Sometimes our light goes out,
but is blown again into instant flame
by an encounter with another human being.
Albert Schweitzer
“Landry, go home,” the attending physician on duty commanded as he passed the young woman in the hallway.
“Almost there,” she promised, glancing at her watch. Monday morning. She’d been at the hospital since Saturday afternoon and felt more than ready to leave.
Dr. Landry Stark had relinquished the care of her patients to a new shift of doctors and nurses; they were in excellent hands. And yet, the tug to complete her rounds prevented her from leaving without putting eyes on each person she’d treated just one more time.
Quiet as a mouse, Landry slipped into each room, consulted the monitors, glanced over charts, adjusted lines, and smoothed blankets. Seeing her patients resting peacefully helped lift the weight of the last thirty-eight hours.
Reminding herself to put one foot in front of the other, Landry entered the doctors’ locker room, swapped her lab coat for her raincoat, grabbed her purse, and closed her locker. Finally, she walked toward the doors leading out of the hospital, ready to head home.
She turned down the last corridor on her way to the staff entrance and parking lot and immediately spotted a fireman sitting in a hard plastic chair along the wall. Alone. His knees supported his elbows, which kept his hands in place to hold up his head. Landry didn’t need to see his face. She didn’t have to look past the grime and soot covering every inch of his clothing. She knew exactly who sat there.
“Davis?” She kneeled in front of him, slow to put a hand on his arm so she wouldn’t startle him awake. “Davis, do you need to see a doctor?”
When he barely lifted his eyes to hers, Landry had the impression that picking up his head might be too heavy a task for him. Davis’s expression, along with the pain and vacancy in his eyes, scared Landry. The broken shell before her bore no resemblance to her friend, so well-known for his boisterous personality, his coquettish demeanor, and his endless charm. The fun-loving facets of the man her friends adoringly dubbed “The Flirtbird” had vacated the premises.
No, he’d not been asleep, but perhaps in a trance. They’d both seen such horrific things that day. It didn’t stretch the mind to imagine Davis fighting not to close his eyes.
“Davis, are you hurt?” Landry persisted.
“No,” his voice was raw. He took a deep breath, probably shoring up whatever strength he had left. He straightened and then stood, helping her stand up with a hand under her elbow. “No, I’m fine.”
He sounded more like himself. He looked more like himself — steady and solid. But he was not fine.
“Are you okay?” Davis searched deep into her eyes, ferreting out the truth.
“That was my first large-scale catastrophe. I hope it’s my last.”
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Davis said, his voice hollow again.
They stood in silence for a moment, neither one having the right words to help process the tragedy.
“Someone said Earl opened Triple T’s early to serve breakfast to first responders. Come with me?” Sensing they both would benefit from more human contact, Landry’s request came out as a plea. Besides, they needed food. Neither of them would’ve eaten since they were at Daisy Lake on Saturday afternoon. Almost two days ago. The distance between the peace she’d experienced at the lake and the exhaustion she felt in that moment had to be greater than a mere two days.
She hadn’t planned on going to the diner before coming upon Davis in the hallway, but her gut told her to take the detour. They both needed it.
“No, but thank you. I'm waiting for word on the Cadells. Eddie Cadell and his boy, Zane. Zane would’ve been on one of the earlier ambulance runs, but Eddie—” His voice hitched. He cleared his throat before trying again. “Eddie stayed in the building a lot longer. He was in bad shape.”
“Yes, I know—” she started to say.
“Is he dead?”
