A Firefighter's Promise. Patricia Johns

His stomach curdled and sweat sprang out on his palms. He knew he was a good firefighter. He knew he’d followed all the protocol possible in that fire, and he knew that he wasn’t liable or at fault, but somehow that didn’t change a thing.

      Matt willed his pounding heart to quiet, and he signaled for another turn onto his brother’s street.

      He’d eat steak. He’d compliment his sister-in-law’s pasta salad, and he’d jokingly rebuff all of Gloria’s attempts to set him up and get him married. It was Wednesday night, and he knew the drill.

      Lord, he prayed silently, I need this job.

      * * *

      The next evening, the aroma of pizza drifted down Main Street, mingling with the scent of the hanging planters that hung from lampposts, dripping a lazy rhythm from a recent watering. Alphonzo’s Pizza crouched on one corner, nestled up against Duggar Jewelers. Golden sunlight bathed the street, contrasting with the long shadows. Six o’clock constituted dinnertime in Haggerston, and the streets were deserted, save for the rumble of the odd pickup truck. Almost all of the local businesses had closed up shop for the evening, with the exception of Alphonzo’s Pizza.

      Inside the restaurant, Rachel and Chris sat at a table in the far corner, listening to the distant din of the kitchen. A paper menu in the center of the table showed the meal options—everything from pizza to chop suey—and Chris fiddled with the corner, a bored look on his face.

      “Hi, hon,” a young waitress crooned, pulling a pad of paper from her pocket. “What can I get you to start?”

      “Could we get my son a pop?” she asked. “What kind, sweetie?”

      “Orange, please.”

      “Sure thing.” The waitress jotted it down. “And for you?”

      “Actually we’re waiting for someone, so maybe I’ll wait until he arrives.”

      As if on cue, the bell above the door tinkled and Matt stepped inside, pulling off his sunglasses. He was out of uniform today, wearing a pair of jeans and a blue polo shirt that strained slightly around his biceps. He glanced around the restaurant, his steely gaze falling on them.

      “Oh, here he is,” Rachel said and smiled up at Matt as he approached the table. He slid into the chair opposite Rachel, and while they ordered soft drinks and a pepperoni pizza, she found herself studying his face. A pale scar cut past one eyebrow, a detail she hadn’t noticed earlier. He seemed gentler out of uniform, more accessible, less official. His sun-bleached hair had a touch of premature gray working through the front, and as he leaned his elbows on the tabletop, the scent of aftershave lingered.

      “So, how are you liking Haggerston?” Matt asked after the waitress left the table.

      “I’ve always loved this town,” she said. “I wanted to move here years ago.”

      “Why didn’t you?”

      “My husband was with the Billings Fire Department, and he was happy there. He was climbing.” She shrugged. “What can you do?”

      He nodded. “It’s hard to move on once your life is rooted somewhere else. I get that.”

      “This is the perfect tiny town. The flowers on the street corners, the shops where everyone knows each other—”

      “You like the idea of everyone knowing you?” he asked with a wry smile.

      “Maybe?” She laughed softly. “In some ways it’s comforting, but I’m sure there is a flip side to the coin. What about you? How long have you lived here?”

      “I grew up here, so if I’m not related to someone, I probably know them somehow.” He grinned. “Our waitress babysits my cousin’s kids.”

      “Seriously?” Rachel looked back at the young woman taking another table’s order. “It’s a small world.”

      “It’s a small town,” he corrected with a low laugh.

      “Did you know my mom, Mr. Bailey?” Chris locked his gaze on the firefighter’s face, all the intensity of his seven years focused on the man across the table from him, and Rachel shifted uncomfortably. She knew that her son had questions, and it looked as though he was ready to ask a few of them.

      “I just met her the other day, with you,” Matt replied, his gaze flickering toward Rachel.

      “No, I mean my other mom,” he pressed. “The one who left me at the firehouse. Did you know her?”

      Rachel’s stomach dropped. He’d been asking about his birth mother lately, and she somehow hoped that he would never need to know more about the woman than she’d already told him and that she could be enough. She wasn’t, though, and she didn’t have the answers, either. All she wanted right now was to be able to fill in the gaps for him, to help soothe his unease and confusion.

      “Uh...” Matt looked up at Rachel uncertainly, then back to the boy’s earnest gaze. “I never did find out who she was, buddy. I’m sorry.”

      “It’s okay.” Chris shrugged. “I just wondered.”

      “You have a really good mom right here,” Matt said. “She loves you a whole lot.”

      “Yeah, I love her, too.” Chris leaned back in his chair, but his eyes were still clouded.

      The food arrived. A large pepperoni pizza oozing melted cheese and still sizzling from the oven was deposited in the center of the table. After everyone was served and Chris took a big bite of pizza, Rachel sucked in a deep breath.

      “I know that Chris wants to hear about how he was found,” she said. Chris’s attention snapped up.

      “Sure.” Matt cleared his throat. “Do you know anything about that night, Chris?”

      “A little bit,” the boy replied past a cheek full of food.

      “I was working the night shift, and I was watching a training video. Someone buzzed downstairs—a woman—asking me to come down. I didn’t know what to expect, so I went on down.”

      “Was that my mom?” Chris asked after swallowing.

      Every time Chris referred to his birth mother as “his mom,” it stung just a little. Rachel had imagined these conversations countless times over the years, but she’d never fully appreciated how difficult it was for a mother to share her child. She should have been discussing this with him long ago, and if she hadn’t been so crushed by Ed’s death, she would have.

      “I’m assuming so,” Matt said with a nod. “When I got down there, she was gone, and you were there. In a box.”

      “Was I small?”

      “You were pretty tiny, buddy.”

      “Did I cry?”

      “A little bit. You were hungry.”

      “So you fed me?”

      “We had some bottles and formula on hand in case of emergency, and I guess you counted as an emergency. So I sat in a big armchair, and I fed you your bottle. You slurped that thing back like nobody’s business, and then you settled in for a nice nap.”

      “How long did you hold him for?” Rachel asked softly.

      “It took about three hours for Social Services to arrive. So I just sat there and held him. He was cold.” He glanced at Rachel uneasily, and she suspected there was more to the story, details he couldn’t share in front of Chris.

      “What’s that services thing?” Chris asked.

      “Social Services take care of people when they need help. They came to get you, and they found you a good home where you would be safe and loved. That’s how your mom and dad got you.”

      “We got a call that night.” Rachel continued the story. “They said a baby needed a safe home, and they asked if