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First responders struggle with sleep. It’s a simple fact. They rank among the highest professions diagnosed with shift work disorder, obstructive sleep apnea, and insomnia. The abuse they put their bodies and minds through day in and day out, always needing to be ready at a moment’s notice, seeps well past the uniform and into their daily lives.
And “well past the uniform” now means 2 months out of it. But, sleep hasn’t really come easily to Eddie for 15 years, so it’s no surprise finding patterns in his crooked ceiling tiles when his phone buzzes on his nightstand at 2:15.
Maddie.
Eddie sits up so fast his head spins. “Is he okay?”
“Eddie,” she exhales his name. “It’s not Buck–it’s–it’s–,” her choked back tears muffled with static.
“Maddie?” Eddie’s feet find the carpet.
“It’s Bobby,” Maddie lets the floodgates open. There’s no question in his mind. He’s heard sobs like those before. He’s had sobs like those before. Bobby Nash is dead.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” he says, staring ahead, unwilling to move. To let the reality settle.
“And Eddie–” Maddie rushes as if he’ll hang up.
“Yeah?” a whisper.
“I dropped him off at your house. He needs you.” Three words squeezed the air out of his lungs. His phone stays glued to his ear long after the beeps signify Maddie’s ended the call.
Buck hasn’t slept in 26 hours. He’s been alone for 5, and hasn’t moved in 5. His skin is sticky from decontamination showers, and cold sweats of grief choke him into submission. Navy sheets succumb to his shape, trapping tears on his cheeks, shoving them back into his face. Day has long since blurred into night, hidden by blackout curtains shut the second his bags hit the Bedford Street floor.
Shoulders ache, and his bladder’s making itself known, but the knot in his stomach has tethered itself to his soul, coiling itself tighter and tighter anytime he so much as bothers to look at the ceiling instead of the wall. So here he lies. For 5 hours. On his side, in a pool of sweat and tears.
He’s tried to close his eyes. To hand himself over to the exhaustion pulling him further into the mattress, but anytime he does,
“ I love you, kid. ”
So he lies here and takes the tears. And exhaustion. And the knife stuck up under his ribs, sawing away at that tight coil between stomach and soul. A pointed, pointless task. He takes it.
The vibration of the brush bristles finding the grooves in the floor run through her hand, attempting to soothe the non-stop itch beneath her skin. Back and forth. Back and forth. Suds building with each stroke. The stitches in her side rigid against the movement.
Ache settled itself in her knees hours ago poking at the surface of her attention, but she refuses to let it be a nuisance. So, she uses it. Lets her feet go numb beneath her, lets her palms find the linoleum floor to pick up the slack. The itch dulls.
Back and forth. Back and forth.
Hen doesn’t hear the soft patter of slippered feet sneaking up behind her.
“Babe, you need to rest.”
“Jesus!” Soapy water sloshes over the lip of a bucket, puddling in the middle of the floor.
Hen freezes as Karen rubs the sleep away from her eyes. She feels caught. On her hands and knees, bubbles between her fingers.
“Henrietta, my love? Are you trying to create mustard gas in our lovely kitchen instead of waking before the sun?” Karen sweeps her attention over every last cleaner from under the sink, scattered all over the floor.
“I was just doing the dishes when I noticed a small soap spill near the faucet.”
Karen looks back at the cleaners and raises a questioning eyebrow.
Her weakness. So, she word vomits. “When cleaning the soap spill, I noticed some mold in the backsplash grout. And then I saw the mold in the grout lines in the flooring and upon investigation I noticed we hadn’t cleaned under the dishwasher in, well–ever.” Her face is wet. And not with soap and water. Hen’s crying. Hunched over, shoulders heaving, silent sobbing.
A hand grazes her back. “DON’T TOUCH ME!” Karen flinches back as Hen stumbles to the sink, her feet dead weight, unable to carry her. She scrambles to get purchase on the counter, clawing to stay upright. Fumbling with the elbow-length yellow gloves, she rips them off, sending them to the soapy floor.
Hen flips the faucet as hot as it’ll go and dumps soap into her palm. Her eyes glaze over as she runs a nail beneath every other nail, around each thumb, in between each finger, and up to her elbows. Steam fogs her glasses as she submerges her already raw skin beneath the scalding water. The itch is back.
Eddie’s face lights up her phone screen.
