ODAY IS MY SESSION AT THE Emergency Room of Eaton Falls Hospital. Without passing it, I won’t pass my EMT course. Exactly what I have to do is a mystery. According to Bev, I just check in with the head nurse and do what she says. Stay out of the way and be helpful. No swearing. No hurting the already injured.

I give Rosebud a final pat and head home to shower and eat breakfast. Penelope wants me to write an article about my experiences, God help me. Then, I dropped a bag on the broken leg of an elderly woman who was bleeding profusely… I cringe. Have I gotten better, I wonder? Am I desensitizing myself? I sure as hell hope so.

I have a little time to kill before reporting to the E.R., so I take out my EMT course book. Sitting on my bed, Buttercup glued to my side, I take a deep breath. Today I may see some of the very things listed inside, not in a glossy photograph, but writhing on a gurney. It occurs to me that Ryan may be called to the E.R. while I’m there today. That he’ll see me. I’d like to be at my best. I can’t marry a trauma surgeon and not be able to hear about his work, can I? No.

“So how was work, honey?” I imagine saying, offering him a martini.

“Oh, some jogger was attacked by a mountain lion,” my handsome husband will say, nuzzling my neck as he gratefully accepts his martini and slides his hand along my tiny waist. “Lots of tearing. Limbs hanging by threads. Major organ damage. It was fun.”

Instead of fainting or barfing, I will nod compassionately and ask an intelligent question…like…like…well, I’m feeling a little sweaty right now, but all the more reason to stick with EMT class.

I put my finger on the tab of the atlas of the course book. Very helpful, that tab, for anyone wishing to flip directly to the gruesome photos. “Here we go,” I say to Buttercup, who does not open her odd-colored eyes. Smart dog. I have new appreciation for her after the weekend with Bubbles.

Taking a deep breath, I open the book and glance down at the first page. Abrasion, Road. Also called road burn. See page—

I slam the book shut, causing Buttercup to fly off the bed. “Aaarrarrrooo!” she howls in dismay. I feel like howling myself. Crap! My stomach clenches, bile burns my throat. The photo showed a ribcage, shredded and flaked with bits of torn skin that looked like pink coconut, black bits of gravel, angry red welts, merciless scrapes…Okay! No need to dwell! We saw it. Let’s move on.

I seem to be swallowing an awful lot, but I haven’t fainted. Not even close. Just a little nausea. My hands are clammy, but that’s it. Progress. “Buttercup!” I call, my voice squeaky. “Mommy needs you!” She returns warily, blinking suspiciously at me before clambering back onto the bed. Taking a deep breath, squaring my shoulders, I open the atlas again.

Laceration, tendons still intact. Youch! Christ! Again, I snap the book shut. Buttercup startles and blinks, her jowls quivering in disapproval as she moans. “Can we do one more, Buttercup? Hm, Butterbaby? I think we can, don’t you?”

Who do you think you’re fooling? she seems to say. I tend to agree, but I open the book again.

Facial avulsion. Slam! I shove the book away from me. “Okay! We’re done, Buttercup! Lesson over.” I curl against her, sliding my arm around her tummy and scratching her chest. “Good puppy, good puppy,” I croon. It’s not enough. The image of the woman who gave new meaning to “facial peel” is imprinted on my brain. I close my eyes and breathe through my mouth. Baby, we were born to run.

“Hey, Chas.” Matt stands in my doorway, just returning from work. “What are you doing?”

“Oh, just a little, um…reading,” I say, opening my eyes and smiling gratefully. “How are you, Matt? I’ve hardly seen you the past week or so.”

Matt sighs and comes in. He sits on the floor next to my bed. Buttercup heaves herself off and goes to him, butting her massive head against his chest.

“I was covering for Paul,” my brother says. “Taking whatever overtime I can get.” He scratches Buttercup’s neck vigorously, causing her to moan in ecstasy.

“Are you saving up for something?” I ask.

He doesn’t look up, just continues petting our dog. “I was thinking I might go back to college,” he mutters.

I shift so I can see him better. “Wow. College. That’s great, Matt. What for? Emergency management or something?”

