Fireman Dad. Betsy Amant St.
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Chief Lyle Brady twisted in his leather swivel chair, eyes widening with a flicker of surprise. “Well, this is a shock. What brings you two by?”
Marissa leaned against the doorjamb as her dad opened his arms to Owen. Owen hesitated, then edged toward him with a shy grin—which promptly faded upon inspection of his grandfather’s desk. All evidence of shyness erased, Owen tilted his head to one side. “Hey, where’s the candy? You used to have caramel squares on your desk.”
Marissa bit back a snort. There was the son she knew and loved.
“The receptionist has it at her desk now.” Chief patted his ample stomach. “It was too tempting at close range.”
“Can I have a piece?” Owen asked his grandpa, then caught himself and met Marissa’s gaze instead. “I mean, may I have a piece, Mom?”
“Sure, buddy. You go get some candy and let me talk to Grandpa alone for a minute.” She stepped sideways as Owen barreled past to charm the receptionist out of her candy bowl.
“That doesn’t sound good.” Chief crossed his arms over his chest. “But you haven’t been by in months, so I’m not surprised there’s some kind of reason now.”
“The door opens both ways, Dad.” Marissa folded her arms in front of her racing heart, mirroring her father’s image.
“Is this about the fundraiser and the layoffs?” His thick eyebrows furrowed nearly into one. “I told you it’s not good politics for family to be involved in business. This thing could get messy.”
Marissa inhaled, intending to count to ten but only getting to four. “Trust me, you’ve made your stand on that clear. But that’s not why I came.”
“Go on.” He leaned forward.
Marissa bit her lip, fighting the swirl of emotions raging in her stomach. She waited until the boiling cauldron settled. “I can’t believe you arranged for your men to speak to Owen’s class at school and didn’t at least warn me.”
“Warn you? Is that all?” Her father laughed, a booming, husky sound she never heard often enough growing up. He relaxed backward, his bulk causing the chair to squeak. “They were telling the kids to stay away from matches, not escorting them through a live drill.”
“It was more than that, and you know it.” Marissa’s voice rose against her will and she quickly glanced over her shoulder down the hall into the lobby. Owen was attempting to juggle three caramel squares as he told the receptionist about his homework assignment. Just in case, Marissa stepped inside the office and shut the door behind her all but a crack.
Her father’s eyebrows rose, but to his credit he waited for her to finish.
“All Owen talked about the entire drive here was how cool the firemen were and how he wants to drive a fire truck when he grows up.” She bit back the rest of Owen’s sentence before the words could leave her mouth. Just like Grandpa.
She swallowed. Just like Daddy.
He shrugged. “Hey, firemen are pretty cool.”
“Dad.” Marissa’s eyes narrowed. Would he ever take her seriously? Did he not care that she lost her family because of the career he held in such high esteem?
Chief Brady released a heavy sigh and braced his elbows against the desk. “Marissa, you’re overreacting.” Creases marred the skin by his eyes, more so than she remembered noticing the last time she’d seen him. But that had been like he said—months ago. In fact, probably not since Owen’s school play around President’s Day. Even though she’d been back in Orchid Hill for some time now, her father remained absent as usual. Her mom made efforts to stop by at least once a week with treats for Owen, but the chief rarely came along, choosing to spend his time at the office instead.
Not that she minded all that much. Over the years, Marissa and her father had reached some kind of silent agreement to disagree, about—well, everything. Sometimes the absence made it easier.
Even if it did still rub her heart raw.
Her dad continued, “Owen is seven, not seventeen. He’s going to want to be a cowboy, an astronaut and a pro ball player over the next couple of years. Take it with a grain of salt.” He shrugged. “He’s a boy. Boys have big dreams.”
“But we don’t have anyone in our family who flies into space or rides rodeos for a living.” Marissa shot a pointed glance at the framed certificates, awards and degrees decorating the office walls. “Your career is already an influence on him.” A fact that kept her up more nights than she liked to admit, locked in fear of the future because of the past. Maybe Kevin’s death was chalked up to an accident, but accidents happened in the world of firefighting.
A lot.
Her dad flexed his hands, popping his knuckles. “It’s a career I happen to love, Marissa.”
No kidding. The bitterness felt heavy on her tongue and Marissa swallowed, looking away as emotion burned in her throat. She wouldn’t get into the past here, not now. It wouldn’t matter anyway—she’d learned that tear-filled lesson years ago. With her Dad, work always came first.
Apparently it still did.
“I can’t promise to go out of my way to steer Owen in an opposite direction.” Chief Brady shrugged, one broad shoulder straining against the neck of his white uniform. “I’m sorry, but if he wants to be a fireman one day, there are worse careers to have.”
“There are also much safer ones.”
Chief tapped his fingers against his desktop, a tick that meant he’d reached a new level of frustration and was trying to hold it back. She might not have learned the sound of his laughter over the years, but she’d certainly learned his tells of anger. He released a sigh. “Marissa, there’s enough stress around this office right now with the layoffs and negative publicity from the press. This isn’t a big deal, and I beg you not to make it one.”
Marissa lowered her voice until it whispered through her lips. “In case you forgot, Owen doesn’t have a dad and I don’t have a husband because of your beloved career.”
Chief didn’t meet her eyes, but the tapping increased as he stared at his desk calendar. A flicker of guilt made Marissa wonder if she’d gone too far, but she pushed it aside. It was impossible to go too far with Chief. He was never around to notice. He might have climbed the ranks in the department faster than most men his age, but at what cost? His desk, organized and neat like his dresser and nightstand had always been at home, lay void of anything personal or resembling family. No photos. No mementos.
No, some things never changed at all.
Marissa drew a steadying breath. “Listen, I don’t expect you to understand. I just expect you to treat me with the respect I deserve as a mother—and not warning me about your men doing a presentation for Owen’s class feels disrespectful. Not to mention that one of your men crossed the line by turning a safety presentation into a personal recruiting session. I should have a say in who and what influences my child.”
“It’s the teacher’s job to notify parents about school demonstrations, not the department’s.”
“But you’re my father.”
He flinched, a movement so fast Marissa wondered if she’d imagined it. “Forget it. I shouldn’t have come.” She turned to the door and wrenched it open.
Chief coughed. “If it makes you happy, I’ll make sure you’re aware of any future presentations. Okay?”
Her back turned, Marissa nodded with little conviction. It was as much of an olive branch as her dad could offer right now.
And as much of one as she was willing to take.
Marissa plastered on a smile as she started down the hallway, stepping back into the comfortable, if not slightly worn, shoes of her role as Mommy. “Come on, Owen! Time to go home.”