"Organized emergency medical care is thought to have started in the 1790's when the French began to transport soldiers so they could be treated by physicians away from the scene of the battle. During what other war did such care take place in the United States and who initiated it?"
Before she could stop herself, Beth silently answered the question posted on the bulletin board in the common area outside the long private hall that led to Reed Macauley's office. The person who initiated the care was Clara Barton, of course, during the Civil War.
She shook her head at the three other questions, two on firefighting and a final EMS challenge. What is the National Registry of Emergency Medical Technicians?
Though she couldn't answer the firefighter questions, she knew that the national registry was an agency formed to establish professional standards for local EMS.
"Want to go in on this with me?" Turning, she saw Reed had made the query. "I don't know the EMS answers, but the name of the city that burned the same night as the Chicago fire was Peshtigo, Wisconsin, and the innovative firefighting development in Cincinnati in 1852 was the first successful steam fire engine."
Beth looked at the psychologist's smiling face. "Sorry. I don't gamble."
"The game is for a good cause," the department psychologist said.
"So I've heard."
Everyone knew about O'Roarke's firefighter trivia game. He'd run it at Quint/Midi Twelve for five years. At a dollar a question, a third of the money collected went to whoever got the most right answers and a third to the Christmas party for the School of the Immaculate Conception—an institution for mentally handicapped students and a recipient of a big chunk of the RFD's charitable contributions. "What are they going to do with the last third now that O'Roarke's doesn’t have a firehouse?"
"Since Christmas is only a couple of months away," Reed told her, "Ben said Dylan could run the game while Dylan was here if two-thirds went to the school and nothing to the academy."
"Good." She paused. "Do you have a few minutes for me now during the lunch break? I'm afraid I'll be busy until five with the recruits. Or would you rather wait till then?"
"No need. I'm having a late lunch with Ben. I’m free to talk to you now."
After opening the door, Reed motioned for her to follow him to his office. When they entered, he gave her an assessing look. "You don't partake in the Christmas activities here, do you?"
"I'm not much on holidays."
Again, that assessing look. "Have a seat, Beth."
She scanned the room and experienced the welcoming feel of the psychologist's office. Its pale blue walls coordinated with slate carpeting and muted lighting. His desk was in the corner, a big battered oak piece with a huge comfortable chair, and the rest of the area was filled with overstuffed furniture. As Beth took one chair, her eyes were drawn to the wall directly across from her. Firefighter memorabilia and personal mementos covered the space. Added to them was a Manwaring print she'd never seen in here. But she recognized the artist because she'd bought one of his paintings for Francey for her thirtieth birthday.
The scene depicted an old high-rise building engulfed in flames that shot out from every window in vivid reds and yellows. Two firefighters, looking grimy and exhausted, stood in an aerial ladder bucket, furiously pumping water on the out-of-control blaze.
"Got a new print?" she asked.
"Mmm. From Dylan. He loves Manwaring's work." Reed took a seat on one of the nubby fabric couches. "As a thank you for helping him."
"He must land in your office frequently."
"No, not really."
"He should."
Lounging, Reed linked his hands behind his head. "He's why I asked you to see me today."
"Oh?"
"Ben wanted me to touch base with both of you. Nothing formal."
She sighed. "I'm not surprised. It's no secret there's animosity between us."
"The mystery is why. Both Ben and I remarked that we don't see any difficulty between you and anyone else, nor with O'Roarke and another person."
Beth shifted in her seat "That's good, isn't it?"
"Yeah, in a way. Except that makes the tension between you two all the more puzzling."
Leaning forward, Beth clasped her hands between her knees. "Is it so puzzling?" When Reed looked at her, she went on, "Everybody knows what I object to in his behavior."
"True. You made that clear when you tried to block his coming to the academy."
"I said what I thought, is all."
"And then let it go when no one else agreed."
"It wouldn't be fair to the rest of the staff to push my position on them. Or to O'Roarke, either. Besides, I had no idea he'd get assigned to EMS."
"Are you always fair, Beth?"
She straightened her back. "I try to be." She'd learned long ago not to fight the fates. She had become very good at acceptance.
"Are you being fair to O'Roarke now?"
"I know you're trying to help. But this is making me a little angry. I'm not the one who's been formally reprimanded four times in the past two years."
"He's gotten twice as many commendations. There's talk that he's being considered for the Firehouse magazine heroism and community service award."
