Leaving Normal by Stef Holm (best ereader for graphic novels TXT) 📕

for them. You wouldn't think that, but people want a firehouse cat."

"Of course, because firefighters rescued them. It's honorable and noble and…" Her train of thought faded.

They were talking about cats, but she couldn't keep her eyes off him. The way his hands moved, the way he rubbed that slice of wood had her imagining what his hands would feel like all over her. She tried to push that thought to the back of her mind, but it just wouldn't leave.

"Uh, what are you making?"

"A wedge for my hat. I lost my other one."

"A wedge?"

"It chalks a door open after I go in when there's a fire," he explained.

I He held up the small piece of wood, about three

I inches long.

I "I always keep one in my helmet." He finished sand-

I ing the rough sides of wood. "A lot of guys do."

She noticed his firefighter helmet lay upside down on the bench, its rim marked with dings and scars. Inside there were crosspieces of black elastic bands and beneath one of the bands was a picture. He caught her looking and followed her gaze, somewhat hesitantly.

Seeing the object of her focus, he slid the worn-out photograph from the elastic, and almost with embarrassment said, "I forgot to take this out."

It was a picture of his ex-wife and stepdaughter, and she had the sudden feeling that there was more to the battered hat's scars than just the obvious. Tony had been scarred inside his heart, a place that he could hide, but it was obvious now that he'd been deeply hurt.

"I think it's sweet you kept a picture of the people you loved inside your helmet," she said, wishing for some utterly strange and unknown reason that a man would love her enough to carry her photograph into a burning building with him.

Tony didn't say anything. He took the photo and dropped it into one of the drawers of his tool chest. Then he put the wedge in his helmet.

"Can I see that?" she asked.

He handed the helmet to her and she examined the E-13 symbol over the front crown.

"How come the numbers come off?" she asked, referring to the way the E-13 badge was affixed with small fabric hooks.

"In case I leave one station for another. I don't have to replace my helmet—just put another patch on the front."

"Oh."

There was an eagle emblazoned on the dark helmet as well, and the helmet's overall weight was heavier than she'd anticipated. Just holding it, she was in awe of his profession. She wondered how many times he'd worn it, how many lives had been saved because of him.

"Thanks," she said, handing it back to Tony.

He opened the Ram and tossed the helmet onto the seat. Then to her, "Want to come inside, have a cup of coffee?"

She hadn't expected an invite, that hadn't been the reason she'd come over, and yet…

His cell phone rang and he collected it from the work bench.

"Sorry," he muttered to her, then into the receiver, "Hello?"

A look came over his face, awash of "Been there, done this before" as he replied, "You'll have to call the fire station for that. We're taking the applications over there."

She watched him; his eyes grew hooded, disinterested, and yet he seemed vaguely flattered.

"I know that," he said. "Yeah. But I'm not the only one to give my opinion and you really need to Jill out the form. No. I'm not available."

He shrugged apologetically at Natalie.

"No. I don't date women I don't know. Yes, I'm sure." He cut the call short, then half smiled. "How my cell-phone number has gotten out beats the hell out of me. But it's been ringing all the time."

It was no mystery to Natalie. Half the female population in Boise probably had sniffed out his number and wanted a date with him.

"Coffee?" he asked once more.

She smiled regretfully. "I've got to get back home and finish some things. But thanks anyway."

"Another time."

"Sure." But she knew she probably wouldn't.

As she walked down the driveway, she glanced through her mail to give herself purpose—something to do other than focus her every thought on Tony Cruz and wonder if he was watching her leave. Or if he felt anything at all for her… and why she even cared. Or wanted him to…

Dead ends. Anything between them would be a dead end, or so she reminded herself. Neglecting to remove his ex-wife's picture from his helmet was testament to the fact he wasn't ready to move on, that he still mourned the loss of a family…that he probably wanted a family of his own and would begin one. But not with her.

Never with her. She was so done with that part of her life.

The return address in the corner of a letter caught her attention. St. Luke's B.C.D.C.—Breast Cancer Detection Center.

She slid her finger into the flap, withdrew the white letter inside and skimmed it, her steps slowing as she did.

Your mammogram has revealed areas of concern that need further investigation. Please contact our office to schedule an ultrasound.

That's all she saw, everything else blurred and the rest of the mail in her hand fell to the driveway as her footsteps ceased to carry her forward.

Breast cancer… Oh, God, please don't let me have breast cancer.

Natalie had an ultrasound on three spots the mammogram had picked up, and while they were smaller than pea size, they couldn't be aspirated and had to be removed for biopsies.

Several days later, she was admitted to St. Luke's Hospital for a needle localization and general surgery. The procedure was done on an outpatient basis and the preliminary results were positive.

She had fibroadenoma, small ones deep in the tissue. They were not cancerous, but given her family history, it had been safer to remove them.

She'd come home by noon that day—groggy, tired, sore and just wanting to sleep. The stress had worn her down and she'd crashed hard, her mind numb.

She woke sometime around four in the afternoon, the pain of her two