Phone. Wallet. Keys. Christopher. The sun is flirting with the horizon, shooting streaks of pink and orange across the sky without truly showing her light. He must have less than 2 hours before their flight. Yep. “Their.” Of course, he’ll come. Chris loves Bobby like–
Chris. Shit. He’s not sure how much consoling he can handle in one day, and there’s no telling what mental state Buck will be in when he arrives. The kid always cheers him up, but maybe he needs to process first? Eddie doesn’t know much, but he knows grief. And Buck.
He catches his thumb on his cracked screen as he flips it upright and hits Hen’s contact.
“Eddie.” She sighs. As if stitching together the hundreds of miles between them.
“Hey Hen,” Eddie wraps a hand behind his neck. “I have a favor to ask.”
“Everything okay? Eddie, I don’t think I can handle one more thing not being okay.” She tumbles through her sentence, frenzied. He can practically see her wide eyes from here.
“No. No, everything’s good. I was wondering if I’d maybe be able to drop Chris off at yours while I go check on Buck? Just for a couple of hours before–”
“No.” Short. Pointed.
“Oh,” Eddie short-circuits. He wasn’t expecting a no.
“We won’t be hosting anyone for a while.” Hen provides as if that’s an explanation.
“Oh–I um–, I guess I’ll call Maddie.” The hand on his neck has worn a red patch.
“I’ll see you at the funeral.”
He’s met with a familiar disconnect tone.
“I don’t get why I can’t just go home and see Buck,” The same argument from Texas to LA on a loop. Eddie can practically recite it word-for-word.
“You’ll get to see him soon. Just let me see where he’s at before we crowd his space.”
He’s met with an eye roll. He doesn’t see it with his eyes glued to the road and the pointed glare coming from the passenger seat, but he feels it all the same.
His rental car catches the curb of the driveway and nearly sends his head through the roof.
“Fuck!”
“Language!”
Another eye roll. He’s half the speed he started, but he manages to coast and park without any further complications.
“Keep it PG around Jee,” Eddie warns as he strides down the sidewalk to ring the doorbell.
“Eddie,” Maddie opens the door and her arms wide. He hooks his chin over her shoulder and lightly squeezes her back.
“How are you?” A pointless question, but polite all the same.
“Better than most, worse than some.” The crease between her brows is deeper than he’s ever seen.
“Chim?” Eddie watches her lips contort into a tight line as she gently shakes her head. A small nod telling him everything he needs to know.
“Hmm,” Eddie’s eyes catch the ground.
“Coffee?” Maddie croaks, her voice suddenly full of emotion. She quickly turns toward the kitchen as if Eddie didn’t see a tear.
“Sounds great,” the last few hours started to settle beneath his eyes somewhere over Phoenix as he was filled in on the rest of the story.
Eddie takes a spot at the island facing Maddie’s back as she busies herself with espresso and steaming milk. Eddie would’ve been happy with a lukewarm gas station brew in a styrofoam cup, but he lets her keep her hands busy.
Minutes pass in silence and steam. The air is thick with emotion, they’ve both shoved deep, refusing to let it bubble to the surface. Keep it together so the rest can fall apart.
A mug is gently pushed into Eddie’s palm. “Thanks,” he says, blowing across its surface.
It takes about half the cup before Maddie lets the emotion sever. Her face puckers as tears drop to the countertop.
“I’m sorry–I just–” she takes a shaky inhale.
“It’s okay. It’s okay.” Eddie rounds the island and finds her side, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
“It’s not okay.” She lets him carry her weight. Eddie’s grip tightens.
“I have to keep it together. I have to.”
“Maddie, it’s okay, you lost him, too.” She was just as present at the calls, barbeques, parties, birthdays, and waiting rooms as the rest of them.
She tucks herself into his shoulder as much as her pregnant belly will allow. “He saved not one, but two of my babies.”
“Eddie,” She chokes, “He died for two of my babies.”
Eddie could throw up. Maddie does. Her own words seem to hit her as she uncurls herself and runs to the trash can.
Eddie’s feet are cemented to the floor, his stomach a brick.
He doesn’t come to until he’s ushered to the couch and the mug is pressed back into his hands.
“Sorry about that.” Maddie dries her eyes and wipes her mouth with a colorful towel pulled from the oven door.
Eddie finishes his coffee in silence.
The silence breaks quietly, “He had me FaceTime him.”
