One Last Time

12

Eddie

Eddie had been sitting at the same table since dinner. They'd all had hot dogs cooked on the small gas stove hidden in the kitchen. The lodge diner was the unspoken meeting place for everyone. Out of the corner of his eye, he was watching the father who'd lost his wife yesterday. A wave of memories hit Eddie, he couldn't even imagine what it felt like for the man in front of him. The father bounced his daughter on his knee, and she held on to him tightly. Their cold food sat in front of them, untouched.

Just go do it, Eddie. Just go talk to them.

Everyone was taught the same rule when they became a firefighter. Your job is done once you get the victim through the big hospital doors. You put it all behind you. You forget. You give your partner a pat on the back and say; "Good work out there."

Almost every firefighter breaks that rule, at least at the 118, they did. He could picture almost every one of them, charging through the door, sending silent prayers to someone up above. They would even go as far as calling the hospital to check on the status of some stranger they hulled out of a kitchen fire. Eddie didn't know if that was classified as being caring or weak.

Yet, everything that happened with Shannon seemed to recently resurface. Kim was a wonderful woman but also served as a reminder of the pain and suffering Eddie endured after Shannon. Watching that little girl being bounced on the father's knee, god, it was like Christopher too.

He took one step at a time, carefully keeping his balance and breathing intact. As he approached the father, the little girl, just a toddler glanced into Eddie's eyes. The father tilted his head, his eyes wet and his cheeks pink. It was cold in the room, yet, Eddie knew that wasn't the reason for the goosebumps crawling down his arms.

The man sniffled, "Can I help you?" 

Eddie searched for words. Jesus, he had this whole speech planned out in his head.

"I'm Eddie," he started, "Eddie Diaz. I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am, for your loss." The man shifted uncomfortably. He managed to plaster a thankful smile on his face. "Really, I know what it's like to lose someone and– uh– I see it a lot, I'm a firefighter."

"I'm Ryan," the father said, sticking out his hand. Eddie shook it gently. "This is..." He looked at his little girl who hugged his neck. "This is Evelyn."

"Hi," she murmured, looking at Eddie.

"Hey Evelyn," he replied, smiling at the sight of the little girl.

"Would you..." Ryan began. He untucked a chair, for Eddie. "Would you want to join us for the rest of the evening?"

Eddie settled into the chair, a weight in his chest rising. "I would love to."

"I've been out on the slopes since... I dunno... I was five," Ryan remarked. His daughter was sitting on her own chair, carefully eating her hot dog. They'd been talking for a while, finally warming up to each other. "So that's why we bring Evelyn out to the slopes every year, you gotta train them to love it while they're young," he joked.

Eddie laughed, "That's for sure, man, my kiddo would love skiing."

"How old is yours?"

"Well, he thinks he's 25." Eddie's expression changed, missing his son, more than ever. "But he's just a little pre-teen kid who's been through a lot. He's living with his grandparents right now."