Men In Uniform: Burning For The Fireman: Firefighter's Doorstep Baby / Surrogate and Wife / Lying in Your Arms

She was swaying gently as she held the sleeping baby.

“Thanks, he’s getting heavy.”

He locked the wheels while she placed the sleeping baby down and covered him with a soft blanket.

“You take to being a mother,” he commented, watching her. “Some women don’t.”

“It’s still a struggle.” She straightened and looked at the sleeping child with such an expression of love Cristiano caught his breath.

A strand of hair fell across her cheek. Before he could have second thoughts, Cristiano brushed it back, feeling the soft warmth of her skin. He tucked it behind her ear as she looked up and into his eyes. Her smile was warm. Her lips enticing. As if in a dream, he leaned across the slight distance and touched his mouth to hers. She was warm and sweet and so tempting. Kissing her lit a fire in his blood and he wanted the moment to go on forever.

Reality struck when she pulled back and blinked as she looked at him.

“I’ve wanted to do that for days,” he said softly, his hands cupping her cheeks.

“I thought it was only me—I mean that the attraction was just one way.”

“Oh, no,” he said before he kissed her again, drawing her into his arms, holding her closely while the world seemed to spin around. Mariella was the only thing grounding him.

Rational thought vied with roiling emotions. The desire that rose whenever she was near had to be controlled. He refused to fall for Mariella. She was sweet and young and had bright expectations. He would never falsely lead her on when he had no clue if he could make it in the world again or not.

Holding her, touching her, kissing her, he could forget the horror of that day, the pain of losing his best friend, of the others in the squad that he’d been so close to. But it wasn’t fair to her.

Slowly he eased up. They were both breathing hard. He wished for an instant the baby would sleep all afternoon so that he could whisk her into his bedroom and make love until they were both satiated.

“Wow,” she said softly, the tip of her tongue skimming her lips. He almost groaned in reaction.

“Wow, yourself,” he said, kissing her soft cheeks, seeing how long he could resist her mouth.

The baby awoke and started crying.

Mariella pulled away and hurried over to him.

“Oh, sweetie, what’s the matter?” She picked him up and cuddled him.

“He was fussy eating, too,” she said. “Maybe he doesn’t want to sleep in the stroller. I’ll take him home.”

“I can drive you.”

“No, we’ll walk. It’s still a pretty day. We’ll be okay.”

In only a couple of minutes they left.

He watched as she disappeared from view. Whether she knew it or not, the love she showed for the baby was strong. She would love that child forever. Her concerns on whether she was a good mother were for naught. When would she accept that?

He wished he could give her that knowledge.

Mariella pushed the carriage along the side of the road, not seeing the scenery, only halfway watching for vehicles. She was bemused with their kiss, concerned by the baby’s fussy behavior. She was smiling, her heart still beating faster than normal, just thinking about Cristiano. She felt they were drawing closer. And he obviously felt that attraction she did, if his kiss was anything to go by. She wished they had not been interrupted.

“Not that you knew you were interrupting,” she said to Dante. The baby was awake, fussy, his fist in his mouth.

She hoped Dante would nap in the crib. She wished to turn right around and go back to spend the afternoon with Cristiano. And share a few more blazing kisses.

Cristiano headed for the small shed in the back of the property. He entered, smelling the sawdust and polish. Slowly he relaxed. Whenever he came into the workroom he felt connected to his grandfather. His mother’s father had been a craftsman in furniture making. He’d shown Cristiano the basics and had urged him to follow in his footsteps.

Cristiano had rebelled, as youth so often did, preferring the excitement of pitting his skills against that of a roaring conflagration and rescuing people from impossible odds—who would die if he hadn’t been there. But always in the back of his mind were the quiet peaceful times he’d worked with his grandfather in this very workspace.

Since recuperating, Cristiano had built several small pieces of furniture. They were lined up against the side wall, polished to a high sheen, as if awaiting being taken home. He thought his grandfather would be pleased if he could see.

