Chapter 1

Being a firefighter is a tough, demanding job. It is tough and demanding on the firefighter himself, but it is also tough and demanding on the firefighter’s marriage. I should know, I am the product of a marriage that did not make it.

My name is Tina, and I am 16 years old at the time of my writing this story. My mom and dad got divorced two years ago after 15 years together. I live with my father because the court told me I could choose who I wanted to live with.

It wasn’t always bad – Dad told me stories about how the two of them met when they were in college. He was working at the university fire department and going for his degree in Fire Science. She was working in one of the school’s baristas while working on her own degree in child care.

They met and fell in love, getting married soon after they graduated. Dad got a job with the city fire department here in Phoenix, Arizona, and Mom was planning on opening up a day care center when she found out she was going to have one of her own to care for.

I remember my childhood was pretty good. Sure Dad was gone a lot at work, but I was proud of what my dad did for a living and on those times when he was home, we all enjoyed being a family.

And yes, the department did take him away and he missed out on some important milestones ... my first word, my first steps, and more than a couple school plays. But we all knew he would have been there if he could. He was there for a lot of things. He was there on my first day of school, he was there on every birthday and Christmas, and he was there to teach me how to drive. So it wasn’t like he was an absentee dad or anything. A lot of the kids I went to school with had it a lot worse.

But as time went on, I could see changes in Mom and Dad’s relationship. Mostly on Mom’s side since I spent more time with her. Dad’s absence and Mom having to deal with things began to wear on her. She would have to deal with the bills, the servicemen, and many of the other things that most dad’s would take care of.

She had to be both Mom and Dad for me growing up a lot of the time. And I could see how that could be tough. But she knew what my dad was when she married him, and she knew what she was getting into. It’s not like he just all of a sudden became a firefighter ... hell, he was a firefighter when she met him! And I did what I could to help out around the house. As soon as I was old enough to help, I began pitching in and doing what I could to help out.

I guess it just got to be too much for her, though. I guess she got tired of sleeping alone, and she got tired of having everything on her shoulders when Dad was gone at work. Shortly after my 14th birthday, Dad came in to my bedroom one night as he tucked me in. I always loved when he was home and would come in and tuck me into bed, kissing my forehead, and telling me how much he loved me. But this night was different. I could sense something was troubling him as he tucked my blankets in nice and tight, the way I liked them.

“Daddy what’s wrong? You seem awful quiet tonight at dinner and even now,” I said, concerned.

“Angel, I need to tell you something...” he started. Right then I knew this was something serious, and I sat up in bed.

“What is it Daddy? What’s wrong?” I said, scared of what could be bothering Daddy so much. My father was a big strong man and he was tough as nails. The other firefighters called him “Tink” as a nickname because our last name is Tinkerton, but everyone knew that when something needed done, he was the man to call to do it. So whatever this was, it must be terrible to have gotten to him like this.

“Honey, your mom is leaving me. She says she wants a divorce. She says that she can’t live like this anymore. That she wants someone who can be there for here all the time, not some part-time husband. She is moving out and getting her own place until the divorce is settled,” he said.

I will never forget the look in my fathers face that night if I live to be 100 years old. Telling me this news crushed him and seemed to take the life out of him.

Some of the other firefighters would tell me stories when I visited the fire station, of how Dad would kick down doors and bust through walls if he needed to get into a room to save someone.

How he could carry any one of them over his shoulder and still manage a firehose if he had to to get them out. And yet, the news of Mom wanting to leave him and get a divorce cut him down as if he had been hit by a runaway freight train.

I stared at my father for several seconds, trying to process this news. “No Daddy, please!” I cried, when it finally hit me what he was saying, “Please make her stay!”

“I wish I could, honey. Your mom and I talked about this practically all night last night, but she is firm about it. She said that she can’t deal with this arrangement anymore. She said that she is tired of doing everything on her own. I guess I can’t blame her, I haven’t been much of a husband ... or a father, either.”

“Daddy, you have been the best father a girl could want! You have kept food in our cupboards, clothes on our backs, and a roof over our heads. Sure you have to work, and work takes you away from home a lot, but that’s what being a firefighter is about. You can’t very well fight fires from home, you know!” I said, as I threw my arms around Daddy’s neck.

The next four or five months were tough ... on everyone. Mom did move out, despite Dad and me pleading with her and trying to convince her to stay. I quickly became the ping-pong ball in the situation, bouncing between the two of them.