“No,” he says, still not looking at me. “I was thinking…English lit.”

I pause a little too long, apparently, because Matt suddenly pushes Buttercup down and looks at me, almost angry. “So? What’s the big deal? Can’t I do something other than firefighting? Just because everyone else in this family is out there saving lives, does it mean that everyone has to?”

“Well, uh, no, Matt. I mean, I don’t,” I point out.

“Yeah. Well, you’re a girl.”

“Oh, that’s right. I forgot.”

He glares at me, ignoring my sarcasm, looking more like Mark than the gentle Matthew. “Matt,” I continue, “you can do whatever you want with your life. You don’t have to be a firefighter.”

“Yeah, right,” he says, daring me to disagree. “I’m Mike O’Neill’s kid and Jack and Lucky and Mark’s little brother. It pretty much feels like I do have to be a firefighter. Can you imagine what they’d say if I became an English teacher?”

“Who cares? They’d be surprised, that’s all.” I pause. “So. An English teacher. Is that what you really want?”

“I don’t know, Chas. Maybe. Shit. I wish I hadn’t brought it up.” He concentrates on scratching Buttercup’s left ear as she licks her chops and wags, turning so he can reach her belly, the trashy hound.

Obviously, I’ve felt on the outside many times in my family, but it’s a bit of a revelation that Matt could feel that way, too. “Matt,” I say carefully, “I thought you liked being a firefighter.”

“I do,” he admits more calmly. “Just…I don’t know, Chas. I don’t want to do this forever. That’s all. Guys like Trevor and Dad—and Mark, God knows—it’s like their destiny. Like they were put on Earth to do this. I don’t think of it that way.”

I nod, tracing the satin edge of my duvet cover. “So teaching might be your destiny?”

He shrugs, embarrassed. “We were at the middle school in March, you know? Fire prevention and all that. And it was great. The kids were asking all these questions, and…well, I’ve been thinking about maybe becoming a teacher. I was talking to Angela about books and stuff the other day when you guys were at the firehouse, and…” his voice trails off “…I kind of loved it,” he admits. “Shit, Chas, don’t tell anyone, okay?”

“I won’t. I think it’s great, Matt,” I say earnestly. “You shouldn’t feel stuck in a career when you’re thirty-three years old, buddy. Going back to school would be great, however you do it. Part-time, full-time, whatever. Good for you, Matt!”

“Really?” he asks, and I love him so much just then, not because he’s the most considerate of my brothers, or the closest in age, or someone who shares his food, but because he trusts me to give him a good answer.

“Really,” I say. “But now I’ve got to run, buddy. Help yourself to my books.” I gesture to the long, low bookshelf that carries seven years’ worth of higher education.

“I already have.” He grins.

I ARRIVE AT THE E.R. AND CHECK in with the triage nurse, a tight-faced woman named Gabrielle Downs. She sighs dramatically when I present myself. “Just what I need today,” she mutters. “Fine. Stay out of the way. If I’m not totally swamped the way I am now, I’ll see if I can find something for you to do.”

“Are you any relation to Lucia Downs?” I ask.

Another dramatic sigh. “Yes. My sister.”

Of course. Melodrama like this can only come through genetics. “I work with Lucia at the Eaton Falls Gazette.”

Gabrielle raises an eyebrow disdainfully. “Where she’s the receptionist?”

There is such contempt dripping from that word that I can’t help feeling defensive of Lucia, however much she doesn’t deserve it. “Lucia is much more than the receptionist,” I return coolly. “The paper wouldn’t run without her.”

“So she tells me every single time I talk to her.”

Gabrielle walks away, leaving me to wonder just what I’m supposed to do. Well, no harm in looking around, I suppose. In the first curtained-off area, optimistically named Evaluation Room 1, an elderly man is sleeping. In the second, a little boy, about seven, is sniffling on the bed, his mom sitting next to him, holding his hand. There’s a nearly palpable bond between them, and an unexpected wave of maternal envy and admiration surges through me.

“Hi,” I say, smiling.