"Which is why he's good to have on staff." Torn by the paradox, she stood and began to pace. "I'm a private person, Reed. I know there are things in my background that O'Roarke triggers. I'm trying to deal with him fairly."
"Is that why you keep everyone at a distance?"
Her heart rate bumped up. "I don't want to discuss this."
"I can respect that.” He waited a moment. “I've got some experiences of my own I don't like to talk about."
"So the rumor mill has it."
He smiled. "I do understand."
She nodded.
"All right. If you can't discuss why, maybe we can talk about tactics you can use to get along with him."
She stopped pacing and sat on the edge of the couch. "I can handle the mess he makes, even the god-awful rock music he brought in. But I’m worried about his influence on the recruits."
"I think everyone's somewhat worried about that. But he's a fireman's firefighter, Beth. He has a lot to teach the recruits."
She said nothing.
"Think about this. In raising children, do you believe they should be influenced by different people, not just their parents?"
Beth kept her face blank and told herself to breathe evenly. "I don't know much about raising children."
"I think all different kinds of influences are good for kids, recruits and adults."
"Fine, then. You're glad O'Roarke's here."
"Yes. And all Ben wants is for you to be fair with him."
"Has Ben said I haven't been fair?"
"Nothing like that. He just noticed you were pretty tough on him. When he was a recruit and when he came back for more EMS training."
"I'm tough on everybody."
"I know, and that's okay. You're highly respected at the academy."
"I realize that. I'd like to keep it that way." My reputation is all I have in life. The thought made her wince.
Reed paused, then said, "You know, if you ever want to talk about anything, I'm here."
She shook her head and surreptitiously wiped her sweaty palms on her pants. "Thanks for the offer. But I don't think so."
"Just in case you change your mind, I'm here."
"I won't.” She stood and headed for the door. For a brief crazy minute, she almost turned back. Almost said, You're right. I've got things that happened that have made me what I am. Here they are.
Thankfully, the insanity didn't last. She opened the door and left without giving in to the weakness.
* * *
DeLuca's Diner was busy, as always, around lunchtime. Dylan thought again how much he liked the place as he swung into one of its new rough-hewn booths and settled onto the comfortable Indian-print upholstery. The floor sported rectangular terra-cotta tiles, and the walls were cedar-sided. Barbara DeLuca, the owner and the ex-wife of Jake's one-time best friend Danny, had shown him and Jake to seats and brought them coffee.
"Here you go, handsome," the petite redhead said to Jake, setting steaming mugs in front of each of them.
"No nice words for me, Barb? My ego could use some stroking today."
Barbara peered down her pug nose at Dylan. "Fat chance, lover boy. It's no secret you got women falling at your feet."
Dylan shrugged—that was true, after all—and smiled his killer smile at the owner. "You're heartless, lady."
"You guys know what you want? I'll take the order since we're shorthanded today." Barbara ran her fingers through her pixie cut.
"I'll have the usual." Jake's smile was warm in a brotherly sort of way.
Dylan realized Jake was unaware of the way Barbara was looking at him—the way Beth Winters had looked at Scanlon this morning.
"Club sandwich, hold the mayo," Barbara said.
"I'll have the same, only smother the bread with mayo."
Laughing, Barbara walked away.
"She doin' okay?" Dylan asked Jake.
His buddy's gunmetal-gray eyes were sober. "The place is making money, if that's what you mean. The remodeling helped."
"Nice of you and the Cordaros to do the work for her." Dylan surveyed the diner. "A lot of the guys make it a point to eat here."
Jake glanced around the room that was three-quarters filled with RFD personnel. "Firefighters take care of each other."
"When was the last time she heard from Danny?" Dylan knew he was treading on dangerous ground, for Jake never wanted to talk about the friend who'd left town, and the Rockford Fire Department, under a cloud, as Dylan's grandmother used to say.
"Almost a year ago, when he sent money for Derek."
"Derek's graduating from high school this year, isn't he?"
"Yes."
"Will Danny come for that?"
"Who knows?"
"Is he still in Key West?"
"Last I heard." Jake busied himself pouring milk in his coffee, then took a sip without making eye contact with Dylan.
"You ever think about goin’ down there to see him?"
Jake shook his head. "Never. I did enough damage, to him and to myself, to last a lifetime."
"You weren't the one who hit bottom with alcohol and drugs."
"No, but I turned a blind eye when I should have done something about his problems."
