The place was clean as a whistle, though. When there was nothing to do the paramedics and fire fighters all had chore rotation, and Joe kept a tight ship. A veteran of Vietnam and the first Gulf War, he ran the place like a military officer and it showed. Response time was lightning fast, employee retention was nearly 100 percent, and they hadn’t had a new hire in four years. The waiting list to work there was dozens deep.
Joe closed the door, but didn’t sit down. He pulled out a manilla envelope and said quietly, “Murphy just found out his wife has breast cancer.”
Cold descended over him. “Oh, shit.” His heart rate shot up. No man should have to go through this. He and Mike had, though, and he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, imagining what Murphy was going through.
“You know how hard it is, Stanwyck. And Murphy’s dad has Alzheimer’s. His wife’s been taking care of him. They need to hire some kind of caregiver to help with his dad now, and they have the kids... If she gets the right treatment they think they caught it nice and early. We’re taking up a collection, though.” He handed Dylan the envelope and reached for the doorknob. “It’s none of my business what you put in—just give what you can manage. No amount’s too small.”
You have no idea. “Of course.”
“Put the envelope in my top drawer when you’re done.” He slipped out, face impassive. Dylan stared at the envelope in his hand, full of 5s and 10s. He’d just been to the money machine that morning and had taken out $300. Reaching into his back pocket he pulled out his wallet and threw it all in there, mixing it in with the 5s and 10s to reduce suspicion. Not that it would help; it was pretty obvious.
He wondered if there was a way to ask the trust guy to send a bunch of money anonymously to Murphy’s family. How many other guys like Murphy were out there, though? He had fifty million a year coming in, and the station was trying to get a few hundred to help with parking, meals, and babysitting for this poor family struggling with cancer and so much more. The weight of the money rested heavily on his shoulders, a new burden to carry. How could he help people with it?
Eh. $300 was a good start. He slipped the envelope in Joe’s desk and walked out. What a great place to work. At least Murphy wouldn’t have to worry about health insurance; their coverage was solid. Thank goodness; one less burden for the family.
It was the perfect job, really. Yet Dylan was thinking about quitting lately. He’d hung on for months after getting the first payment from the trust, not wanting to let go of his life. His old life. That’s what it was rapidly becoming, when he was honest with himself. Unfolding before him was a new life, one filled with more money than he could spend in 200 years, two amazing partners, and a sense of hope and renewal that made him think long and hard about how he wanted to spend his time. Coming to work now had become an exercise in habit, following his schedule and hanging out, working rescues and just doing what he’d done for most of his adult life because, well, that’s what he had done.
Had. Had done.
He stopped picking up extra shifts—didn’t need the money. Some of the other guys were thrilled to pick up the extra, making Dylan strongly doubt why he was there. Was he hogging a job someone else could really use? Desperately needed? In this economy, it was no small matter to find decent pay, good work hours, great benefits and a well-oiled machine like the station run by Joe. Another guy (or woman, he reminded himself) who really wanted the job and who needed to earn a living would appreciate what Dylan now considered tossing aside.
He didn’t need it any more. What had once seemed so valuable was now only important because of the social and emotional ties he had to his fellow coworkers. But even there, he was changing. Never before had he realized how much conversation revolved around money. Specifically, the lack of it. People seemed to bond over it, complaining about high prices (especially gas!), student loans, hard-to-get mortgages, spouses and girlfriends who wanted to spend more, and how expensive kids were to raise. He’d once easily joined them, shouldering a crazy-high car payment and his own credit card bills that testified to his spending stupidity.
All debt was washed away a few months ago with a check bigger than his ego. Ah, Jill. Only Jill could orchestrate something like that.
Jill. As his eyes scanned the assignment chart and found his name, he realized he hadn’t thought much about Jill these past few weeks. He wondered what the smile that elicited looked like, for it twisted his cheeks and lips into something unhappily nostalgic, not really pleased but marginally amused. Wistful.