One of the firefighters was up on the roof with an axe, breaking the tiles, trying to make an opening for the smoke and fire to escape. Close to the building, the ladder went up and up, then stopped at the top floor, bumping gently against the wall just below one of the windows.
Siria looked for Pop’s lucky number, seventeen, on the side of the truck, but even though she couldn’t see it, she knew it had to be his.
A pair of ambulances drove up, sirens screaming. People moved away to give them room. Through the smoke, Siria saw Mrs. Byars from the fifth floor, her hand to her mouth. And Patti from school, huddled next to her mom.
Was Douglas somewhere watching?
Siria turned, staring into faces, standing on tiptoe to see past the knots of people. Douglas wasn’t there, but she saw his brother Kevin.
Pop’s voice was in her head as he grasped the bottom of the ladder: Nothing to worry about, Siria. Climbing is a piece of cake.
And he was always right.
Always.
If only Pop were a teacher, or had an art store like Max’s. Anything but a fireman. He’d be home at night, and they’d watch TV while he worked on his ship models or filled in the newspaper crossword puzzles with a sharp pencil.
The ambulance sirens cut off, but the turret lights kept turning slowly as the drivers pulled in closer, waiting.
Pop began to climb.
“It must be at least eight stories,” someone whispered, and Siria counted the line of windows. Yes, eight.
Pop stopped halfway. Catching his breath? He began to climb again.
A man reached out of the highest window, the fire behind him like a torn orange curtain. He must have been terrified of the terrible heat, throat dry, eyes burning from smoke.
Pop’s eyes were so often bloodshot from smoke. He’d rub them, tilt his head back, using eyedrops from the medicine cabinet.
Now he stood at the top of the ladder, right under the window, reaching for the outstretched arms, moving in closer, grabbing for him.
And then the man was on the ladder with him!
“One of the security guards,” Mrs. Byars said behind Siria.
So much noise! The steady rumble of the engines, the fire crackling as a board broke loose and slammed onto the cement. Still, she heard a soft sound from the people around her beginning to breathe again.
Pop and the man were coming down.
Pop was safe.
Piece of cake, Siria.
But Pop wasn’t finished. As soon as he and the guard reached the bottom, he turned and started up again, three firemen holding the heavy hose as it sprayed water high across the building.
Siria sank on the ground, the wet snow under her, hands to her mouth. Why was Pop going up again? No one was at the window; the flames weren’t as strong. Water from the hose streamed into broken windows.
Another firefighter went up behind him, fast. Even in all that gear, Siria was sure it was Izzy, quick and light. Pop climbed inside the window, Izzy right behind him.
How long were they in there?
She must have said it aloud; someone beside her whispered, “It’s only been a minute or two.”
She remembered the summer night when Douglas had dared her to go with him on the huge roller coaster at the carnival.
They’d sat in front, where they could see the tracks, and she’d been terrified at the dizzying height.
It took forever for the car to lumber to the top; then they were stuck there endlessly until their car plunged almost straight down, Siria’s heart with it.
The ride went on and on, Siria’s hands gripping the rail.
When at last the ride was over, a girl said, “Only a minute and a half. What a gyp!”
How strange that time could expand or contract like that.
Pop and Izzy were still in there—it was forever. Siria comforted herself. They carried personal alert systems. If one of them stopped moving, the alarm would go off, and other firefighters would rush to find them. Their turnout gear was fireproof, and their air tanks had almost a half hour of oxygen.
None of that helped. She wanted Pop and Izzy out of there.
But at last, Izzy was at the smoky window, Pop behind her. They were slow coming out; Pop was helping someone.…
“Ah,” Mrs. Byars said. “The other guard.”
One of Pop’s hands held on to the ladder, his other arm around the man he held. One foot reached for a step, then the other.
Halfway now, Izzy right behind him.
Go home. Before Pop sees you here.
What if he found out about the fire chasing? How could she tell him she needed to be there, to be his luck?
Could she say she was afraid to lose him, that she was afraid to be alone? No matter what she said, it would be the end of her going out at night.