"Guilt's a nasty thing." Dylan was assaulted by a specter from his past—Grandma Katie's contorted face, her slack mouth begging him to help her. He'd been only seventeen and hadn't been able to do anything. She'd died in his arms.
"Yeah, well," Jake added, "the situation with Danny taught me a good lesson."
"You run a tight ship at the station."
"As you should, when you're an officer back on the line."
Dylan accepted the change in subject. "Can't be soon enough for me."
"I thought you were looking forward to working at the academy."
"I was, until I got assigned to EMS. That office feels like a fire just waiting to roll."
Jake watched him for a moment. "Did you try to talk Ben out of making you work with her?"
"Yeah, no luck. Not that I blame him. I'm the only qualified medical person there now. Other than Lizzie Borden."
Barbara appeared with their sandwiches. Fast service, Dylan thought. It really paid to come here with Jake.
"Barb, how's Derek?" Jake asked.
She scowled. "Driving me crazy. I'll never get through his eighteenth year, I swear."
"I know what you mean."
"Oh, sure, like that doll of a daughter of yours is hard to contend with."
Jake's smile would have lit up a dreary February dawn. "I know." Then he sobered. "I'll talk to Derek when we go to his high school open house Thursday."
"Thanks. You're the only one he respects these days."
After Barbara left, Dylan chewed his sandwich silently. Always reticent to talk about himself, Jake didn't speak, either. "You take on a lot with that family," Dylan finally pointed out.
Jake shook his head. "Not that much. I'm the kid's father figure—he needs one. Hell, Ben Cordaro did the same for me."
"It's been ten years since Danny took off." Jake didn't respond. "But as I said, everybody's got ghosts." Lazily leaning back, he crossed his arms. "Think Lizzie Borden has any? Or has she just been a bitch from the cradle?”
Jake rested his forearms on the table. "I think she's got them, all right, they're just tucked away tighter than most people's."
Dylan scowled. "How do you know that? Francey tell you?"
"No, Francey says Beth doesn't talk about herself at all. At least her past." Then his eyes danced with amusement. "She's had a lot to say about you, though."
"I heard." Dylan toyed with a French fry. "You know anything about her and Scanlon?"
"Ben told me they've dated for two years, off and on.
Apparently, their thing was off when Scanlon put the moves on Diana last summer."
"Brought Ben right to his senses, didn't it?" Dylan grinned. Everybody in the department knew about the tempestuous reunion of their battalion chief and his one and only love.
"I guess. I'm glad for them."
"Well, I—"
A chair on the other side of the room clapped to the floor, cutting off Dylan's remark. "I don't have to take this shit.” A belligerent male voice spat the words out.
Dylan glanced at the commotion. Francey's friend Chelsea Whitmore sat at a table, her pretty face drained of color. Her boyfriend, Billy Milligan, towered over her, clenching his hands.
Chelsea said something quietly.
"Yeah, sure." Milligan threw some bills at her and stalked out.
DeLuca's Diner was absolutely silent. Everyone stared at Chelsea. Dylan noted three of her coworkers from Engine Four watching her from a booth. No one approached her. Which was odd, as firefighters were notorious about protecting their own.
Jake shook his head. "Poor Chelsea. What's she doing with that guy, anyway? He's a powder keg."
Dylan scowled. "You know her very well?"
"Just from Francey's wedding. She seems like a decent woman. Great firefighter, I hear."
Taking another glimpse at Chelsea, Dylan's attention was snagged by the expression on her face. The vulnerability reminded him of Beth Winters. He slid out of the booth. "I'm gonna go talk to her."
Jake smiled. "You got a thing for protecting women, don't you, O'Roarke?"
"Brings out the caveman in me," Dylan joked, then strode across the diner. He smiled at Chelsea and took a seat, hoping to make her feel less alone. She smiled back. At least some women appreciated his thoughtfulness.
* * *
With a brisk, no-nonsense attitude—God forbid learning should be fun—Beth Winters stood ramrod straight at a podium in front of the room to begin the first EMS class. Her shoulders were rigid and her gaze sober. "We won't introduce ourselves again. Battalion Chief Cordaro already did that."
Slumped in a chair to the side, drawing little squiggles on his notepad, Dylan watched her. Though he tried to stop them, he was swamped by a flood of negative feelings. Primary among them was reliving his recruit days, when he was under this woman's thumb. Thankfully some things had changed.