He went to the stack of wood against the opposite wall. He looked at each piece, selecting one of fine cherry wood. The overall dimensions were small, but would suffice for a project. Cristiano wanted to build a table and two chairs for Dante. The baby couldn’t use a set for a couple of years, but Cristiano liked the idea of making something fine from Lake Clarissa. Once the boy was older, he’d learn of their visit to the lake. And Mariella could tell him of the firefighter who’d made him a table.

He put the piece of wood on the worktable, already envisioning the set. Small enough for a toddler, yet sturdy enough to last for years. Mariella would undoubtedly marry at some point—pretty women didn’t stay single for long—and have more children. He hesitated a moment when thinking of her with another man. That idea didn’t sit well. Unless he licked this hangover from the bombing, there would be nothing he could do about that.

He picked up a pencil and tape measure and began marking the wood for the first cuts.

When the phone rang half an hour later, Cristiano stared at it, debating whether to answer or not. It was most likely his sister or father. It might be Mariella. Though he had not given her the number, the Bertatalis had it. The ringing continued. Whoever was calling wouldn’t give up. What had happened to the answering machine? He remembered—he’d unplugged it when hooking his computer to the Internet for Mariella.

Finally he reached for the phone to stop the sound.

“Ciao?”

“Finally. I was wondering if you’d ever answer,” his sister’s voice came cross the line. “How are you?”

“Fine.” He leaned against the wall, wondering if he’d made a mistake staying away so long. Still, it was good to hear her voice.

“That’s all? Fine. When are you coming here?”

“Why do I need to?”

“To see us. To see Papa. Surely you’ve recovered from your injuries by now.”

“I have.” At least the external ones. “But I’ve been busy.”

“Come for dinner tonight.”

“I told you I’m busy. I can’t come for dinner.”

“If not tonight, then later in the week?”

“Maybe.” Not.

He heard her exaggerated sigh. “Tell me about your new friend, Mariella,” she said unexpectedly. “I liked her.”

He remembered their kisses. Swallowing, he hoped his voice came out normal. “She’s visiting here, that’s all.”

“Where did you meet her?”

“I rescued her from a fire. She and the baby.”

“She said she’d had the sauce at your house when you gave her lunch one day. That was unexpected. I sent another jar home to you with her.”

“I know, thanks.” The memory of their lunch surfaced. She had loved the sauce. If they shared a meal again, he’d get to see her delight in the flavor.

“Honestly, Cristiano, getting you to talk is like pulling teeth. Tell me something.”

He laughed as a warmth of affection for his sister swept through him. He’d forgotten how much Isabella always wanted to know everything. Her curiosity knew no bounds. He missed her. “She came by to say thank you. I fed her lunch. End of story.”

“So you’re not going to see her again.”

“Of course I am.” A prick of panic flared at the thought of not seeing her again. One day soon, she’d return to Rome. But until then, he would see her again.

The surprised silence on the other end extended for several seconds. Then Isabella said, “I’m planning a family reunion at the end of the month. Actually, if you can keep it secret, it’s a surprise for Papa.”

“What kind of surprise? It’s not his birthday.” Cristiano was glad it was not a surprise party for him. Why did women want to have those?

“Just a surprise. But I don’t want him to suspect, so, if you’re well again, I thought we could say it was a celebration of your recovery. That way he will know about it, but not that it’s for him.”

“I’ve been fine for a few weeks now.”

“Not that any of us knew. I haven’t seen you since you got home from hospital. If you’re really okay, come by the restaurant one day. Come to dinner.”

“I’ll let you know.”

“Keep the last Saturday free for the party.”

Once he hung up, Cristiano almost groaned. Attending a party was the last thing he wanted. Yet how could he continue to deny his family? He missed them. He was fortunate to have a brother and sister, cousins. An aunt he didn’t see much of. Still, maybe he could manage one evening.

He resumed his work on the child’s table, thinking about the baby, trying to picture him growing up. The countryside was beautiful here. Maybe they could spend holidays in Lake Clarissa. There were endless acres of forest a young boy could safely explore. Water sports in summer on the lake. He worried Dante might dart into traffic in Rome or wander away and get lost and who would know him to help him home? No wonder Mariella worried—there was a lot to worry about when thinking of raising a child. His admiration rose at her willingness to take on that role.