They were almost at the bottom, and the guard jumped off the ladder. Another board from the roof teetered high over Pop’s head.
Everyone below gasped.
The board was falling, and Pop was underneath.
CHAPTER 12
One ambulance pulled away with the security guard, but Pop lay on the ground, surrounded by the other firefighters.
The engine lights kept flashing; the radio crackled. Danny, Jesse, and Izzy bent over Pop. Izzy’s helmet and mask were off. Her face was filthy.
Siria pushed her way over, bumping into people, whispering “Sorry.” Jesse tugged at her shoulder. “Siria! Just stay back. Wait.”
She scrambled away from him, darting around everyone until she was squeezed in as close as she could get.
Helmet off now. Blue eyes. Streaked face.
He was alive!
Her heart began to beat again.
He saw her, too. “Right as rain, Siria,” he whispered. He reached up and took her hand, squeezing it hard. “Remember …”
It was easy to read his mind. He’d said it so many times: It’s the rescue I love, Siria. It’s making a difference that helps me want to do this.
“I love you, Pop.” How odd her voice sounded.
An EMT put boards around Pop’s leg, shaking his head a little. Siria’s own knees were shaking. She sank down next to him, and Danny’s arm went around her. “He’ll be all right. We’ll just take him to the hospital and they’ll check him out.”
The crowd was leaving now. Willie wound up the hose and the engines pulled away. Mrs. Byars leaned in, her eyes soft. “I could take Siria home with me.”
Siria shook her head. “I’m going with him.”
Izzy nodded. “Of course she is.” Pop smiled a little. “You heard my girl,” he told Mrs. Byars, who smiled back.
Easy as that.
They slid the stretcher into the ambulance and Siria climbed up and squeezed into the small space across from Pop.
She kept his hand in hers as the sirens began again, and watched his eyes closing as the ambulance pulled out. He didn’t even ask what she’d been doing outside in the middle of the night.
The lounge next to the emergency room was filled with firefighters, all there for him. Siria waited with them, Izzy’s arms around her.
At last, the doctor crouched in front of her. “Lucky guy, your dad! No fracture! Bad bruising. Sprains. A broken rib that we’ve bound up. Nothing major, but we’ll keep him here for a day or two. We have to take good care of our firefighters.”
She and Izzy followed the doctor back to a cubicle. Pop was asleep and there was color in his cheeks now. He had a clear plastic tube in his nose. “That’s oxygen,” the doctor said. “Perked him right up.”
Siria kissed Pop’s forehead and wiped a bit of grit from his cheek. He didn’t open his eyes; he was still sleeping.
“Time to go home, honey,” Izzy said.
They walked back to the firehouse and stopped in the kitchen for a hot chocolate. Siria had never been there so late. The dormitory door was open, so she could see a row of beds with clean sheets and folded blankets. And right now, it was peaceful. Smoky, the little black cat,
sat on the table, half asleep, her tail around her.
“Nobody wants her,” Willie said.
“I do,” Izzy said. “She’s mine now.”
“Another rescue,” Siria said.
Izzy nodded. “Exactly. That’s our job. And this cat will curl up with me on cold nights.”
They drove the few blocks to the apartment house in Izzy’s car. No one had asked Siria what she was doing in the street in the middle of the night.
Without thinking, she blurted out: “I was chasing you.”
Izzy pulled into an open spot in front of the apartment house. “I know.” She turned and patted Siria’s hands. “I always knew you were there.”
She knew!
Siria took a breath. “Does Pop—”
Izzy shook her head. “Just me. You chased your father and I chased you. Every time. As soon as the engine pulled in, I threw off my gear and went to your building to watch as you pedaled in, to be sure you were safe.”
She touched Siria’s hair. “You belong to us. Besides …” She hesitated. “My father was a firefighter, too. His firehouse was far away in the Bronx. I couldn’t chase him; I couldn’t even hear the sirens. But I was always worried.”