She continues, “He was bleeding out from, well, everywhere. And he let me see his face.” Her gaze is fixed on the seam between the couch cushions.
“I’m still not sure if it was for him or me. To let us see each other one last time, or to reignite the fight to stay alive. I’m not sure–” She takes a breath. “But he gave himself for us. For all of us.” She finally looks up at Eddie. “And I’m not sure how to handle that.” Her tears complement her unsure smile.
Eddie looks down at her belly where one of her hands rests. Baby 1. And Baby 2–
“Buck.” Her smile falters. She nods once.
“I–” She takes a breath. “I kept him alive, but Bobby–Bobby showed him who he is. Showed him what he’s worth.” Her palm slides over the couch to grab Eddie’s.
It’s his turn to let a tear fall. He squeezes her hand. “I have to go.”
She squeezes back. “Take care of him.”
Eddie gives a simple nod, but it’s full of meaning. I will.
Buck has been asleep for hours. It’s strong and heavy. Dreamless. He’s asleep when a gentle knock and turn of a doorknob whispers into the stale darkness this side of the curtains. Buck doesn’t so much as stir when a bag finds a floor corner, the mattress dips, and a gentle hand traces his spine and scratches through his curls. A familiar scent of warm spice washes over him. He comes close to the surface of sleep as warmth presses along his back, and without opening his eyes, he allows himself to move for the first time since coming into this room all those hours ago. He reaches toward the warmth to grab a hand and pull it around his waist, tucking it into his chin.
Bobby fucking died and the sun is out. No clouds. No rain. It’s like it’s fucking mocking him. 70 degrees and sunny like every other fucking day. But it’s not every other fucking day. Bobby is dead. Because of him.
The tree at his back offers little shade over Chim’s head. He sits and watches some 20-something with a backhoe clear the Earth where Bobby is gonna rest tomorrow. Vodka has done little to numb the pain, so might as well make it worse. That’s all he does anyway. Make things worse.
He’s got so much to live for. A wife who loves him for reasons simply unknown to him. A daughter who is the greatest gift he’s ever been given, and another one on the way. A family that spreads far beyond his 4 walls, and so much love and support that those 4 walls would burst at the seams attempting to contain it all.
Each reminder is a punch to the gut. Hitting him where the vodka couldn’t. So he sits here on soft grass surrounded by marble. On this sunny fucking day. And watches the Earth make way for the greatest man he’s ever known. Who had a hell of a lot to live for, but chose to sacrifice for him anyway.
Chim sits until the grass has given way to his shape, the sun has shifted, and the Earth has made its pocket 6 feet deep on all sides.
Then, to remind himself of it all, he goes home to those 4 walls.
Buck’s been asleep for 10 hours. The warmth at his back has come and gone and come again. Words were mumbled somewhere in there, but he never came to long enough to catch any of it. Until now. His head is pounding, and his mouth tastes bitter and stale. A glass of water is being offered directly into his hand as fingers brush his curls from his forehead.
“You need to drink something,” Eddie’s voice lulls over him as he sits next to Buck on the edge of the mattress.
The pounding in his skull increases, and he goes dizzy as he sits up. Sweat and tears did a number on him. The first sip soothes over his dry tongue. He stares at that same spot on the wall from yesterday and downs the glass.
“Would you like another?” Eddie practically whispers.
Buck responds by sliding back down and rolling on his other side, away from Eddie. It takes a minute before the dip in the mattress relieves and the door gently opens and closes.
A couple of minutes later the knob opens once more casting a beam of light on the wall. Eddie’s shadow passes through, and a smaller frame with two crutches joins them.
A tear slopes down Buck’s nose and lands on his hands, clutched close to his chest. He pulls himself into a tighter ball. As small as he can be for such a large frame.
Eddie mirrors him on the bed so they’re facing each other, each tucked small. Foreheads an inch or two apart. Eddie’s face is blurry, but if it’s from the distance or the tears, Buck’s not sure.
Crutches settle against the dresser as the bed dips at their feet.
Chris slots himself at the foot of the bed and lies on his side, his knees hanging off.