He finished cutting the pieces by late afternoon, telling himself over and over their future had nothing to do with his. Cleaning up, he headed inside. The balmy fall weather couldn’t continue forever. He’d eat his dinner on the patio if it wasn’t too cold, watching the last of the sunshine as the shadows of night crossed the lake.

And he’d try to keep his mind off Mariella and the baby.

As he cooked dinner he realized it had been days since he’d had a nightmare or flashback. The night of the fire had been bad, but since then—nothing. Maybe he truly was getting better. Too early to know for sure. He’d gone several days between episodes before.

Still, if he continued this way, he’d make it back.

If not, he had a long, lonely life ahead of him.

Conscious of how fast her vacation time was speeding by, Mariella placed Dante in the stroller the next morning, making sure she had bottles and baby cereal, and headed out. The weather was ominous with dark clouds on the horizon and a breeze that was stronger than before. She hoped it wouldn’t rain before she got to the cottage. Surely if it began after she arrived, Cristiano would give her a ride back to the village.

She wore her sweatshirt and jeans and wished when the wind blew that she’d bought a coat. But she had winter clothes back in Rome so had not needed to spend the money. She would have to return home sooner if the weather got worse.

Rounding the bend before the cottage, she shivered. It was growing colder by the minute and the dark clouds building on the horizon indicated it would surely storm before long. Maybe she should have stayed at the guest cottage. But her time with Cristiano was precious.

She reached the house and was disappointed not to find Cristiano sitting on the patio. Not that anyone in their right mind would be sitting out on a day like today, she thought. Knocking on the door, she blew on her hands. Unprotected while pushing the stroller, they were freezing. She checked Dante, and he smiled his grin at her. He was bundled up and felt warm against her fingers. Of course, they were so cold, how could she judge?

She knocked again.

There was no reply. Moving to the window, she peered inside. The living room was empty; no lights were on even though it was growing darker by the moment. A gust of wind swirled a handful of leaves around, dancing near her, then moving off the patio.

Mariella heard a high whine from a power saw. She pushed the stroller around the cottage and heard the sound again, coming from a small shed at the far back of the cleared area. The stroller was hard to push on the uneven ground, but if Cristiano was there, she needed to find him. It looked as if it would pour down rain at any moment.

She found the door opened. Cristiano stood with his back to it, cutting a piece of wood. Pushing the baby inside, she was glad to be out of the wind. It felt much warmer in the shed, though she didn’t see any sign of a heating unit.

She did see lovely pieces of furniture on one side. Cristiano cut another piece of wood and the baby shrieked at the sound.

He stopped suddenly and spun around.

“I didn’t know you were here,” he said with a frown. Reaching back, he turned off the saw. “Did you drive?”

“No, we walked. I think it’s going to rain.”

“It’s supposed to storm.” He took off safety glasses and tossed them on the wood. Walking over, he grinned at Dante.

“Hey, little guy. You warm enough?”

“Of course, I wrapped him well. I have a favor to ask.” She had thought up the request on her walk up—to give herself a reason and not look so blatantly as if she couldn’t stay away.

“What?” he asked warily, looking at her.

“Nothing dangerous, though I thought firefighters risked their lives daily for people. Are you telling me you wouldn’t even do a little favor that does not involve risk of life or limb?”

“I’m waiting to hear what it is.” He stood back up and crossed his arms across his chest, watching her.

Dante played happily with the plastic keys he was gnawing on. Mariella stepped around the stroller.

“Friday is Ariana’s birthday. I wanted to go to the cemetery and put some flowers on her grave. A quick trip to Rome would enable me to get some winter clothes. Signora Bertatali said she’d watch Dante.”

The thought of going with her to Rome made the bile rise in his throat. It was too soon. He wasn’t ready. He stepped away, looking through the door, seeing the back of the cottage and the trees beyond. He couldn’t see the lake from here. A moment went by. He wasn’t flashing back to the subway tunnel. He took a deep breath, testing his reactions. Nothing. He could hear the baby with the keys, see Mariella from the corner of his eye. No flashback, no terror residual from the bombing.