“Hi,” the mom answers. “Are you the doctor?”

“No. I’m an EMT,” I say. “Well, I’m becoming an EMT. Can I ask your son a few questions?”

“Sure,” the mom says. “He has a really bad sore throat.”

And clearly, no health insurance, or they’d be at the pediatrician’s right now, instead of forced to spend half the day or more here. “Sorry to hear that, buddy,” I say. “You feel yucky?”

The boy’s name is Nate, he tells me, he’s six and three-quarters years old and wants to be a firefighter when he grows up. Perfect. I tell him about my brothers and dad, smiling as his eyes grow wide with awe. “Do you like the Yankees?” I ask.

“Of course,” he answers, swallowing with a grimace.

“I got to go to a game last week,” I tell him. “They won. Who’s your favorite player?”

We chat amiably until a nurse (not Lucia’s sister) comes in to do a strep test, and I’m shooed out of the cubicle.

“Bye, pal,” I say. He waves and smiles, then gags as the nurse sticks a swab in his throat for a culture.

“Thanks. You really helped pass the time,” the mom says.

Flushed with pride, I turn away and bump squarely into Ryan Darling, trauma surgeon.

“Uh-oh,” I say. There’s only one reason Ryan would be here.

“Hello, Chastity,” he says. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s my E.R. day, remember?” I answer.

“Oh, of course. How’s it going?” He smiles, causing a nearby conversation to halt. Imagining that they’re admiring my extremely handsome boyfriend, I smile back.

“It’s going okay, Ryan,” I say. “I just got started, really. I don’t think I get to do anything much. What about you? Are you here on a consult?”

“Just waiting for the ambulance,” he says nonchalantly. “Bike versus motorcycle. Possible splenic rupture. Stick around. You can see me in action. When I’m called down, the excitement starts.” One of the orderlies overhears and rolls his eyes.

I raise an eyebrow. “How humble you are, dear,” I murmur. He shrugs as if to say, Can’t help it if it’s true. “Anyway,” I continue, “I’m not sure if I’m supposed to hang around watching trauma surgeons.”

“Oh, if I say you can, you can.” He smiles reassuringly, but I cringe inwardly, for two reasons. One, I don’t want to see someone who’s really hurt. My palms are already slick. Second, Ryan is being really arrogant, even for a surgeon.

“Well?” he asks.

“Um…sure,” I mutter.

“Great!” Ryan turns to Gabrielle, who is approaching with a clipboard. “Nurse, where the hell is that ambulance? I was paged five minutes ago and they’re not even here. I have better things to do than come down here and watch paint dry.”

“Yes, Doctor. I’m sorry.” Gabrielle shoots me a resentful look.

“You’d better get it through your head that a surgeon doesn’t have time to burn. I’m not some baby catcher, you know.”

Gabrielle bows her head and scurries away.

“Jesus, Ryan. That was harsh, don’t you think?” I ask Ryan in consternation.

He grunts. “It’s all true, Chastity. And there are some people you have to deal with in a certain way if you want to get results. It’s just part of the job.”

Another doctor approaches Ryan, describing something about the case in medical shorthand. Ryan gives a slight nod, but doesn’t say anything else. Several other staff members are wheeling carts and bustling around in anticipation for this case. My knees buzz with adrenaline and fear.

Just then, the doors to the trauma bay burst open. A gurney is wheeled in, the patient so covered that I can’t even tell if it’s a man or a woman. Bev Ludevoorsk is the EMT on duty. She’s running alongside the gurney, holding an IV bag.

“Thirty-four-year-old male bicyclist, hit by motorcyclist. Helmeted. A and O on the scene, but fading fast en route. Abdominal pain, right upper quadrant. Breath sounds equal. Road burn on arms and legs, possible broken collarbone and facial fracture. On insulin for Type I diabetes.”

Her voice is its usual brisk, all-business tone. To my untrained eye, it seems like she’s done a fantastic job. Ryan doesn’t even look at her, just strides over to the patient’s side. He palpates the guy’s abdomen, causing the guy to scream in pain. Unfazed, Ryan makes his pronouncement. “CT scan and chest X-rays, stat. Type and cross, and start four units. Call the OR. It’s the spleen, all right.” He whips out his stethoscope and listens to the patient’s chest. “Possible punctured lung. Breath sounds are not equal. Call Pulmonology.”

