“You’re blushing, you sexy beast,” Santo coos, and all the guys crack up.

“These pictures are on Yahoo already,” Angela says. Silence falls.

“Wow,” Helen says. “Fame for little old Eaton Falls.”

“Your mother will love these,” Dad murmurs. “I’m gonna call her right now. Yahoo, you say, Porkchop?”

“Dad, this is Angela,” I say. “Angela, my father, Captain Mike O’Neill, and my heroic brother Mark, and my other heroic brother, Matt, and Santo and Helen and the rest of the gang.”

“Hi,” Matt says, smiling.

“Hello,” she says, blushing. How cute.

“Dad,” I say, “we’re doing a feature on local heroes—” Dad rolls his eyes “—and the chief already cleared it, so don’t bother complaining. Angela is our food editor, and she’d like to talk to some of you about firehouse food.”

“This is where I go home,” Helen says.

I grin. “And I’m supposed to interview some guys about saving lives.”

“Chief okayed this?” Dad says with a pained look. I nod firmly. “Fine.” He sighs. “Let’s see, who’s the best cook around here…hm. Matt! You do it, son.”

“Sure,” Matt says. “Want to see the kitchen?” he asks Angela, whose face is bright red. “You’re Trevor’s Angela, right?”

“Um…I…we…” she stammers, and I try not to laugh. My brothers are a handsome lot, but I can’t say that I’ve ever seen a woman quite so affected before. Perhaps now I should tell her about the time Matt dressed up in my pink Easter dress and matching hat when he was six…but no, they’re already off to the kitchen.

“And what else do you need, Porkchop?” Dad asks me.

“Just to talk to some of you about being heroic, manly alpha dogs who risk their lives to save the rest of us poor slobs. Or, in Mark’s case, poor kitty-cats.”

Dad makes a face. “I don’t know, honey. We all kind of hate that crap.”

“That crap is my bread and butter, Daddy. I’m under orders from my editor.”

He sighs. “Fine. You owe me. Who do you want to talk to? Mark?”

“Well, no, since Alan already got him. Plus there’s the family connection, so no O’Neills.”

“Would Jake do?” Dad asks.

“I need someone who can speak in full sentences.”

“Right. Santo? How about you?” Dad asks. “Care to talk to Chastity for the paper?”

“Sorry, Chas. No. How about Helen?” Santo smiles apologetically.

“Helen has left the building,” George offers.

“How about you, then, George?” I ask.

“Yeah…no. Sorry, kid. I gotta go, too. Been here all day.” He pats my shoulder and heads out.

I sigh. I knew it would be like this. Firefighters are a modest bunch. They love what they do, talk about it endlessly with each other. But when it comes to public adulation, they clam up and credit everyone but themselves.

“Sorry, sweetie,” Dad says.

Just then, Trevor appears from the truck bay. “Trevor!” Dad barks. “You’re busted, son. Come over here.”

“Hey, Chastity,” he says. He still smells of smoke, and my stomach lurches at the thought of him in a burning building.

“Were you on the call?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he answers. “I was in for Dave. Mark made a real nice grab.” He grins, and I look away quickly.

“Chastity needs to interview someone for her paper, and no one wants to do it. How about it?”

Trevor makes the same face of pain my father made.

“Come on!” I say. “Please, Trev? My editor won’t believe that no one would talk to me. I’ll probably be fired.” Not true at all. “You don’t want that on your head, do you?”

“Fine.” He sighs. “Where do you want to go?”

“Somewhere quiet,” I say.

“Want to sit outside? It’s a beautiful day.”

We go to the back of the firehouse, where there’s a picnic table and a few plastic chairs. The sky glimmers bright blue with creamy cumulus clouds piled on top of each other. Birdies sing in the trees, and the mountains glow green in the background. Even at the edge of the parking lot, it’s bleeping gorgeous.

Trev sits down and folds his arms across his chest in textbook “I don’t want to talk” body language.

“I really appreciate this,” I say, taking out my notebook. “I’ll make it fun, okay?”

“Make it quick, how’s that?” He smiles to take the edge out of his words.

“So, Trev, have you always wanted to be a firefighter?” I ask, giving him a smile.

His own smile drops into a frown, and he just stares at me intently.

“Is there a bee on me?” I ask.

“What’s wrong, Chas?”

“Nothing,” I protest. “I’m…I’m fine. Why?”

“You look…something happened, didn’t it?” he asks gently, leaning forward.

I take a breath, hold it, then let it go. “Don’t tell my dad,” I begin.

“Shit. Is it that doctor?” His face darkens suddenly.

“No! No, Ryan’s fine. He’s…he’s great.” I sigh. “Remember I told you that I thought someone was bothering me at work, messing up my stuff?” He nods. “Well, someone sent me a mean e-mail today.”

“Who?” he asks.

“I don’t know. It said it was from me, so go figure.”

“What did it say?” he asks.

I glance away from his dark, dark eyes. “Oh, nothing too scary. That I was, um, a bitch. And ugly. He called me Hulk. Like Hulk Hogan, I guess, or the Incredible Hulk. Either way, less than flattering, you know?”

It’s when he takes my hand that my eyes fill. His hand is warm and smooth and calloused, and it feels so good and reassuring and perfect. Embarrassed, I wipe my eyes with my free hand.

“Are you going to the police?” he asks.

“Yeah, maybe.”

“You are. And I’m coming with you.”

“No, you’re not. I’ll—”

“I’m coming, Chas.” He squeezes my hand, then lets it go, and for a minute, my hand just doesn’t know what to do, like its purpose in life has been taken away. “You saved the e-mail, right?” Trev asks.

“Right,” I answer.

“Good girl.”

I swallow, then look down at my notebook. “Well, I still have to do this little profile, okay? So if you don’t mind…”

“Sure. Fire away.”