3 of them all on a queen bed. He can’t hide anymore. He doesn’t have the energy. Buck’s silent sobs slowly gain breath and strength until his full body is shaking. Chris rolls off and rounds the bed to stand behind Buck’s back. He lays his head on Buck’s shoulder, a gentle pressure amidst the sobs. Eddie’s forehead closes the distance, and he grabs Buck’s hands in his own. They stay like that, a while, all stacked together. They stay with him. Until his body isn’t so tight that it could snap. Until his knuckles aren’t white against Eddie’s. Until Buck can breathe without gasping. They stay.
Buck squeezes Eddie’s hand. Eddie squeezes back, pulls his head back, and catches Buck’s eyes. With one last squeeze, he melts his hands away and shuffles off the bed. The head on his shoulder lifts, allowing Buck to roll to his back and face his boys.
“Now, can you please get out of bed? You stink.” Chris on his left, Eddie on his right, they each hold out an expectant hand. Buck takes them and they bring him to his feet.
The Next Day
Her house is a sea of black clothes and cold hugs. Frozen meals and Hallmark cards pile up without a permanent place to live. Hands come and go from her shoulders, wishing well, but they feel dull against the sharp pain behind her sternum. She sits in the living room, shelling out “thank yous” and small nods of acknowledgement, unable to pick up any more than a ring in her ears. On her nightstand sits a hat and a flag folded ceremoniously. A wall away, but at the forefront of her mind.
It shouldn’t be a familiar feeling to run her fingers over the creases as a body gets lowered into the ground.
A hand finds her shoulder. “Excuse me for a moment,” she doesn’t even bother to see who it is.
The cool air of the freezer rushes over her damp cheeks. Her eyes close to soak in the jarring blast relieving some of the weight of all the damn people in her goddamn house. The hum of the coolant kicking in accompanied the rigid burn creeping at the tip of her nose, stealing her attention.
A faint clack crescendos over the hum and comes to a stop just behind her.
“Can I get you a drink or something, sweetheart?” Athena shuts the freezer door, and the smallest sense of relief she’s had all day, to face the kitchen.
“No, thank you, ma’am.”
“Ma’am? What am I? Your grandmother?”
Chris stares at the floor with a polite smile. Athena follows his eyeline to the same spot, the rug curling up at the corner, as they both take a breath, letting the muffled conversational sounds beyond the kitchen door wash over them.
“I was 7 when I first met him.” Athena’s eyes snap to Chris’s glasses, his gaze still enamored with the rug. He sways slightly back and forth.
“I don’t remember much. Just that my abuela was in the hospital and I had nowhere to go.” Athena crosses the rug to fold her arms and lean against the island by his side.
Chris picks up a small smile. “I do remember a headset that was too heavy for my ears, a turnout coat that was far too big, smelled awful, and I couldn’t get over the fact that it had the wrong name on the back. I was supposed to have Diaz , not Nash .” Chris chuckles slightly at his 7-year-old logic.
“But mostly I remember feeling things click into place.” Chris stops swaying. “Growing up, I never really felt–” He takes a pause. “I don’t know– settled?” His face scrunches up at the admission.
“I practically only had one parent at a time, one of them being in an active war zone most of the time. I was constantly in the hospital, whether it was for myself or, as you know, my dad.” He shrugs his shoulders. Athena hums in agreement.
Moving to different cities, to and away from friends and family. Houses. Hospitals. It was all I knew. Then I met Bobby.” Athena uncrosses her arms to grip the counter behind her. The clack of her wedding band pops in the air.
“Athena, he gave me my family.” He finally looks up at her. “He gave my dad a place to bring everything that’s been eating him up inside. He brought me Buck. He gave us a home so I could stop feeling like a burden worth running away from.”
“Oh, honey,” Athena tucks Chris into her in a warm hug. A few tears sneak onto her shoulder. Who they belong to, neither can tell nor do they care. “Athena, I know I’m just a kid, but I understand loss.” Chris takes a step back. “It’s the one thing the world made sure I knew. I know how much you want it to all go away and that you’d give anything to have him back. That nothing will ever be right again. But I also get that the pain is the only thing tying you to him. That once that’s gone–so is he.” Chris ducks his head to get Athena’s eyes to his. “But he’ll never be gone. He’s given more people families than just me. In a house full of firefighters, I’m shocked no one’s called the fire marshal. This many people has to break some sort of a code.” Athena wipes her eyes with a slight chuckle.
“You and I both know the pain never goes away. I just wanted you to know we all feel it too.” Athena steps forward and wraps him in a hug so tight his glasses slip to his forehead.