Page 22 of Up In Smoke
“Aww,” Ortiz says, throwing her arm around her partner’s back and leaning the side of her head against his shoulder. “You have ahusbandnow. Is that weird or just awesome?”
“Mostly just awesome,” he tells her with a grin. “Although this jet lag has been surprisingly troublesome. I think I’m finally over it now, mercifully.”
“You never got to tell us much about Japan last shift,” Foster says, his eyes wide. “Was it everything you hoped it would be?”
Del nods, his typical calm aura even more serene if possible. “And then some. Definitely worth waiting to do it this time of year. Colt and I almost didn’t want to leave.”
Kwon scoffs. “Well, it was a good thing you did. I don’t think there’s a force of nature strong enough to keep Drayton Hendrix in one place longer than three weeks. He was chomping at the bit by the end. Has anyone heard from him?”
I’m not surprised when everyone around the table shakes their heads. Hendrix has subbed for us twice now, but he’s a nomad Australian who lives out of his van, traveling with his surfboard wherever the wind takes him. In his previous stint, he only did a couple of shifts with us. But after almost a month as a regular here, the One-Thirteen feels different without him this time. Not that we aren’t glad to have Del back, of course.
Yet again I wonder about Haskell’s looming but inevitable switch to either a desk or a training role. The Captain and I will be on the hunt for a new Driver-Engineer at some point, and we both agree Hendrix would fit the bill perfectly.
The only question is whether or not we can convince him to take a permanent position, and I think I already know the answer to that. He’s floated with the One-Two-Two over in San Clemente more often. I really should drop them a line someday and get their thoughts on the matter.
But that’s a concern for another day. Considering everything on my mind currently, I’m pretty sure I can afford to let non-urgent issues like that slide for the time being.
“Did you learn any Japanese cooking while you were over there?” I ask Del, hoping to lift my team’s spirits by changing the subject. “We’d love to try some.”
“Oh, believe me, Lieutenant,” he replies with a grin. “I’ve been meal planning for days. You guys are going to be sick of me.”
“Too late for that!” Nelson crows, sparking off a wave of banter between the squad. I regard them warmly for a second, before leaning over to Del while I still have his attention.
“Don’t forget to file your spousal paperwork when you can,” I remind him. “I know things were busy over the summer, helping with all the rebuilding after the earthquake, but now you’re back?—”
He waves me off. “Already done. Apologies for the delay. There were a lot of forms, and tying Colt down to fill them out was a challenge when he was already dealing with so much upheaval with his own work. But now he’s self-employed, we knew we needed to get him covered by my benefits as soon as possible. Thank you for your patience.”
“It’s no problem,” I murmur. However, my mind has already wandered off, and I eat the rest of my breakfast without hearing much of what anyone else says around me.
Del’s right.
We do get good benefits with this job.
The tones sound just as we’re clearing up, so we race off to the call and have to face the slightly congealed pile of dishes when we return. The next several hours are much the same. Busy, but not overly tricky or distressing. We see to a house fire, a three-car collision, and a gas leak at an office building.
By the time evening rolls around, I’ve rolled this idea around long enough in my head. I need to voice it out loud to determine if I’m clinically insane or if there’s a tiny grain of potential there. So I jog upstairs to knock on the captain’s door.
Usually, Julian Valentine does his best to eat with us, but he’s missed all three of the meals we’ve managed to squeeze in so far this shift. When he tells me to come in, I see a half-finished sandwich on his desk.
“Please tell me that’s not all you’ve had all day,” I comment before I can stop myself. I hate the idea of him being hungry when we can easily bring him up a portion of whatever we’ve got going on.
He blinks up at me from his mountain of paperwork and then glances at the plate by his elbow. “I honestly have no idea,” he says with a tired laugh.
Valentine is something of a kindred spirit to me. I think we’re a lot alike in how we feel a keen sense of responsibility for everyone around us and keep our private lives close to our chests. Plus, while he might be Black and I’m Hispanic, there’s a lot of common ground at times in being men of color and some of the challenges we face in positions of authority.
“I’ll bring you something up,” I promise.
He nods and beckons me in with crooked fingers. I’d guess he’s about a decade older than me, but on days like this, he seems more fatigued than that.
“What can I do for you, Flores?” he asks kindly.
As I lower myself into the chair on the opposite side of his desk, nerves suddenly grip my heart, making my throat tight. “Um…I was hoping to ask some advice, sir, if that’s all right?”
“Sir?” Valentine leans back and regards me with his full attention. “This must be serious. Of course. Anytime, Rico. What’s on your mind?”
Isn’t that the million-dollar question? A sound comes out of my mouth that’s half a sigh, half a laugh. “Too much,” I admit. “What I’m about to say might be incredibly stupid. If it is, can you promise not to rinse me too badly for it? At the very least, don’t tell Nelson or Kwon.”
My intention was to make him laugh. However, he interlaces his fingers and rests his elbows on the desk, fixing me with an intense look. “My man. If there’s something I’ve come to appreciate lately, it’s not to let doubt get in the way of living your life. Otherwise, one day, you’ll look around and realize it’s too late.”