The Fireman Read Online Free Page A

it?”
    Nurse Lean looked past the Fireman, her face stony, her gaze distant and distracted. “What’s your name? You’re one of the new girls.”
    “Yes, ma’am. I was brought in three weeks ago. When they put the call out for volunteers. Harper. Harper Grayson.”
    “Nurse Grayson, this isn’t the time or place—”
    “It is. It has to be. He either has a burst appendix or one that is about to burst. Also, do we have a nurse who knows some sign language? This child can’t hear.”
    The Fireman was staring at her. Al was staring, too, gaping at her over the Fireman’s shoulder. By then Al had relaxed his arm, letting the other man breathe. The Fireman rubbed his throat with his left hand—he had quit trying to pull his glove off—and beamed at her with a mix of appreciation and relief.
    Nurse Lean’s face had darkened again, but she seemed flustered. “You can’t make that diagnosis without a CAT scan.”
    “I can’t make that diagnosis at all,” Harper said. “But I’m just—I’m sure. I used to be a school nurse and I had a boy with this last year. Look, do you see the way he’s covering up?” She glanced at the Fireman, frowned, locked into something else he had been trying to tell them. “Building collapse—you said he was ‘right there.’ Did you mean he was in the building, with his mother, when it fell?”
    “ Yes. That is exactly what I was trying to explain. She was killed. He was struck by some debris. We pulled him out and at the time he seemed physically well, a little battered, but nothing serious. And when he stopped eating and responding to people, we put that down to the shock. Then, this morning, he came up with sweats and couldn’t sit up without pain.”
    “If he took a blow to the abdomen it could’ve damaged his appendix. When was his last bowel movement?”
    “I can’t say I keep track of when the kids go poo. I reckon I can ask, though, if this gentlemen wanted to let me go.”
    Harper shifted her gaze to Albert, who stood there baffled, mouth hanging slightly open.
    “Well,” she said, and for the first time her voice was cross. “Let him go. Spit spot.” Spit spot was a favorite of Mary Poppins, and Harper had, since childhood, liked to substitute Julie Andrews–isms for profanity whenever possible. It gave her a steely feeling of control and reminded her of her best self at the same time.
    “Sorry, ma’am,” Al mumbled, and not only removed his arm from the area of the Fireman’s throat but carefully helped to steady him before stepping back.
    “Lucky for me you let go when you did,” the Fireman said to him, no anger or dislike in his voice at all. “Another minute and instead of dropping off a patient, I would’ve been one myself.” The Fireman crouched down next to the boy, but paused to offer Harper another smile. “You’re good. I like you. Spit spot!” He said it as if the words really meant well done!
    He turned to face Nick, who was brushing tears away with his thumb. The Fireman moved his hands in a series of brisk gestures: closed fists, a pointed finger, a hand squeezed shut and another hand flying open from it. Harper thought of a man playing with a butterfly knife, or running through scales on some fantastic but invisible musical instrument.
    Nick held out three fingers and pinched them together, as if he were grabbing for a fly in the air. Harper knew that one. Most people knew it. No . There was a little more after that she couldn’t catch, his hands, arms, and face all in motion.
    “He says he can’t go to the bathroom. That he tried and it hurts. He hasn’t gone to the bathroom since the accident.”
    Nurse Lean blew a hard puff of air, as if to remind everyone who was in charge. “Right. We’ll have your son looked at . . . spit spot . Albert, will you radio for a gurney?”
    “I told you already—he’s not my son,” the Fireman said. “I auditioned for the part, but the play was canceled.”
    “You aren’t family,