“A call came in—motor vehicle vs toddler.”
“Oh, how awful.”
He pulls his hand from the steering wheel and says, “Just wait,” with a little shake of his head and a smile. “So we arrive on scene and there’s no car. No one is even outside. Nothing, right? Usually there’s a crowd, but it’s just us. Then the ambulance and the cops pull up right behind us. We all get out and look at each other for a second before one of our guys goes up to the house as one of the cops is checking the street for tire marks. So a teenager answers the door and lets us inside. Turns out the motor vehicle was a matchbox car one kid threw at another and the mom called 911 for a flesh wound.”
“No!” I say, laughing. “People are nuts.”
“It’s happened twice since I joined the fire department!” Cal grins and glances over at me in the passenger seat.
“I guess it’s a blessing when it’s just a toy car.”
“Yeah, that’s one way to look at it,” he agrees, taking the Packer Avenue exit for the stadium.
“How long have you been a firefighter?”
“Six years. But I’ve always known I wanted to be a firefighter, ever since I was a kid. I love it, just like I bet you love teaching.” He grins and I nod.
“Yeah, I’ve wanted to be a teacher since grade school. I’m so grateful I got a job in my field. I love my class, they’re the greatest kids. I’m so lucky.”
He flashes a smile my way and we continue talking about his job and mine, places we like to go in Philadelphia, that kind of thing. He mentions that he’s on a fall softball league with the guys from his firehouse and tells me I should come watch him sometime. This date is going so well and Cal is nice. I mean, I might not feel butterflies with him exactly, but he’s nice.
Cal pulls into the parking lot and we follow the slow trail of cars being directed to open spaces, filling in the rows of parking one after another. We finally come to an open space and pull in. Cal flips the visor down and grabs the game tickets, handing them to me before turning off the car.
We walk side by side towards the gate, still chatting. Yup, this date is perfect. The sun is shining, birds are chirping, clouds are in the sky, blah blah. I’ve totally got this dating thing.
We reach the gate and have our tickets scanned, then follow the directions towards our section, dodging people in the crowded venue. Cal grabs my hand and holds tight as we bob and weave, the smell of hot dogs and popcorn permeating the air while vendors walk around selling everything from team caps to beer. The closer we get the more I’m convinced we’re going the wrong way. “Wow, are these really our seats? We’re so close. Are these season tickets?” I stop, staring at the tickets in my hand to verify we’re in the right place. We’re on the fifty-yard line near the Eagles’ bench. I think this is a better view than you get on TV.
“Yeah, got them from a friend.” He grins as we find our seats and settle in. “I definitely owe him one, don’t I?” he says with a wink.
We settle in and I check out the coaches and players standing what feels like feet away. They’re running warm-up drills and we’re so close I can hear the helmets crashing. I’m not that into football, but it’s pretty cool to be this close. Around me the hum of the excited crowd escalates as the giant electronic screens count down the minutes until kickoff. I’m leaning all the way forward in my seat, taking it all in so that I have to turn my head back to see Cal. But he’s not looking at the field, instead looking behind us.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Just looking for a hot dog guy. You want a hot dog?” he asks me, still glancing around.
“Sure, there’s a guy right there.” I point out the passing vendor, a guy dressed in stadium vendor clothing with one of those heated vending boxes strapped across his chest.
“Nah, let’s have cheesesteaks instead. We’re in Philly, right? I’ll grab them and a couple beers. Be right back.”
“Okay,” I agree. If he wants cheesesteaks instead of a hot dog, what do I care? I return my focus to the field and pull my sleeves down, sticking my thumbs through the weird hole things in the seam. It really is shaping up to be a perfect day, I think as a breeze blows past and I reach to swipe the hair behind my ears.
Wait. Should I have gone with him? I’m so rude. I should have gone with. I stand up and scoot my way down to the end of the aisle, apologizing to each person I have to slide in front of. Cal can’t possibly carry all that by himself. And I should have offered to pay after he brought me here. No worries, I’ll catch up with him in line. There’s always a long line for food at the stadium.
I make my way up the stadium steps towards the main center walkway that leads to the interior side of the stadium where the food vendors are. It takes me a couple minutes to get there, dodging all the fans trying to reach their seats before the game starts. I hope we don’t miss kickoff, I think regretfully as I glance back at one of the giant jumbotrons over the field counting down the minutes till game time. We don’t have much time.
Once I reach the top of the steps and enter the concourse area I step to the side so I’m not blocking the walkway and glance around, trying to determine where Cal would have gone. I spot a Rita’s Italian Ice and my mouth waters. I didn’t know they had them here. I wish I had time to grab one but I’ve got to find Cal first, I think with one last glance at the Italian ice line. Okay, cheesesteaks… I see a place selling them a few feet away, but I don’t see Cal in that line so I keep looking. I don’t know why he’d have skipped this place, as it appears to be the closest one. Where the heck did he go? Wait, is that him over there? His back is to me. I can’t tell. I take a step in that direction when I feel someone move too close to me in my peripheral vision.
“Miss? I’m going to need you to come with us.”
It’s stadium security.
Three
Chloe
“I don’t understand,” I say again as I’m led into some kind of conference room in the stadium. “Where’s Cal? Is something wrong? What’s going on?” Wait. Not a conference room. That sign said security office. I think this is a holding room of some sort. For criminals.