He had to return to Rome sometime. What better than a fleeting visit knowing he could return to the cottage within hours? Maybe he worried for nothing. Maybe the worst was past and he could move on.

He could visit Stephano’s grave.

Cristiano had not been able to attend Stephano’s funeral. He’d been in hospital. Nor had he attended any of the many services for all the victims he had been unable to save. Rome had been in mourning for weeks. He’d escaped the worst of it drugged for pain and undergoing skin grafting for his burned hand.

He’d pictured it a thousand times, though. Stephano’s coffin lowered into the ground. His wife weeping. His parents stunned with the loss of their only son. He drew in a breath, trying to capture the scent of sawdust to ground him in the present.

The faint hint of flowers caught his attention. Mariella’s special scent. He closed his eyes. The image of their kiss sprang to the forefront.

He opened his eyes, turned and looked at her, hungering for another kiss. He was lonely. Self-imposed or not, he didn’t like staying away from his family or friends. Only the shame of not being able to handle things kept him isolated.

Until now.

She reached out and touched his arm, her touch light as a butterfly, yet as hot as a flame.

“Will you?” she asked.

He stared at her. He was thinking of kissing her, hugging her close to him, losing himself in her soft sweetness. And she was focused on a cemetery visit.

“All right, I’ll go with you. For Dante. You can tell him you weren’t the only one to mourn his mother’s loss.” He hoped he didn’t have a flashback while standing by the graves.

A loud rumble of thunder startled them, causing Dante to begin to cry. Mariella rushed to him and lifted him from the stroller.

“There, there, little man, it’s okay. Just noisy.” She looked out the still opened door.

Rain poured down in torrents. The yard was already growing muddy as the rain splattered the dirt. The light was almost gone, making it as dark as twilight.

Cristiano breathed deeply the fresh, clean rain-laden air. The sky was a dark grey from horizon to horizon. The rain beat down ferociously. Mariella and the baby couldn’t return to the village in this. In fact, they’d become soaked just running to his car. They were stuck for as long as the rain came so hard.

She came to his side, the baby settled on her hip and looking around. He gave his grin and lunged toward Cristiano. He reached out instinctively to grab him and then was surprised when Mariella let go and he held the baby dangling in front of him. Bringing him close to his chest, he felt the light weight and looked at the baby. Dante gazed at him with dark brown eyes, as if studying a curious specimen. Then he grinned and bopped his head against Cristiano’s cheek.

He was a goner. Who couldn’t love a sweet baby like this?

“Rain,” he said, pointing to the downpour.

The baby gurgled and patted Cristiano’s cheek. He felt a tightening in his chest.

“His entire life is before him. What do you think he’ll do when he grows up?” he asked softly as Dante settled against him to watch the rain.

“He can be anything he wants. I want him happy and healthy. And when he’s older I’ll tell him all I remember of his mother,” she said, leaning against his left side. Cristiano put his arm around her shoulder. For long moments the three of them looked at the storm.

“And his father? What will you tell him about that man?” Cristiano asked.

“Ariana said he had vanished from their life. And the affair had been a mistake. But that, I would never tell their son. I’ll just have to say he’s gone.”

“Do you think he’s dead?”

“I have no idea. I had hoped I’d find something on this trip. People could have forgotten even if Ariana had been through here. Lots of tourists visit this area.”

“Hmm.”

“I hope it doesn’t rain Friday,” she said. “Cemeteries are sad enough without the heavens weeping as well.”

“Well said. It rained on the day of Stephano’s funeral. I think Heaven was weeping,” Cristiano said slowly. He had never thought about it that way. He would have been weeping had he been at the church.

“Stephano was your friend?”

“My best friend.”

“I’m sorry he died.”

“He was killed in the bombing. We were on our third rescue foray when the second bomb went off. The roof of the tunnel completely collapsed, killing everyone still beneath it.”

Cristiano wanted to step out into the rain, feel the cleansing of the water, feel the coolness, see the sky above him, know he was alive. But he held the baby, so remained sheltered in the doorway. The trust from Dante touched him. The baby knew the adults around him would care for him.

She reached around his waist, hugging him. “How horrible.”

“The entire event was horrible.”