We’re back to normal, that strange state of just a little more than friends. “Okay. Trev, why did you become a firefighter?” I ask.

“To be like your dad.” The answer is immediate.

I smile a little at that, even though I knew the answer. “And do you love it?”

“Yup. So are we done?” He grins.

I laugh. “These questions are designed to put you at ease, Trevor, and I can see that they’re working just great. Take a breath, relax. We’re just getting started.”

“I just don’t really like this sort of thing.”

“Why not? You guys are the bomb! Everyone loves firemen. You know that.”

He rolls his eyes. “Well, I don’t want to make myself out to be a hero. Nobody does.”

“But you are heroes and we do love you. So shut up and get over it, bub.” He smiles and my cheeks feel a little hot. “So, Firefighter Meade, what’s the best part of this job?”

“Serving the community of Eaton Falls.”

I wait, but he seems finished. “Trevor,” I say through gritted teeth, “cooperate.”

“Fine. It beats being a garbage man, okay?”

I throw my pen down in disgust. “My father said you’d help me, okay? So do it, or I’m telling.”

Finally, he laughs. “Okay, you big baby.”

“Don’t make me hurt you.” I pick up my pen again. “If I were to quote you as saying something like, ‘I’m proud to serve the people of Eaton Falls…it’s good to know that my job lets me help those in need’…would that be okay?”

“As long as you make it sound better than that, then sure, I guess.”

I let that one pass. “Tell me what it’s like to work at saving lives.” I give him my best interview smile.

“It beats not saving lives.”

“You know, you were so nice before, and yet now I want to hit you.”

“Come on, Chas!” he says. “Who can answer this stuff?” I glare. He shifts in the chair. “Okay.” He sighs. “Well, of course we don’t get to save lives every day, or even save buildings. Most of our work, as you already know, is medicals, automatic alarms, car accidents. But yeah, once in a while, we get to save a life.”

“Can you give me some examples?” I ask.

He thinks. “A couple days ago, we had this guy about fifty, fifty-five years old. He had a heart attack, and we did CPR, shocked him, got a rhythm back.”

“Did he make it?” I ask.

“No,” Trevor says. “He died the next day. Most people who get CPR don’t make it.” He’s quiet for a minute. “But he died with his family around him, and they had a little time to prepare themselves, to say things to him, even if he couldn’t hear it.”

My chest aches. “That’s a gift, Trevor,” I whisper. “You gave them a chance to say goodbye.”

He shrugs, looking uncomfortable. “It would’ve been nicer to give them back their father. Husband.”

“But still.” He says nothing. “Any others leap to mind?”

He sighs. “Well, last summer there was a kid who fell in the river, and we pulled her out. She lived. A little brain damage, but she’s doing okay.”

“Do you ever see her?”

His looks at me sharply. “Don’t print this, okay?” I nod. “Yeah, I still see her. I was on dive team that day, and I’m the one who pulled her out. She walks with a limp now, but she’s doing fine.”

“God, Trev! You saved a child’s life.” Somehow, that story wasn’t passed down to me in Newark. I can hardly stand to picture it, the image is so terrifying and heroic…Trevor pulling a child from the water, loading her into the ambulance, visiting her in the hospital. I clear my throat. Trevor is staring at the ground.

“Okay, Trev, let’s talk about the feelings, because readers love to get all touchy-feely. How does it feel, knowing you saved a life? Knowing that you’re a hero?”

Trevor doesn’t look up from the pavement. “I don’t think I’m any different from anyone else. I just have a better job than most people.”

“You’re wrong,” I say without thinking. “I’d give anything to save somebody. To really make a difference.”

He looks up, stares at me for a beat. “You do, Chastity. And you have.”

There’s something in his eyes that I can’t discern, something sad and intent, and I wish I could crawl onto his lap and hug him. Then he looks away, glances at his watch, and the moment is over.

I swallow. “Well, I meant making a difference in the big scheme of things. ‘He who saves one life saves the world’ and all that.”

“What’s that from? The Bible?”

“Schindler’s List is where I heard it.”

Trevor laughs. “Chastity, you’re so funny. Hey, speaking of heroes, here comes Cat-Man.”

I look up to see my brother coming toward us from the back door of the fire department. “And then a hero comes along,” I sing. “With the strength to carry a kitty-cat…”

“What the f**k were you thinking?” Mark demands, lurching to a halt in front of me.

I blink. “Excuse me?”

“You f**king babysit while my wife goes on a date?” he yells, planting himself two feet in front of me. “What the f**k is that about, you stupid idiot?”

“Easy, Mark,” Trevor says, standing. “Calm down.”

“Stay out of this, Trevor. I just got off the phone with Elaina and she said you were over there last night while she was off with some f**king moron doing God knows what! You stay out of my business, Chastity, and leave my family alone.”

A hot, slow wave of anger rolls up through me. “Mark,” I grind out, standing up and taking a step toward him. “Your family, you ass, also happens to be my family. You’re the one who screwed things up with Elaina, so don’t go blaming me if she goes on a date, okay?”

“You think you know everything, Chastity?” By now, several other firefighters are gathered at the back door, reluctant to become involved in a family squabble, but not about to ignore it, either. “Don’t you ever babysit for my son again!”

“Oh, for pete’s sake!” I say.

“Not when my wife is screwing around on me!”

“Mark, settle down,” Trevor says again.

“Fuck off, Trevor!” Mark bellows. Trevor steps in front of me, but I shove past him.

“You’re making an idiot of yourself, Mark O’Neill,” I hiss. “Again. Okay? Just shut up and get some counseling.”

Mark’s fists clench. “You little bitch,” he snarls.

“Mark!” Trevor barks. “Enough!”