Fireman Dad by Betsy St. Amant Page A

Was he on duty tonight? She sat up in the recliner, her pulse pounding so loudly the sensation fairly vibrated her skin. She should have kept up with his schedule better. But it didn’t matter.
    Did it?
    She stared at the scene unfolding before her on the television. The news anchor’s voice seemed far away as Marissa watched the smoke unfurl from the windows ofthe top floor, anxiety raking across her back like fingernails. “Suspected electrical fire at the east 4400 block of downtown Orchid Hill,” the brunette woman said on the screen, her expression tight. “Firefighters are currently working the scene. Thankfully no one was in the building at the time of the fire.” The feed cut to a group of firemen, identical in their yellow bunker gear, holding streaming hoses toward the blaze. Police tried to keep concerned onlookers on the curb across the street and out of the way. Rubberneckers, Kevin used to call them—neighbors and pedestrians who caused more accidents by attempting to sate their curiosity instead of staying clear of the scene.
    The phone rang. Marissa jerked, dropping the remote on her bare toes. She clenched her eyes against the stab of pain and grabbed the cordless from the receiver on the end table. She gritted her teeth. “Hello?”
    “Are you watching the news?”
    Marissa’s eyes flew open at her father’s voice, as all remnants of pain from her foot disappeared. He hadn’t called in, what, a month? Two months? “Yes. Are you downtown?” Chaos reigned in the background, and she wondered why she even asked. Of course her dad would be there. He might not be able to be counted on for family matters, but his accountability to his work went beyond predictable.
    “Yeah, I’m here. It’s under control, almost out. I figured you’d be watching.” He cleared his throat, and Marissa frowned. The chief rarely called her during—or even after—fires, even the big emergencies. Had the scene made him emotional? She scoffed. Surely not. This was Chief Brady, after all. But a small piece of Marissa’s heart wanted it to be true. She pressed herlips together, waiting, unsure what to say to encourage an admission or—dare she hope—affection.
    “This is exactly why I didn’t want you to get involved with the community fundraiser.”
    Her hopes fell at his harsh tone, shattering into multiple shards near her bruised toe. Figured. Her dad had about as many emotions as Owen had stain-free T-shirts. She sighed. “Dad, I—”
    “I’m serious, Marissa. This is above your head. We’ve gotten email threats and had vandalism at several stations. You can’t tell me it’s unrelated to the layoffs.” A siren punctuated his sentence and he waited until it passed, then lowered his voice. “This was an arson fire.”
    “What? The news anchor said electrical.” Arson? Not in Orchid Hill—impossible. Orchid Hill was considered by many magazines to be “the biggest little small town in the Deep South.” That kind of crime just didn’t happen.
    The chief snorted. “The media reports what we tell them—at least at first. Technically, it was electrical.”
    Marissa frowned. “Then what’s the problem?”
    “It was electrical, as in someone broke inside the office complex to the main, cut the electrical wires and created sparks—then helped things along with gasoline.”
    Oh.
Still, that didn’t prove a connection to the layoffs. He was being paranoid. “Dad, the community isn’t holding a grudge. Everyone wants to help, hence the whole point of the fundraiser.” She bit her lip to keep from adding what she really wanted to say—that her dad could have possibly saved those men’s jobs if he’d been willing to risk negative publicity and fight for them.
    “I don’t think it’s that simple. People do crazy things for revenge and no one knows how to start a fire better than a fireman.”A hiss, probably steam from the hoses, sounded over the line, followed by the slamming of what was likely a