He surveyed the poor souls in her control. The twelve recruits were as stiff as stretcher boards, sitting at their tables in straight-back chairs. The long, narrow room was only half filled, because they'd kept this fall's recruit class to an unusually small number. Across from him, large rectangular windows let in the September sunlight. He'd opened them for fresh air during the firefighter class he taught before this. Dylan longed to be out there in that sun, riding his bike, away from Lizzie Borden and her sharp tongue.
Expecting her to start with an overview of the course, he was surprised when she grasped the podium lightly and gave what passed for a small smile. “I started out in EMS as a Certified First Responder, then became an Emergency Service Technician which is the certification you'll all achieve. I worked on an ambulance for years while I attended the University of Rockford. I have a masters in anatomy and physiology."
Dylan stopped doodling. That was a shock. Granted, she'd have to have the training required by the state to teach advanced EMS courses, but he didn't realize she held a higher degree than his. He didn't remember her telling his recruit class this, though he wasn't sure he'd have paid much attention if she had.
"Every few months I go back and work with an ambulance crew in town. It's important to experience real-life situations, not just textbook cases."
He was sorry she looked at him at that minute. He knew his mouth was gaping—he had no idea she'd worked regularly in the field. Her smirk said, Gotcha!
"Lieutenant O'Roarke will be a bigger help to you with field experience, though, as he's a line firefighter, like some of you will be."
His budding admiration for her fizzled with her last comment. There it was—the subtle message that not all of them would make it. Didn't she realize how that undermined confidence? Several recruits squirmed.
If possible, her back got even straighter. "Before we go on to content, let's get some rules down. Assignments are expected on time, no excuses. Don't even bother telling me."
Jeez, couldn't there be some leeway? A lot of the recruits were married. What if one of their kids got sick the night before? This woman simply didn't have a heart.
But she did have knowledge. It was evident as she began the lesson. He'd forgotten how easy she was to learn from.
She was organized. Clicking into her PowerPoint, she noted the information neatly typed in columns. "Here's two lists of terms you'll need to know by the end of the class. Open to page fourteen in your textbook for an explanation of the personality traits required of an EMT or CFR."
She discussed each trait thoroughly and gave circumstances where they would be needed. The list included pleasant, sincere, cooperative, resourceful, self-starter, emotionally stable and in control of personal habits. Well, Dylan chuckled to himself, the last two cut out half the firefighters he knew. She continued with able to lead and neat and clean—oh, she'd favor that one. He wondered what she'd look like mussed, her hair tousled, sweat on her brow, breathing hard. She ended the list with good moral character and able to listen to others—shooting him a glance as she discussed the last trait. He grinned, though her silent accusation hurt. He could listen to others when needed.
She also kept the students involved. After defining several legal terms, she surveyed the recruits. “I want you to get in groups now and come up with examples of these terms—voluntary consent, involuntary consent, implied consent and informed refusal."
She was precise. On another slide, she'd written negligence and abandonment. "With your partners, see if you already know the difference." After a few moments she put up the definitions and read them aloud. "Negligence is when something that should have been done was not done or was done incorrectly. Abandonment is leaving the patient before completing care or transferring care to someone who has less training."
And still she was tough. Holding up the book, she zeroed in on a muscular young man in the back row. "Recruit Tully. Would you please read aloud the section from the text on responsibility for possessions, records and reporting and legal implications in special-patient situations?"
Looking like he was about to wet his pants, the kid stumbled through the four paragraphs. When he finally finished, she prolonged the agony by asking him, "So, what happens when you find valuables on an injured person?" Dead silence. "Are you responsible for them?" Again, the young man couldn't answer. His face paled. "Better study tonight," she warned. "I'll be sure to ask you again on Wednesday. Or there might be a quiz where you need to score at least seventy percent."
Tully swallowed hard. Winters remained neutral, her expression almost robotic.
Watching the new recruit, Dylan's temper flared. He remembered vividly one time Winters had asked him a question from the previous night's reading. When he'd gotten it wrong, she gave him grief about no sick person wanting to be cared for by someone who didn't know the exact location of the sciatic nerve.
After that, he'd never missed a question in her class.
Three-quarters of the way through their session, she wound up her lesson, assigning fifty pages of reading for Wednesday.
Loosely clutching the podium, her posture still military and her face blank, she announced, "We'll take a five-minute break, then Lieutenant O'Roarke will talk to you."
