leaving, though. “Is she going…” He seemed unable to finish the sentence. Webster did it for him.
“To keep it? Yes.”
“Do you love her?” his mother asked.
Finally, an easy question. “I do,” he said. “Very much.” But even as he said it, and as sure as he was that he did, he wondered
if he really knew what love, in these circumstances, meant.
His father left the room and returned with three more Rolling Rocks. Medicinal, not celebratory.
“You going to marry this girl?” his father asked, his voice gruff. Man to man.
“She has a name,” Webster said.
“But we don’t know her!” his mother wailed before his father could tell him not to be fresh.
“How the hell…?” His father pressed his lips together hard and gave a short shake of the head.
“I think we’ll probably get married,” Webster said.
“You think?” his father asked.
“We’re taking it slow,” he said.
“I should say not!” his mother protested. “Slow? I should say not!”
“You’re an EMT, for Christ’s sakes,” his father said, referring, Webster guessed, to the failed contraception.
Webster set his jaw. He’d expected the conversation to take an ugly turn, but it was still hard to live through it.
“This whole thing has been rolling along, and we don’t even know her?” his mother asked. “This isn’t what we envisioned for
you.”
Webster was silent. He didn’t want this initial talk to end in more acrimony than it had to. In five minutes—no, less, maybe
three—his mother had gone from delighted to curious to shocked to angry and now was quickly moving to disappointed. His father
remained disgusted.
“You know we love you,” his mother said. “We want only the best for you.”
Webster wished he’d told his father first.
“I’m a grown man, Mom. I know how to save people’s lives. I’m working hard. I sometimes volunteer for twenty-four-hour shifts.”
“You’ve never even seen the world!” his father said, gesturing with his arm to take in all the places his son might never
see.
“Did you?” Webster asked.
His father narrowed his eyes.
“Look,” Webster said. “I’m going to start studying to be a paramedic, the next step after EMT. Once I’m a medic, I’m pretty
sure I can make enough money to support us.”
His father drank the rest of his Rolling Rock in one go. Webster waited for the belch.
“What’s she like?” Webster’s mother asked.
Webster thought. “She’s strong. Strong-willed. She’s funny. Very pretty. I said that.” He paused. “She likes to travel to
other parts of Vermont to see them, so we sometimes take long drives.”
“Wanderlust,” his father said, with all that that implied. Webster remembered Sheila’s quick retort in the cruiser.
“She’s got a Boston accent. I think you’ll like her.” Though he didn’t think so. Not one tiny bit. “Obviously, we’ll have
to get our own place. A small apartment. I was thinking of renting something in town. Closer to Rescue.”
“Can you afford that?” his father asked.
“Just.”
“Well,” said his mother, sitting up straight and smoothing her legs as if she had an apron on. “When would you like us to
have her over for dinner?”
Ever the peacekeeping, let’s-move-on mother. For which Webster was grateful.
“I’m theoretically home next weekend,” he said. “We could do it Saturday night.”
“Settled,” his mother said, and she might as well have had a gavel.
* * *
“Did you do it? How did it go?”
Sheila had her arms crossed over her chest.
Webster moved into the kitchen and looked around. He was hungry. A meal at home hadn’t been possible. “Peachy,” he said.
Sheila closed the door. “Well, it’s done.”
“I’m hungry,” Webster said. “Have you got anything here I could eat?” He snuck a look at her stomach. How could she not be
showing yet? Or was there stress on the belt? Yes, he thought maybe there
“To keep it? Yes.”
“Do you love her?” his mother asked.
Finally, an easy question. “I do,” he said. “Very much.” But even as he said it, and as sure as he was that he did, he wondered
if he really knew what love, in these circumstances, meant.
His father left the room and returned with three more Rolling Rocks. Medicinal, not celebratory.
“You going to marry this girl?” his father asked, his voice gruff. Man to man.
“She has a name,” Webster said.
“But we don’t know her!” his mother wailed before his father could tell him not to be fresh.
“How the hell…?” His father pressed his lips together hard and gave a short shake of the head.
“I think we’ll probably get married,” Webster said.
“You think?” his father asked.
“We’re taking it slow,” he said.
“I should say not!” his mother protested. “Slow? I should say not!”
“You’re an EMT, for Christ’s sakes,” his father said, referring, Webster guessed, to the failed contraception.
Webster set his jaw. He’d expected the conversation to take an ugly turn, but it was still hard to live through it.
“This whole thing has been rolling along, and we don’t even know her?” his mother asked. “This isn’t what we envisioned for
you.”
Webster was silent. He didn’t want this initial talk to end in more acrimony than it had to. In five minutes—no, less, maybe
three—his mother had gone from delighted to curious to shocked to angry and now was quickly moving to disappointed. His father
remained disgusted.
“You know we love you,” his mother said. “We want only the best for you.”
Webster wished he’d told his father first.
“I’m a grown man, Mom. I know how to save people’s lives. I’m working hard. I sometimes volunteer for twenty-four-hour shifts.”
“You’ve never even seen the world!” his father said, gesturing with his arm to take in all the places his son might never
see.
“Did you?” Webster asked.
His father narrowed his eyes.
“Look,” Webster said. “I’m going to start studying to be a paramedic, the next step after EMT. Once I’m a medic, I’m pretty
sure I can make enough money to support us.”
His father drank the rest of his Rolling Rock in one go. Webster waited for the belch.
“What’s she like?” Webster’s mother asked.
Webster thought. “She’s strong. Strong-willed. She’s funny. Very pretty. I said that.” He paused. “She likes to travel to
other parts of Vermont to see them, so we sometimes take long drives.”
“Wanderlust,” his father said, with all that that implied. Webster remembered Sheila’s quick retort in the cruiser.
“She’s got a Boston accent. I think you’ll like her.” Though he didn’t think so. Not one tiny bit. “Obviously, we’ll have
to get our own place. A small apartment. I was thinking of renting something in town. Closer to Rescue.”
“Can you afford that?” his father asked.
“Just.”
“Well,” said his mother, sitting up straight and smoothing her legs as if she had an apron on. “When would you like us to
have her over for dinner?”
Ever the peacekeeping, let’s-move-on mother. For which Webster was grateful.
“I’m theoretically home next weekend,” he said. “We could do it Saturday night.”
“Settled,” his mother said, and she might as well have had a gavel.
* * *
“Did you do it? How did it go?”
Sheila had her arms crossed over her chest.
Webster moved into the kitchen and looked around. He was hungry. A meal at home hadn’t been possible. “Peachy,” he said.
Sheila closed the door. “Well, it’s done.”
“I’m hungry,” Webster said. “Have you got anything here I could eat?” He snuck a look at her stomach. How could she not be
showing yet? Or was there stress on the belt? Yes, he thought maybe there
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