“I hope the judge thinks so.”
We sit in comfortable silence for a moment. Then Dorothy sighs.
“Ryan stopped by this last night. Asked to borrow money again.”
“Did you give it to him?”
“I did. I always do.” She looks at her hands. “He said he needed it for rent, but I know where it’s really going. Gambling. Always gambling.”
“Have you thought about cutting him off? Tough love?”
“Every day. But he is my grandson. My only family left.” Her voice cracks slightly. “I did my best, but maybe my best wasn’t good enough.”
“You can’t blame yourself for his choices.”
“I know. But it’s hard not to.” She dabs her eyes with a tissue. “He’s been so angry lately. So volatile. I mentioned maybe he should talk to someone and get help for the gambling. He got upset. Said I was calling him crazy.”
“When was this?”
“Last week. Right before the library fire.” She shakes her head. “I’m sure it’s not connected. Just a stressful time for him. He’s behind on bills, and his landlord’s threatening to evict him. He’s drowning, and I don’t know how to help him.”
“Sometimes people have to save themselves.”
“I know. Doesn’t make it easier to watch.”
My phone buzzes with a text from Jake.
Heading home early. Need anything?
I’m at Dorothy’s. Be home soon.
“I should probably go.” I stand up. “Let you rest.”
“Thank you for the soup. And the company.” Dorothy walks me to the door. “You’re a good girl, Rachel. Don’t let anyone make you feel otherwise.”
“I’ll try.”
I’m reaching for the doorknob when I smell it.
Smoke.
Faint but unmistakable. That same acrid smell from the café. From the library.
“Dorothy, do you smell that?”
She sniffs. “Smell what?”
“Smoke.”
Then the fire alarm screams to life.
Dorothy’s eyes go wide. “Oh God.”
I yank open her door. Smoke is pouring up the stairwell, thick and dark.
“We need to leave. Now.”
“My medication—”