At last Siria was crying: for Pop, and because Izzy had been there all the time. Crying because of Douglas, and because she was so afraid he’d set another fire. She was so tired, and how good it felt to let the tears come.
“You’re rescuing me,” she told Izzy after a few minutes, just able to get the words out.
Izzy gave her a crooked smile. “You and the cat.”
Siria reached out to Izzy, smelling the smoke in her hair, seeing the sudden tears in her dark eyes. How would Izzy fit into the make-believe family she and Laila wished for? Maybe an angel. Almost a mother.
“Your pop is really going to be all right,” Izzy said. “He’s strong and quick. He rolled away from that board—it caught only his side and his leg. It could have been much worse.”
Siria nodded uncertainly.
“We’re trained, Siria. We know what we’re doing. You have to believe that. He’ll be home for Christmas. And we’ll celebrate.”
They hugged again, and then Siria slid out the door. This time she’d remembered her key.
Izzy rolled down the window. “I’m off tomorrow. Want to go Christmas shopping?”
“I do,” Siria called back. She went upstairs and tiptoed past Mimi, asleep on the couch.
She didn’t bother hanging on the door, but snuggled under the quilt, feeling her feet begin to warm. Imagine! Izzy had known all the time.
“Home for Christmas,” she whispered.
From the corner of her window, she could see clouds like pillows covering most of the night sky, but here and there was the pale twinkle of a star.
It was almost as if Mom were looking down at her, telling her not to worry. Pop would be all right. Douglas would stop setting fires. And somehow that poor dog would find food and a place to live.
She wished she could believe it.
CHAPTER 13
Orange flames shot out of a window high over Siria’s head. Boards crashed onto the cement below, sending up swirls of dust. “Don’t go up the ladder! Stay with me!” she called. “I don’t want to be alone.”
Her eyes flew open and she sat up in bed.
Just a dream. Only a dream.
No. Not a dream. It had happened: the flames, the ladder, Pop.
Not a piece of cake after all.
She made herself think of Izzy. We know what we’re doing. Home for Christmas.
Mimi appeared in her bedroom doorway in her wool bathrobe. “Dear child. I just turned on the radio. Your father was hurt last night.” She leaned over the bed and ran her hand over Siria’s hair.
“He’s in the hospital,” Siria whispered.
Poor Mimi, so worried about the two of them, didn’t even ask how Siria knew. “I’m going downstairs to my place for a few things,” Mimi said. “I’ll be back to stay with you for as long as you need me.”
Siria gave her a quick kiss; then she half slept, dreaming that she and Douglas were down at the creek. Douglas held matches in his hand, laughing.
She woke with tears on her cheeks. The dream had seemed so real: Douglas with his red hair and that baseball hat, freckles covering his face.
“How could you!” she whispered.
The bell rang. It had to be Laila. She always left her finger on the button, listening to the sound of the chimes.
Siria padded to the door, wiping her face with her pajama sleeve.
“I saw Mimi in the hall,” Laila said. “She told me about your father. Poor Pop. Poor Siria.”
“You’re such a good friend, Laila.” Siria could hardly get the words out.
“A sister,” Laila said.
“Yes.”
Laila hesitated. “What are you going to do about Douglas? And the fires?”
Siria heard the fierceness in her own voice. “I have to watch every minute. If Douglas sets one more fire, I’ll be there to put it out.”
“Laila?” her mother called from downstairs.
“Have to go,” Laila said. “Sorry, Siria, so sorry about everything.”
“And there’s the phone.” Siria went into the living room. Sun streamed in the window and rivers of melting snow slid down the pane. She glanced at the clock, half the morning gone. She picked up the phone.
“How’s my star girl?” Pop! Sounding almost normal, even happy.
“Are you all right?”
“Fine, Siria, and the security guards are, too. There’s just a little pain when I move my side or my leg. But I’ll be with you before you know it, eating Mimi’s butter cookies.” He paused. “Don’t worry. I’ll be home for Christmas.”
