My nose tingles, and with one sniff, I smell something. Is that smoke?
Huh. I didn’t use anything today that would cause smoke. I double-check my phone charger, and then in the kitchen, but I don’t see anything. The smell is getting stronger.
Hearing people outside, I walk to my living room window, and then I see it.
Shit.
Esme’s house.
Not a second goes by before I’m running out of my house to the street where everyone is congregating. My eyes search for the issue, but the bright glow from the fire on the side of the house speaks for itself.
The side of Mrs. Tiller’s house is on fire, and it seems to have spread to Esme’s house.
Esme.
Panic and alarm hit me, and I crane my neck in a desperate search. She can’t be in her house. Esme would have noticed right away and gotten out. A smoke detector would work. It has to work.
My stomach and chest do a flip in unison. Where is Esme?
Only a slither of relief comes to me when I see Esme driving up. Thank God, she had her shoot then dinner with Hailey, I remember her mentioning it.
I’m not even sure she bothers to turn the engine off when she parks because she doesn’t close her car door and terror fills her eyes.
For a second she stands motionless as she grasps what is happening, and time stands still while the sound of sirens approaching mix with the fire blazing. It doesn’t matter that in my peripheral view, Mrs. Tiller is weeping in our neighbor Kelly’s arms. Shock wears off Esme’s face, and horror kicks in.
“My pictures,” she yells right before she begins to run toward the fire. I don’t waste time before I’m after her, grabbing her from behind, pretty much tackling her. She wiggles in my arms, desperate to escape. “I have to go in there.”
Falling to the ground, I grip her arms tight to her body, and I huddle around her from behind, pulling her as close as humanly possible. “No.”
“Let me go,” she cries out.
“Not a fucking chance.” I grind my words out into her ear. I’m not even sure she realizes whose arms she is in, as she’s focused on the scene before her.
She repeatedly tries to push me away to no avail. “No.”
Her struggle causes me to loop my arms around her chest to hold her down with more restraint. “Listen to me. You can’t go in there, I won’t let you.”
Esme sobs, and I feel her entire body fall into a thousand pieces.
I kiss her hair and begin to rock her gently in my arms, asif that would actually calm her; it won’t, especially as the fire department arrives.
“I’m not letting you go,” I whisper into her ear. I have no clue if she even hears me as disbelief takes over her body from the scene before her, but if she understands anything, then she would know…
I mean every word.
14
KEATS
Testing the bath water, I decide it’s the right temperature. My clawfoot tub was a luxury the designer said was needed to fit in with the checkered tile and feel of the old house. I’ve never used it, though.
Turning off the faucet, I stare at Esme who is sitting on a stool, mute, with a glass of whiskey in hand. She looks nearly lifeless. Completely deflated and heartbroken. Maybe still in shock. A mixture of it all, and still she let me guide her away.
It took a few hours to put out the fire. Afterward, we listened to the firefighter explain the situation. Apparently, Mrs. Tiller forgot to replace an old toaster, and it short-circuited. The firemen were able to extinguish the fire, but the smoke and charred house remain. Luckily, only the kitchen and living room in Esme’s house have been destroyed, and not everything. Even more important, Esme wasn’t in the house.
She’s exhausted, and I’ve forgotten that I was already lacking sleep from the day before.
“Come on, let’s get you in the tub.” I walk on my knees to her and set her whiskey on the sink vanity before I begin tohelp her undress. First her blouse, and then I tug her jeans off as her legs part open. Reaching around her, I unhook her bra. Everything smells of smoke, and there is no way she can put these back on.
