I pull the phone away from my ear to make sure it’s my father calling.
“Daddy? Are you still there?”
“I am,” he says. “This is the worst day of my life, ladybug.”
My heart leaps into my throat.
“What’s going on? Are you crying?”
“I am,” he says.
“Why are you crying?”
“It’s gone.”
“What’s gone?”
“It’s been burned to the ground.”
“The hotel is on fire?”
“No. The house.”
Sheer panic washes over me. “Our house?”
“Yes.”
I refuse to believe him. “Our house is on fire?” By wording it differently, I’m praying I’ll get a different answer.
“Yes.”
Oh my God.“But you’re safe?”
“I wasn’t inside the house.”
Thank God.
“I was at the hotel. We were short staffed at the welcome desk.”
“Where are you now?”
“I’m at Uncle Ian’s. The police were at the house, so were the firefighters. They’ve extinguished the fire, but it’s going to take some time for investigation. It’s been a long night.”
This cannot be happening. This has to be a nightmare.
“We have nothing left, Michaela,” Daddy says. “The house is gone. Everything inside it. Gone. Incinerated. Your car in the garage is burnt to a crisp. The houses flanking ours are also gone.”
I’m surprised I can hear him over the erratic beating of my heart. “Are the neighbors okay?”
“By a miracle of God, no one was home. One family was cheering on their oldest son at a basketball game—the three other siblings were with them. The other family was at a school play.”
“Thank God.”
“People in the neighborhood said it was like an explosion went off.”
I’m in so much shock, words fail me.
“I should’ve listened to your uncle,” Daddy says.