When Dad was home, I was with him; when he worked, I stayed with Mom. And while Dad never said a bad word about Mom, she didn’t extend him the same courtesy. I would hear about how Dad “always left her with this crap to deal with”. As for me, I was just plain miserable. I loved them both, and I just wanted us to be a family again.

But that was just not to be, and the day I had dreaded for 6 months had finally arrived. Mom, Dad, and I met at the Maricopa County Superior Court. It was kind of appropriate that it was one of the coldest November days on record – in the low 50’s that day, gray and drizzly and a miserable day to be outdoors. But the weather was the least of my problems that day. I could have been happy being any place else on earth than to be sitting there in the courthouse on that day for that reason.

The judge looked over the paperwork to make sure everything was in order. Mom sat on one side with her lawyer, and Dad sat with me on the other side. It was Dad’s time to be with me, and I had come to the courthouse with him. Besides, Mom had someone to support her, but Dad was there on his own. So I sat with him and we leaned on each other to get through this nightmare.

“Well, everything seems to be in order here. You know, this is a part of my job as district court judge that I really hate. Not only is it the end of what was once a very beautiful thing I’m sure, but it is also something that will scar and stay with this young girl for the rest of her life,” he said, pointing to me. “I do hope the two of you realize this. Divorce never is just about who can’t live with who. It always affects others as well ... there is always collateral damage.”

“Yes, Your Honor,” they both said.

“Very well then if there are no other concerns to deal with, I hereby decree you, Miss Andrews, and you Mr. Tinkerton to be divorced. Now we only have one more matter to attend to – the care of this young girl. I understand you are fourteen years old, am I right?” he asked me.

“Yes, Your Honor. I am fourteen as of last May,” I replied, very meek and very scared.

“Well according to the State of Arizona, you aren’t quite of legal age just yet. So until you reach your 16th birthday, there will be shared custody between both parents. I will leave up to the two of you to work out a plan that is agreeable to you both, and we will take up the custody hearing in, shall we say, two weeks?” the judge said.

“Yes, Your Honor,” Mom and Dad both said.

“Very well, until two weeks from today at this same time, the court is adjourned,” he declared with a rap of his gavel.

After court, Mom and her lawyer went off in one direction, and Dad and I went back home. It was a quiet drive home with neither of us saying anything. Dad was too torn up to talk, and I didn’t have any idea what I could possibly say to make things any better. We went home and I helped Dad to his chair. I sat him down and brought him a soda.

“Dad you just sit here. I’ll fix us something to eat,” I told him, as I kissed him on the forehead.

“Thanks Angel. You are a good girl,” he said, turning on the television. I went into the kitchen and put a couple pizzas into the oven to bake while I set the table. When the pizzas were done, I called him in to eat and we ate our pizzas quietly, not saying a whole lot. Today had been a horrible day, and we just wanted to get through it as quickly as we possibly could.

I went to bed early that night, and Dad came in to tuck me in as usual. Only this wasn’t usual. He tucked me in and kissed my forehead, then turned to leave as he normally does. But he stopped after a couple steps and came back to set on the edge of my bed.

“Honey, I am so glad you were there with me today. If it hadn’t been for your help I don’t think I would have made it through today. You were wonderful and I love you so much,” he said, taking my hand as he spoke. My heart broke as he said this. I knew Daddy loved me – I never doubted that for a minute.

But to have him say it the way he did and looking the way he looked ... I knew his whole world was crumbling around him. And for as much as he did to help others in their time of need, there was nothing I could think of to make it all better for him.

It was almost six months before the next wrinkle in this story occurred. About three weeks before my fifteen birthday, I came home from school to see Dad in a rather heated argument with someone on the telephone.

It didn’t take long to figure out that Mom was on the other end of this conversation. As I walked in, Dad covered the receiver of the phone and quietly told me to go to my room for a bit. He obviously didn’t want me hearing him argue with Mom. So I went into my room and turned on my TV.

It wasn’t unusual any more for Mom and Dad to be arguing. I had gotten used to their fighting with each other. I didn’t like it, but it was a fairly common thing since the divorce. I didn’t pay much attention to it so long as it only concerned them. What I hated was being put in the middle of it. Dad didn’t do it, but Mom continued to rag on Dad whenever I was there with her, telling me how hard she had it thanks to him and how she had to take care of things he should be doing.