“But you saved seven lives. If not for you, they would have perished in the second bombing.”

“It wasn’t enough. There were so many still trapped.”

“It’s amazing, that’s what it is. How can you say it wasn’t enough? It was more than anyone expected.”

“I should have made sure Stephano was right behind me, not lagging behind—that he had not been in the tunnel when it collapsed. We lost seven men from our station.” The anguish penetrated to his core. His duty was to save lives. His chosen way was to fight disasters and rescue people. He hadn’t even been able to rescue his best friend.

She offered support the only way possible, her body warmth to chase the chill of torment. If only she could truly heal his sorrow. If only anyone could.

Chapter Seven

UNAWARE of the turmoil, the baby happily babbled, reaching out once or twice as if to touch the rain. The air grew chilled, but Cristiano didn’t move. The child was well wrapped. He felt like the only warm spot in the world where he rested against Cristiano’s chest. That and where Mariella touched him.

The silence extended. Yet it wasn’t awkward. Instead, it was—almost healing. He took a breath, trying to let go the ache that plagued him with all the death and destruction.

“So how long were you and Stephano friends?” she asked.

Cristiano almost smiled. “I remember the first day I met him—it was at the training for firefighting. He came from Genoa, a man loving the sea. I came from here—hills and lakes. He was an only child, had a pretty wife and parents who doted on him. We both passionately loved soccer. We were paired up in training and the rest—”

He hadn’t thought about those days in all the months since Stephano had died. Now, telling Mariella, he let the memories wash through him. They’d had fun times. They’d fought fires in Rome. Been sent to man the lines in raging forest fires worldwide. Practiced paramedical routines to save lives. And spent a lot of time together in their off hours.

“He was always up for adventure.” Slowly Cristiano began to speak of his friend, remembering aloud the trips to the sea, the ski trip that had ended with both falling face first in the snow, and how quickly they’d progressed from that. The quiet times by a fire, sharing philosophies, plans for the future.

“His wife would probably like to hear from you,” Mariella said as Cristiano wound down after telling her many of the shared experiences. “You haven’t seen her since?”

He shook his head. “How can I face her when I lived and Stephano didn’t?”

“You didn’t kill him. The terrorists did. You and she have a shared love of the man—different, of course, but bonding nonetheless. I bet she misses you being around.”

“I would remind her of Stephano.”

“Maybe she wants to be reminded. Maybe she wants someone around who knew him, faults and all. Who can remember the happy times together. Celebrate his life, not ignore it.”

“You don’t understand.”

She shrugged. The baby was growing more and more squirmy.

“He’s probably hungry. I’ll take him,” she said, reaching for Dante.

He relinquished the child, feeling the cold air hit where the baby had been.

“What are you working on?” she asked, moving back to the workbench and looking at the wooden pieces.

Cristiano turned as well. The emotional toll started to overwhelm him. Needing a diversion, he crossed the small room and picked up one of the pieces that would be a chair leg. “A table and chair set for Dante.”

“Wow, you can do that? Did you do all those?” She looked at the pieces lined up against the wall.

“It’s been a long summer. I don’t just ignore housework,” he said, trying to lighten the mood.

“These are beautiful.” She stroked a finger across the smooth polished top of a small half pie table. The cabriolet legs were elegant. The rich cherry wood gleamed even in the defused lighting.

“Those legs were hard to do. I ruined more pieces than I wanted.” Temper had played a part, but he didn’t need to tell her that. Impatient with his recovery, feeling helpless, he’d taken it out on the wood.

“And this, what a beauty this is. Did you make it for someone?” The small console table had classic lines and a band of inlay lighter wood in the perimeter.

“Just made them to kill time while recuperating.”

“I’d buy this one if it’s for sale,” she said hesitantly.

“You can have it. No charge.” He wondered where she would put it. Could he visit her one day and see how she was using it? It made him think of a connection between them. For as long as she held onto the table, she’d be holding onto a part of him.

He turned back to the workbench.

“Go on and work if you wish. Looks like we’re going to be here a while with the rain. We won’t get in your way,” she said with a smile. “I can’t wait to see what Dante’s going to get. He’s one lucky boy, isn’t he?”