After they’re gone, Dean helps me board up the broken windows with plywood he keeps in his truck. Jess and Macy stand next to Sadie in solidarity and comfort.
Sadie walks back to the building and stands in front of the now boarded windows. She crouches down among the glass and starts gathering the torn pages of Wildfire Summer, one by one, picking her own words out of the wreckage with careful hands, stacking the fragments into a neat pile against her chest.
Jess moves to help, but I catch her eye and shake my head. This one’s hers.
When Sadie stands, she’s holding the torn pages like something worth keeping. Her jaw is set. Her eyes are dry.
When everything is as secure as we can make it for now, Dean claps me on the shoulder. “Call if you need anything.”
“I will.”
Isabel hugs Sadie tight. “You’re staying with Mateo?”
Sadie nods.
“Good.” Isabel glances at me, then back to Sadie. “He’ll take care of you.”
Macy’s next, pulling Sadie into a fierce hug. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
“This isn’t your fault,” Sadie says quietly.
“I know, but—“
“No, Macy. No buts. It’s not your fault,” Sadie repeats, more firmly.
Jess is last. She pulls Sadie into a long embrace, says something I can’t hear. Sadie nods against her shoulder.
“Macy’s offered to let me stay at her place,” Jess announces when they pull apart. “You two need space tonight.”
“You don’t have to—“
“Yes, I do.” Jess squeezes Sadie’s hands. “I’ll come by in the morning. We’ll figure out the next steps. But tonight? Let Mateo take care of you.”
Sadie looks at me.
“Okay,” she whispers.
The short drive to my house is silent. Sadie stares out the window, arms wrapped around herself. I keep one hand on the wheel and reach over to take hers with the other. She holds on tight.
My house is on the quiet side of town, a small adobe with a covered porch and the workshop out back where I do smaller projects. It’s not much, but it’s mine.
I kill the engine and come around the truck to open her door. She stands in my driveway, looking lost.
“Come on.” I guide her inside with a hand on her lower back.
The living room is dark. I flip on a lamp, and warm light fills the space. It’s not fancy. A leather couch, a wooden coffee table, and bookshelves lining one wall. But it’s clean and comfortable.
“Guest room’s down the hall,” I tell her. “Second door on the left. Bathroom’s across from it.”
She nods but doesn’t move.
“Are you hungry? I can make something—“
“I’m not hungry.”
“Sadie—“
“I’m fine, Mateo. I’m hurt. And angry.” She finally looks at me. “I just... I need to be alone for a minute.”
