She’d been preoccupied at school, short with her mother and distanced from Mark. So she was glad for the distraction of herding forty-five fourth grade students off the bus and into Camden Cove’s Fire Station 1, despite the inevitable excited screeches they emitted. Thankfully, this was not Brody O’Malley’s house—or even his department—because he was the source of her irritability. “Ms. Walsh, come on,” little Terry Miller said. Rambunctious and hard to handle, he seemed to listen more to her than his parents or even the school administrators. She reached out to him for safekeeping. “Hold my hand, Terry.” Together, they entered the bay area. In preparation for the trip, Emma had researched firefighting equipment and terminology and taught some of it to her kids—so she knew what to expect. Three garage-type doors opened up to an engine that carried water and a truck that handled ladders and tools. One big space to the left was empty. Folding chairs had been set up facing a row of firefighters, two men and a woman.
