a little closer to the screen and saw the team in red—his team—wore shirts that read “Hightower Firemen.” The other team had on shirts that read “Hightower Cops.” The firemen had apparently won the game because Joel was jumping up and down and laughing.
She smiled at the sound of his hearty laughter.
“Our street reporter, Kasey West, was able to talk with some of his coworkers and the doctors treating him at St Joseph’s Medical Center.”
Samantha watched man after man become choked up as they tried to talk about their colleague and friend. She knew he had to be a really great guy to inspire that kind of raw emotion in those big, strapping firemen. They all had positive things to say about him. Phrases like all-around good guy, brave beyond compare, loads of fun, and involved citizen, were expressed more than a few times. She was glad the reporter had enough decency not to bother the family members.
Turning off the television, she went to sleep with Joel Hightower firmly on her mind. His smiling face and laughter filled her dreams.
The next morning, she picked up her paper only to find him on the front page. He was wearing his formal fireman uniform. Judging by the glowing story written about him, he appeared to be the picture of bravery. She had to make herself put the newspaper down and finish her coffee so she could make it to work on time.
What is the deal with me? I can’t believe I’m thinking about him this much….
She had to stop in the hospital on a consult for another patient, and she went by the firefighter’s room just to make sure he was doing all right. While she certainly couldn’t take anything away from him or men like him, she felt bad for the women they left behind. Women like her mother. Women like the injured fireman’s poor mother who sat there crying her eyes out and begging God to make her son well, to let her son live and be able to walk again.
Samantha had seen enough of that growing up, and she couldn’t see herself being with a man in