“Izzy said that.” Siria remembered that once she’d asked him to think about having a farm somewhere upstate, far from the fire department and danger. They’d grow corn and potatoes; they’d have an apple tree with branches that hung over a front porch. Pop had run his hand over her shoulders. “We’re fine here. Just fine.”
“Home soon,” she whispered as he said good-bye, sounding sleepy again.
Now Mimi pushed a suitcase into the living room and came in to see her. Her face was soft and her gray hair was pushed back with a scarf.
“I overslept,” Siria said.
Mimi made an it’s not important sound with her lips.
“Sit on the couch. I’ll fix you an omelet with tomatoes and onions. Maybe there’s a little ham in the refrigerator.”
“Thanks! Terrific,” Siria said. “I’m starving.”
It was true. How could that be, with Pop in the hospital, and Douglas …
Oh, Douglas!
In the kitchen, Mimi pushed aside a tray of cookies to work on the omelet. While she waited, Siria ate four or five chocolate chip cookies.
She ate the omelet then and wondered about the dog. Where was he? Had he found something to eat?
Izzy came in next, smelling of outside cold and almond shampoo. She smiled, her eyes crinkled, and Siria had to smile with her. Once she’d seen Izzy cry when someone was hurt at a fire. Her tears had been silver, brimming in her eyes.
“We could take a quick trip to the hospital,” Izzy said.
“Yes!” Siria said. “Let’s go.”
“I’ll wrap a package of cookies for him,” Mimi said. “And maybe you’ll take the rest to the firehouse.”
“Gladly,” Izzy said with that great smile. “I’ll pick them up for the house later.”
Siria slid into her jacket; then they took the elevator down to the lobby. Douglas’s mom was waiting to go up. “Sorry about your pop,” she said. “And where have you been the last few days? We’ve missed you.”
Siria swallowed. What could she say? “I’ve missed you, too.” It was true. She missed Douglas. She missed his whole family.
She and Izzy walked the few blocks to the hospital. It seemed much closer in the daylight.
Pop w
as awake when they opened the door to his room. His eyes lit up when he saw them. Siria went closer to kiss him. She sat on the edge of his bed, careful not to hurt him.
They munched on Mimi’s chocolate chip cookies. “The best,” Pop said. They talked about the fire then, and about Christmas coming. “I’ll have a few days off until I’m fit again.” His hand went to his side.
And Izzy said, “We have to go. Time to buy some Christmas presents.”
They raced for the bus to the mall. Once in their seats, Izzy pulled out a pad. “Let’s make a list.”
“A knitting bag for Mimi,” Siria said. “And shaving stuff for Pop.”
Izzy laughed. “How original.”
“I wish I could think of something wonderful.”
“We’ll look high and low,” Izzy said.
“There’s Danny, and Willie, and Jesse.”
“Christmas candy,” Izzy said.
Laila was harder. But wait. Hadn’t Laila mentioned fish in a tank? Siria closed her eyes. Yes. She’d give her a Siamese fighting fish, blue or purple, with a gently waving tail.
What would Christmas morning be like this year? Pop always made French toast and bacon that sizzled in the pan before they opened the presents under the tree. Would he be all right for that?
“Anyone else?”
“There’s you.”
“I’d put a new apartment down for myself,” Izzy said. “Mine is cold and damp, and there isn’t a kid in the whole building.”
“You have me.”
Izzy squeezed her hand. “Oh, I know that. I do.”
They were quiet for a moment. Then Siria began. “I was looking at Pop’s book about arson.”
“So many stories!” Izzy said.
Siria leaned forward. “Tell one.”
Izzy smiled. “One summer there was a kitchen fire, a steaming hot day. It was so hot that it was hard to move in our turnout gear.” She shook her head. “Neighbors blamed the man who lived in the house. They believed he set it.”
“He set fire to his own kitchen?”
“He’d left a row of glasses on the windowsill. The sun’s rays sent the heat up so high that the glasses exploded, one by one. It was your father who saw the char on the glasses, and the fire marks near them. So it wasn’t arson at all. Sometimes people jump to conclusions.”
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