One ambulance pulled away with the security guard, but Pop lay on the ground, surrounded by the other firefighters.
The engine lights kept flashing; the radio crackled. Danny, Jesse, and Izzy bent over Pop. Izzy’s helmet and mask were off. Her face was filthy.
Siria pushed her way over, bumping into people, whispering “Sorry.” Jesse tugged at her shoulder. “Siria! Just stay back. Wait.”
She scrambled away from him, darting around everyone until she was squeezed in as close as she could get.
Helmet off now. Blue eyes. Streaked face.
He was alive!
Her heart began to beat again.
He saw her, too. “Right as rain, Siria,” he whispered. He reached up and took her hand, squeezing it hard. “Remember …”
It was easy to read his mind. He’d said it so many times: It’s the rescue I love, Siria. It’s making a difference that helps me want to do this.
“I love you, Pop.” How odd her voice sounded.
An EMT put boards around Pop’s leg, shaking his head a little. Siria’s own knees were shaking. She sank down next to him, and Danny’s arm went around her. “He’ll be all right. We’ll just take him to the hospital and they’ll check him out.”
The crowd was leaving now. Willie wound up the hose and the engines pulled away. Mrs. Byars leaned in, her eyes soft. “I could take Siria home with me.”
Siria shook her head. “I’m going with him.”
Izzy nodded. “Of course she is.” Pop smiled a little. “You heard my girl,” he told Mrs. Byars, who smiled back.
Easy as that.
They slid the stretcher into the ambulance and Siria climbed up and squeezed into the small space across from Pop.
She kept his hand in hers as the sirens began again, and watched his eyes closing as the ambulance pulled out. He didn’t even ask what she’d been doing outside in the middle of the night.
The lounge next to the emergency room was filled with firefighters, all there for him. Siria waited with them, Izzy’s arms around her.
At last, the doctor crouched in front of her. “Lucky guy, your dad! No fracture! Bad bruising. Sprains. A broken rib that we’ve bound up. Nothing major, but we’ll keep him here for a day or two. We have to take good care of our firefighters.”
She and Izzy followed the doctor back to a cubicle. Pop was asleep and there was color in his cheeks now. He had a clear plastic tube in his nose. “That’s oxygen,” the doctor said. “Perked him right up.”
Siria kissed Pop’s forehead and wiped a bit of grit from his cheek. He didn’t open his eyes; he was still sleeping.
“Time to go home, honey,” Izzy said.
They walked back to the firehouse and stopped in the kitchen for a hot chocolate. Siria had never been there so late. The dormitory door was open, so she could see a row of beds with clean sheets and folded blankets. And right now, it was peaceful. Smoky, the little black cat, sat on the table, half asleep, her tail around her.
“Nobody wants her,” Willie said.
“I do,” Izzy said. “She’s mine now.”
“Another rescue,” Siria said.
Izzy nodded. “Exactly. That’s our job. And this cat will curl up with me on cold nights.”
They drove the few blocks to the apartment house in Izzy’s car. No one had asked Siria what she was doing in the street in the middle of the night.
Without thinking, she blurted out: “I was chasing you.”
Izzy pulled into an open spot in front of the apartment house. “I know.” She turned and patted Siria’s hands. “I always knew you were there.”
She knew!
Siria took a breath. “Does Pop—”
Izzy shook her head. “Just me. You chased your father and I chased you. Every time. As soon as the engine pulled in, I threw off my gear and went to your building to watch as you pedaled in, to be sure you were safe.”
She touched Siria’s hair. “You belong to us. Besides …” She hesitated. “My father was a firefighter, too. His firehouse was far away in the Bronx. I couldn’t chase him; I couldn’t even hear the sirens. But I was always worried.”
At last Siria was crying: for Pop, and because Izzy had been there all the time. Crying because of Douglas, and because she was so afraid he’d set another fire. She was so tired, and how good it felt to let the tears come.
“You’re rescuing me,” she told Izzy after a few minutes, just able to get the words out.
Izzy gave her a crooked smile. “You and the cat.”
Siria reached out to Izzy, smelling the smoke in her hair, seeing the sudden tears in her dark eyes. How would Izzy fit into the make-believe family she and Laila wished for? Maybe an angel. Almost a mother.
“Your pop is really going to be all right,” Izzy said. “He’s strong and quick. He rolled away from that board—it caught only his side and his leg. It could have been much worse.”
Siria nodded uncertainly.
“We’re trained, Siria. We know what we’re doing. You have to believe that. He’ll be home for Christmas. And we’ll celebrate.”
They hugged again, and then Siria slid out the door. This time she’d remembered her key.
Izzy rolled down the window. “I’m off tomorrow. Want to go Christmas shopping?”
“I do,” Siria called back. She went upstairs and tiptoed past Mimi, asleep on the couch.
She didn’t bother hanging on the door, but snuggled under the quilt, feeling her feet begin to warm. Imagine! Izzy had known all the time.
“Home for Christmas,” she whispered.
From the corner of her window, she could see clouds like pillows covering most of the night sky, but here and there was the pale twinkle of a star.
It was almost as if Mom were looking down at her, telling her not to worry. Pop would be all right. Douglas would stop setting fires. And somehow that poor dog would find food and a place to live.
She wished she could believe it.