My phone buzzes, a text from Cole.
Have you figured out what happened yet?
I type back:Arson. Still working on who and why.
I pocket my phone and head to my car. The morning’s already stretching toward noon, and I’ve got evidence to process, backgrounds to review, witnesses to track down.
But first, I need more coffee.
And maybe some answers about why someone wanted to burn down a lakeside café on a Tuesday night when a single mother and her kid were the only ones inside.
Chapter four
Chapter 4
Rachel
“Mama, my socks don’t match.”
I glance down at Tommy’s feet while shoving his lunch into his backpack. One sock has dinosaurs, the other has trucks. Both green, both clean, both going on his feet, whether they coordinate or not.
“They’re both green. Close enough.”
“But Mrs. Cott says we should match our socks for school.”
“Mrs. Cott doesn’t live here and doesn’t see our laundry situation.” I zip up his backpack and hand it over. “You’re five. Nobody’s judging your sock choices except you.”
He thinks about this with the gravity only a kindergartener can muster, then shrugs and pulls on his sneakers. The resilience of children continues to amaze me. Last night he was trapped in a burning building, and this morning his biggest concern is mismatched socks. Meanwhile, I’ve been awake since four a.m. replaying every moment of those flames, every second where we could’ve not made it out.
I should’ve called Sophie yesterday and asked her to come over and stay with Tommy while I worked. She’s fifteen, responsible, and actually reads to him instead of parking him in front of cartoons. Tommy adores her.
She’s been coming twice a week since we moved back, and yesterday could’ve been just another Tuesday of homework help and chicken nuggets at the kitchen table.
But I didn’t call her. I brought Tommy to the café because it seemed easier at the time, more convenient to have him upstairs with his coloring books while I handled inventory.
Now I can’t stop thinking about how we almost didn’t walk out of there.
“Ready?” I grab my keys off the counter.
“Can we visit the fire station after school?”
“Absolutely not.”
“But Cole said I could see the trucks—”
“I don’t care what Cole said. No fire station visits. Not today, not tomorrow, maybe not ever.” I open the front door and guide him toward the car. “When you’re thirty, we’ll revisit the conversation.”
Tommy’s still making his case for fire trucks when we pull out of the driveway. The morning is that perfect summer temperature before the heat becomes unbearable, the kind of weather that makes Millbrook Falls look like a postcard. The lake gleams between buildings as we drive, surface smooth as glass, and the streets are quiet except for the early risers heading to work.
Except today, those early risers are staring.
Mrs. Patterson waves from outside her bakery, white apron covered in flour. She’s never waved at me before. Never even acknowledged my existence, even though I’ve been buying bread from her shop for three months straight.
Two teenage girls outside the coffee shop spot my car and immediately whip out their phones, pointing and whispering with that teenage energy that turns everything into drama.
Some guy I’ve never seen gives me an enthusiastic thumbs-up from the sidewalk.
“Mama, why is everyone staring at us?” Tommy presses his nose against the window.
