Things You Save in a Fire - Katherine Center Page 0,68
I said.
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“Someone from the neighborhood, I bet,” he said. “Some dumb kid.”
“I don’t think so,” I said.
He turned to me. “What do you mean?”
I gave him the crumpled note and watched him uncrumple it.
As soon as he read it, he looked up at me. “What the hell?” he demanded.
I shrugged.
“Who wrote this?”
I shrugged again. “I found it under my windshield wiper.”
He was so shocked, it made me wonder if he was faking. “Someone put this under your wiper?”
I nodded.
“You have to tell the captain.”
“I am not telling the captain. Ever. And neither are you.”
The rookie walked over to my truck, studying it for other clues and thinking. Then he came back to study my face. “This isn’t the first time.”
“For what?” I said, stalling, knowing full well.
“The first time someone’s messed with you like this.”
I shook my head.
“What else? What else has happened?”
I sighed. No sense hiding it now. “Somebody wrote the word ‘slut’ in my locker.”
Owen frowned and took a few steps closer. “When?”
“The first shift after your parents’ party.”
I watched that sink in. I saw him click the pieces into place. “That’s what happened. Somebody scared you.”
“Nobody scares me,” I said. “It was a good reminder, that’s all.”
“Of what?”
“That I’m here to work. Not to”—but then I couldn’t think of a good word. “Do whatever that was we were doing.”
“What we do or don’t do,” Owen said, holding up the note, “has nothing to do with this asshole.”
“I think the asshole sees it differently.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” He was angry. I could see it in his eyes and the tension in his shoulders.
I, in contrast, was doing that thing where I decide I’m not going to have any feelings. “I felt my best option at the time was distance.” I sounded like a robot, even to myself.
“We need to figure out who this is.”
“What do you think I’ve been trying to do?”
But his mind was racing. “We need to check security camera footage. We need to set some kind of trap. We need to question all the guys—”
“No. We’re not questioning anybody.”
“But how can we find him if we—”
“I don’t know. But the last thing I’m doing is telling the whole crew.”
“But we—”
“And stop saying ‘we’! This is not your problem. This is my problem.”
“But I—”
“Cut it out!” I snapped. “Stop trying to rescue me! I can rescue my own damn self.”
Owen blinked. Then closed his mouth. Then nodded. “Okay,” he said. Then he handed the note back to me. “I won’t rescue you,” he said.
“Great. Perfect. Thank you.”
“Just let me point out one thing.”
“What?”
“You’re going to need a ride home.”
* * *
ON THE DRIVE, Owen told me he had a cousin with a wrecker service. “He’ll handle it for you,” he said.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“He’ll pick up your car, and get you some new tires, and bring it to you. I already texted him.”
“I’m not sure I can afford new tires.”
“He’s not going to charge you.”
“For the tires?”
“For any of it.”
“Why wouldn’t he charge me?”
Owen smiled. “He owes me a few favors. More than a few.”
I didn’t respond to that, just leaned back against the seat, trying not to let my mind drift back to the last time I’d been in the rookie’s truck with him.
“Let’s talk about something else,” I said, when the silence had gone on too long.
“Like what?”
“Anything. Anything distracting.”
“There is actually something I need to share with you.”
“Share?” I asked. That would be distracting. Firemen didn’t share.
“It’s relevant to our positions here.”
“Our positions?” I didn’t look back. “You mean me, the desperately overqualified and yet somehow underrated newcomer—and you, the rookie who wants my job?”
“Yes.”
I looked out the window. “Bring it on, pal.”
“First of all,” he went on, “I want you to know that I know that you are a better firefighter than I am.”
That caught my attention.
“I know it,” he went on. “Everybody knows it. If it were up to me, I’d just back out of this whole situation and let you have your rightful place.”
“Great,” I said.
“But I can’t.”
“It’s not up to you?” I asked.
“Not entirely.”
“Who’s it up to?”
“That’s what I want to talk to you about.”
“Okay,” I said. “Talk.”
But he hesitated. “I’m about to tell you something I’ve never told anybody.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t,” I said.
“I think I want to. Have wanted to for a while, actually,” he said.
“You’ve been wanting to tell me your biggest secret for a while?”
“Someone, at least. But when I started thinking about who I could trust—you were at the top