Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12 SUNDAY NOVEMBER 4, 2001 2:15 P.M. The air was crisp and chilly. Lucas stood at the edge of the field. The sounds of football filled the air — the cheers of the crowd, the trill of the ref's whistle, the laughs of little kids playing tag in front of the snack bar. Mom and Dad were up in the bleachers. They waved at him. He waved back. A player ran off the field for a drink of water.

"Hey, Lucas!" he said. It was James, one of Mark's twins — Lucas had finally learned to tell them apart. "Hey, buddy," Lucas said. "Great game." The little boy smiled up through his face mask. Lucas held out his hand to high-five and the kid gave it a good whack. James ran back out on the field. Lucas turned, hoping James didn't see the tears in his eyes. He just needed a few seconds to pull himself together. He was getting better at it. And besides, he'd known this would be a tough day. This was the first game since Mark's funeral. The stands were filled with Ladder 177 guys and their families, all cheering for Mark's boys. Lucas was helping out the new coach. Some guys kept calling to Lucas from the stands. Half the Jaguars had come, too. Lucas wasn't on the team anymore. But he hadn't lost football. Or the guys. He took a deep breath.

Yes, this would be a tough day — but a good one. Dad had told Lucas it would get easier, as time passed. He didn't mean easy. It meant that there would be minutes — like these — when he wasn't buried by sadness, when he wasn't stuck in the terror of that day in September. When he didn't think about the planes, or the thousands of people who'd died in the towers, or the faces of the men who'd planned the attacks. The worst memories were from after he and Dad had escaped the dust, when they finally made it to the firehouse. Each hour had brought a new horror: the second tower collapsing, news that a plane had crashed into the Pentagon, outside Washington, D.C., and that another plane had been heading for the Capitol or the White House, but had crashed in Pennsylvania. There was the moment when they found out about Mark. Then Georgie. Then Chief. The other men had made it back, one by one. Covered in dust and ash. Some dripping with

blood. By that afternoon, there was only one man missing: Uncle Benny. The guys had seen him running into Tower 1, determined to get to the burning floors, to get as many people out as he could. Lucas could see the doom in the eyes of the other men as they talked about Uncle Benny. But he'd sat on the floor of the firehouse, his eyes glued to the door. Waiting. Waiting. Praying. Dad had been right there with him. That was one good thing that had come out of that day — Lucas and Dad. They'd marched out of the dust holding hands and just kept on marching, together. Last week Dad even brought the Seagrave model up from the basement. The real rig was wrecked. So Dad figured they should finish this one, and bring it to the firehouse. They worked on it some nights when neither of them could sleep.

Sometimes Mom would sit with them. All they had to do now was paint it. The score was tied in the fourth quarter. The other team called a time-out. The kids all ran to the sidelines, surrounding their coach. He stood there with his cane, his left arm in a sling, his shamrock tattoo peeping out from the top of the cast. Uncle Benny. "We have some champions here!" he boomed, turning to wink at Lucas. Yes, Uncle Benny had made it out. He'd come down the stairs of the North Tower a minute before it collapsed, carrying a wounded man on his back. He got himself and the man under an engine truck and saved both of their lives. He was in bad shape when he crawled out — shattered ankle, busted arm, collapsed lung. He was rushed to the hospital. Word didn't reach the firehouse until early in the evening. That is one memory that Lucas kept in his heart — the moment he heard that Uncle Benny was safe.

Lucas walked over as the kids ran back onto the field. Uncle Benny had dropped his cane. So he leaned on Lucas as they stood and watched the kids play. Their quarterback took the ball and then hurled it. It was a terrible pass. Impossible to catch. But James took off after it. The crowd stood and cheered. Uncle Benny and Lucas laughed as they watched James go, go, go. Mark's little boy ran with all of his might, his legs pumping, his arms reaching up, his face turned fearlessly toward the bright blue sky.