Then the patient is being moved again, literally run down the hall, Ryan following behind.

“Hey, there, O’Neill,” Bev booms, slapping my shoulder. “Your shift?”

“Hi, Bev,” I answer. “That was great! You were amazing!”

“Well, thanks, kid. How’s it going? Was that doctor chewing you out? He’s a prick, that one. Stay out of his way if you see him again.”

“Um…well, okay, I will. But he’s my boyfriend.”

Bev’s grimace is comical. “Shit! Sorry!”

I laugh. “That’s okay, Bev. I guess he’s a different person in the hospital, because he’s really sweet, actually.”

“Hard to believe, O’Neill, hard to believe. Hey, here come paramedics from the fire department. They’ll have the motorcyclist from this accident. Isn’t that your brother?”

The Eaton Falls Fire Department ambulance pulls up outside the doors. Another patient is unloaded, but not by my brother. By Trevor. He’s laughing, talking to the patient, who clearly isn’t that bad off.

“Hey, Chas,” he says, his eyebrows rising in surprise. But he doesn’t stop, just helps Jake wheel the patient into a treatment area.

Gabrielle appears at my side. “If you need to do something, go take that guy’s blood pressure, and then I’ll have to do it again to make sure you did it right. Okay? God, I hate these stupid EMT days.”

“Thank you,” I say sweetly. “See you, Bev.” I go to the cubicle where the motorcyclist was just taken.

“What’s up, Chastity?” Jake asks, giving me his customary once-over.

“Hey, guys. Um…well, I’m doing a shift here. I’m in an EMT class. Hi,” I say to the patient. He’s about sixty, five foot nine, with a grizzled beard and bald head. His left arm is in a splint. “I’m Chastity. Can I practice on you?”

“You can do whatever you want on me,” the man says, grinning to reveal gold-capped teeth.

“A little respect, Jeff,” Trevor says. “She’s one of ours.”

“Cool,” the guy says with a lecherous wiggle of his eyebrows.

“So what happened here?” I ask.

Jeff tells me about how the bicyclist veered out from behind a parked car and how they both went ass over handlebars. “I think I broke my arm,” he says, frowning.

“Oh, you broke you arm, all right,” Trevor says. “Compound fracture, pal.”

“Which means I’m one brave sonofabitch,” Jeff comments.

I smile and take his blood pressure on the good arm. The wounded arm is packed with ice, and if Jeff is a little pale, he does seem quite brave.

“Could you bend a little lower so I can see down your shirt, honey?” he asks.

“Is it all right if I smack him, Trev?” I ask.

“Of course,” Trevor answers. Jeff smiles and I grin back. Jake checks messages on his cell phone.

“One-sixty-three over ninety,” I announce. “But that might be from the pain. Do you have a history of high blood pressure, Jeff?”

“Only when I’m looking down your shirt, honey,” he answers. We all laugh, just as Gabrielle bustles up.

“What’s going on here? Chastity, flirting with the patients is something you can do on your own time. In the E.R., we don’t have time for things like that! Did you even manage to do what you were told?”

“Hi, Gabby,” Trevor says.

She melts. “Trevor! I didn’t see you! What are you doing here? How are you?”

“Just bringing in a patient,” he says. “I see you know my friend Chastity.”

She shoots me a suspicious glare, looking so much like Lucia that it’s spooky. “Yes. Well? What’s his BP?”

“One-sixty-three over ninety,” I say.

“And his temperature?”

“Um…I didn’t take that,” I answer.

“Why?”

“Because you didn’t tell me to?” I suggest.

