Page 78 of Fighting Fire

“I want to be an arson investigator.”

“Sounds like you’ll make a damn fine one.”

She opened her mouth to give him all the reasons why she wanted to chuck her—no, his—lifelong dream when the words registered. “What?”

“Your friend Sean told me that I was the one pushing you to become something you didn’t want to be. I’ve thought about this a lot while you were in the hospital and realize that he’s right. I’m sorry.”

She sighed softly, a boatload of weight lifted from her shoulders. It was something to have her father finally understand who she was. She went to him and as he rose, she slipped her arms around his waist. “Thank you, Daddy. I love you.”

“I suppose you’ll want a ride over to your old station.”

“Why?”

“That’s where O’Neill is and I think you two need to talk.”

“I agree.”

“That’s something, two agreements in one day.”

* * *

Lana’s father pulled up in front of Station 82, and Lana felt a twinge of homesickness for the place, but she had a job offer for something she really wanted to do, and it was time for her to take what she wanted. She got out of the car.

Her father asked, “Do you want me to wait?”

“No, Dad. I think I can get Sean to give me a ride.”

“All right. Good luck.”

She walked into the station, smelling the familiar smells and seeing the familiar objects.

She heard a cell phone ring then Sean’s voice. “Hey, little brother.”

There was dead air as Sean listened. “No, Riley, it’s time you took responsibility and did it yourself.”

There was a pause. “That’s right. I have changed. I’m not going to be good old Sean anymore. I’m taking time for myself. You could also start doing some things for Mom.” Another pause. “That’s the right answer, Riley. I’ll see you this weekend. That’s right, I’m still holding you to that promise. You’ll have to pick up Grammy.”

She could hear him chuckling as he disconnected the call.

She rounded the big pumper engine and stopped short. Sean was bent over. His suspenders were loose around his hips and his shirt was off his torso as he rubbed at a side panel buffing it to a glossy sheen.

“Did I hear right? Sean O’Neill saying no to his family.”

He froze and then rose, turning to face her. He looked her up and down as if to make sure she was okay.

“Why aren’t you in bed?”

“I’ve been discharged.”

“You’re not ready to leave the hospital.”

“Do you have a medical degree now, O’Neill?”

“No, but you had a concussion.”

“Maybe if you had visited me, you would have seen that I’ve healed.”

He remained silent, setting down the rag.