Dylan busied himself scanning the few notes he'd jotted, but was distracted by a young female recruit who'd come up to the podium to speak to Winters.
Connie Cleary.
"I'm coming to the exercise class Wednesday morning," she said.
Winters turned uninterested eyes on her recruit "Fine."
"I, um…"
When the poor girl shifted and looked at her feet, Winters stared hard at her. "Recruit Cleary, firefighters need to say what's on their minds with a minimum of words and without stammering. In an emergency situation, it's vital."
The young woman went scarlet. "Yes, ma'am," she mumbled, and fled the room.
Apparently unaffected by the scene, Winters resumed looking at her book.
Dylan told himself to keep quiet. How she interacted with the girl was none of his business. But as usual, he lost the internal battle to stay quiet where this woman was concerned. At least he managed to wait until all the recruits had left the room to begin the war.
He stalked to her. "You got ice in your veins, lady?”
She peered over at him, her eyes wide, her expression surprised. "Excuse me?"
"That girl was terrified when she asked to speak to you. Not that I blame her. You're about as approachable as a porcupine. You scared the hell out of her."
Winters arched an arrogant brow. "That girl might be at your back in less than four months, O'Roarke, at a fire or an accident scene. You want her tongue-tied then?”
She had a point, but he wouldn't let it go. “If you drive recruits like Cleary and Tully out, I'll never have a chance to help them get to the line."
"I don't coddle recruits."
"You don't know the meaning of the word."
"Does all this have a point?"
"Yes. I think you were too harsh on her and Tully."
The discussion was ended by a messenger who brought in a notice about recruits getting tetanus shots.
The students filed back in. Still steaming, Dylan bypassed the lectern Winters had used and sat on a desk, earning a big frown from her before she strode to the back of the room. Well, too bad. She could frown all she wanted. He didn't care what she was thinking.
Oh, great, Beth thought, taking a chair and watching O'Roarke. He's going to get all friendly. When all the recruits were seated, he gave them a warm smile. Over the years, she'd heard about that smile and what it could accomplish.
"I'm not much on formality," he told the kids. “As a matter of fact, I'd like to hear your input on what you think about the qualities of a CFR/EMT and some of the issues Ms. Winters raised. Okay, everyone take out a sheet of paper." When they were ready, he said, "Close your eyes." A little mumbling, but they did as instructed. "Now, visualize this. You're on a rig, racing to an accident." He paused. "You know it's a two-car crash. Several people are hurt. You get there. Two are trapped and one was thrown from the car. Think about what traits you need to have as emergency personnel on the scene."
Beth didn't participate in the exercise, and though the technique went against her grain, she admitted its validity as a good way to spark their thinking.
O'Roarke waited a long minute, his eyes dancing with delight. At what? she wondered. Teaching this group?
"All right, now write down the traits that came to mind."
When they finished, he said, "Beneath the list, ask any questions about EMS that you'd like. Print, if you're worried about handwriting recognition. I want you to be honest."
O'Roarke leaned back and braced his arms on the desk. The pose stretched his shirt across impressive pecs. Line firefighters really stayed in shape, but then, they had to. He gave Beth a challenging glare. She kept her face blank.
Once he'd collected the sheets of paper, he resumed his position on the desk and read off the traits the recruits had suggested. Many were the ones Beth had given. Others were not. When he got to one of the latter, he stopped, raised his eyes to the class. "I guess tact is important but you need to remember that the patient's well-being overrides that.”
Tapping her pencil on her notebook, Beth waited for him to emphasize that the firefighter's or EMT's safety was paramount.
He didn't.
When the traits were covered, he began to read the questions aloud. Most were the sort of inane things she expected. At a typical station, how many EMS calls are there in comparison to fire calls? What would you do if a person stopped breathing and you didn't know what was wrong? Do firefighters ever get sick on gruesome calls? They were all fairly innocuous, and Beth began to breathe easier, thinking O'Roarke wasn't going to do too much damage the first day.
Smiling at the class, he held up the last sheet of paper. "One more to go, then we can get out of here." He read the question in a confident voice. "If you were at a fire and a victim needed mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, but you didn't have a face guard, what should you do?"
His shoulders tensing, he glanced in her direction. He cleared his throat. "You should find a face guard."
Silence. Then someone from the back—she couldn't see the recruit's name tag—asked, "What would you do?"
O'Roarke froze. His eyes scanned the group, but he didn't look at her. "I'd perform the resuscitation without a face guard."