She sighs. “Oh, this is such a waste of time.” She bustles to the cabinet, whips out one of those little paper strips that pass as thermometers and sticks it under Jeff’s tongue. I notice that he doesn’t flirt with her. Instead, he makes a pained face and looks at me for sympathy. Then Gabby takes his blood pressure. “One-sixty-two over ninety-one,” she announces. Rather brusquely, she whips off the ice pack and looks at Jeff’s arm. It’s swollen and clearly deformed, an odd lump sticking up between his wrist and elbow. My mouth goes instantly dry, my legs are tapioca, my vision starts that graying thing it does so well.

If I faint now, I’m done. I’ll fail my class. I swallow, take a small step back and hit something solid. Trevor.

“Hang in there, Chas.” His voice is so low that I can barely hear it, but there’s warmth there, and reassurance. He knows. He thinks I can make it. I take a deep breath and stand a little straighter.

“Fuck me, woman!” Jeff yelps. I blink. Gabrielle is feeling his arm, not tenderly, then slaps the ice pack back on.

“Broken!” she crows. “I’ll schedule an X-ray.” With that, she leaves a considerably grayer Jeff lying on the bed.

“You okay, Jeff?” I ask, feeling less than well myself.

“Yeah,” he says. “Show me a little cleavage and I’ll be as good as new.”

I pat his leg instead.

“Higher, please,” he says with a wink.

“Jake, finish the report, okay?” Trevor asks.

“Sure,” Jake answers agreeably. “See you, Chastity.”

An orderly comes in and goes to the head of Jeff’s gurney. “How’d you like to take a ride, my friend?” he asks.

“Thanks for everything, sweetheart,” Jeff calls as he’s wheeled away.

“It was nothing,” I answer truthfully. But it feels good, anyway.

“So you’re taking the EMT class?” Trevor asks, adjusting something on his belt.

I look at him straight in the face for the first time today. His hair is rumpled, as ever, and eyes are smiling a little.

“Yes,” I answer quietly. “I’m trying to get the blood phobia under control.”

“How’s it going?”

I shrug. “Not too great. You can see that I almost passed out there.”

“A lot of people would have done the same, Chas.”

“Yes, my child, but not an O’Neill,” I say, heavy on the grandiosity.

“Not everyone is good at this kind of thing. Doesn’t mean you’re not…gifted…in other ways.” He smiles.

“Thanks. I think. Listen, Trev, I’d appreciate it if you and Jake didn’t say anything to the boys or my dad.”

“Sure,” he says. “Well, you know Jake’s not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks, buddy.” I pause, then glance out to the nurse’s station. Gabrielle is busily writing something on a chart. “Trevor, are you and Hayden back together?”

Trev’s gaze drops to the floor. With every second that he doesn’t answer, my heart sinks lower. “We’re…we’re spending time together.”

“Cheesy answer,” I comment lightly.

He shrugs. “I don’t know, Chas. Sometimes…” He shakes his head. “I gotta run. Good luck here. You want me to put in a good word with Gabby?”

“No, that’s okay. I’ll sink or swim on my own.”

To my surprise, he leans in and kisses my cheek. “You’ll swim. See you around.”

And then he’s gone. A nurse or tech of some kind leans out to check out his ass.

The rest of my day is uneventful. I take sixteen more blood pressures, eleven temperatures, apply ice to a swollen finger and watch as Gabrielle must cut off a wedding ring. I wheel four people in for X-rays and chat with a few not-too-sick people. When my shift is done, I find Gabrielle.

“I guess I’m done, Gabby,” I say.

“Fine! So? What’s keeping you?”

“Would you mind signing my form?”

“Fine, fine, fine. Like I don’t have a million other things to do.” She signs and hands it back to me.

“Does this mean I pass?” I ask.

“Yes! You passed. Okay? You didn’t screw up that badly, so congratulations. Now do you mind? I have work to do.”

“Thank you,” I say, my heart lifting. I passed!

I stop in the lobby and use an in-house phone to call the surgical floor, wanting to share my news with someone. “I’m sorry, Dr. Darling is in surgery,” says the person who answers.

“No problem,” I say.

“Are you a patient or a family member?” she asks.

“Nope,” I answer. “I’m his girlfriend.”

“Really?” she says. “I wasn’t aware that he had one. Well, good luck to you, hon.” And she hangs up.