The bright flames stood out against the night sky. There were no lamps on in the house since we’d all been asleep, so the only light came from the fire. I held Tigger close as I watched the flames spread. He still wasn’t struggling.
And then the fire trucks arrived. Sirens wailing, lights flashing, they pulled into our yard. Three trucks, one right after another. Firefighters dressed in long coats, high boots, and helmets leaped off the trucks and began to pull hoses toward the house.
“Stand back, please. You’ll need to stand back,” said a tall man in a helmet that said CHIEF. “Is everyone out?”
My dad nodded.
“Was anybody hurt?”
My dad shook his head.
“Good,” said the chief.
“My papers —” began my father.
The chief shook his head. “You can’t go back in. Not now. We’ll do everything we can to save your house.”
Sharon’s sobs grew louder. “My purse!” she cried. “My pictures! Why didn’t I grab everything?” My dad put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.
“It’s good that you didn’t, ma’am,” the chief told her. “Your safety is the most important thing.” A voice crackled over the radio he held. He listened, then spoke quietly into it. “I’m needed now,” he said. “You folks stay right here. Don’t move. And whatever you do, don’t even think about going into that house. I’ll make sure someone keeps you up to speed on what’s happening.”
Then he was gone.
I thought: Go into the house? Is he out of his mind? I couldn’t imagine taking one step closer to it. By now flames were coming out of all the windows on one side of the house. The roar sounded like a freight train, the crackling noises were louder, and sparks flew up into the night air. I could feel a wall of heat as the fire blazed on.
Sharon couldn’t stop crying.
I hadn’t started.
I, who tear up at the sight of a puppy. Who dissolve into sobs while watching commercials. Who know every scrap of dialogue from Titanic and Roman Holiday, the two saddest movies ever made.
I didn’t cry.
I couldn’t cry.
Not one tear.
I just stood there, watching as the firefighters swarmed over the house, working to save it.
I suppose I was in shock.
I saw a woman approach Sharon and hug her. Mrs. Prezzioso, from down the road. She was wearing a purple bathrobe. I remember thinking that the color looked good on her.
Then Mr. and Mrs. Braddock appeared, and Mr. Pike. People hugged me, and I hugged them back without thinking. By that time, the whole neighborhood must have been awake. If the sirens hadn’t woken people, the noise and heat and light from the fire would have.
Sharon was still crying. My dad, like me, was just staring at the house. Then a firefighter approached our group. “Which one of you is the homeowner?” he asked. My dad stepped forward.
“I am,” he said. “Or, rather, we are.” He held out an arm toward Sharon. She leaned into him.
“Okay,” said the firefighter. “Here’s the thing. We’re going to have to do some demolition in order to try to save part of the house. We’ll be chopping up through the second floor, before it collapses. We’ll also be breaking windows, to let out the heat and smoke and gases. We may have to break through the roof too. Chief wants you to understand what’s happening.”
My dad nodded.
“Any questions?” the firefighter asked.
My dad just shook his head. I guess he was in shock too. Sharon blew her nose into a handkerchief someone had handed her. She was still crying too hard to speak.
Then Mrs. Prezzioso stepped forward. “I’m just wondering if there’s any danger to other houses in the neighborhood,” she said. “I mean, should I be getting my daughters out of bed?”
“Good question,” said the firefighter, looking around at the gathering of neighbors. “At this point, we’re working to contain the fire. We’re hoping to keep it confined to this house, and right now it looks as if we may be able to save the barn. Fortunately, there’s not much wind tonight, so the fire isn’t spreading as fast as it could. So far, no other houses are in danger. But we’ll make sure to let you know if that changes at all.”
Mrs. Prezzioso nodded. “Thank you,” she said. Then she stepped back to Sharon’s side and put a hand on her shoulder.
I felt a hand on my own shoulder and turned to see who it was. Stacey was standing there.
“Oh, Mary Anne,” she said. Her face was white. “I’m so glad you’re safe.”
I nodded slowly. I was glad too.
“Mom says you should come to our house. You don’t have to watch this.”
I shook my head. “I’m staying,” I said. My voice sounded like a croak. Those were the first words I’d said since Tigger woke me up.
I had to stay. I had to find out if any part of my life could be saved.
I watched for a long time, even though I could hardly stand to look. I knew it was a fact that my house was burning down, but I still couldn’t believe it. It just didn’t seem real.
The heat and flames continued for a long time. More fire trucks arrived, and firefighters ran all over the house and yard, shouting and gesturing as they took their positions. Their figures were silhouettes of black against the brilliant orange flames that continued to pour out of the house.
Some of the firefighters wore oxygen tanks strapped to their backs and masks that made them look like scuba divers. They disappeared into the heat and noise, carrying axes and powerful flashlights. Others knelt or stood, holding hoses in both hands as they sprayed huge arcs of water into windows and through the doors. There was even a firefighter way up high, on a ladder attached to one of the trucks. He sprayed from above, trying to put out the flames that were rising from the top of the roof.
When water hit the flames, black smoke would billow skyward. The fire would die down for a moment, then spring up again in another spot nearby.
I saw the staircase inside the open front door, now completely engulfed in flames. I saw the outline of ceiling beams as the fire ate through the dining room. I saw a whole wall fall outward and crash, sending up a volcano of sparks.
The fire was so powerful it took my breath away. It seemed to shrug off the efforts of all the people trying to stop it.
And then, finally, it began to lose ground. The water was winning. Now there was more smoke than flame, and the heat was less intense. But I couldn’t stop watching.
“Mary Anne, do you want me to stay here with you?” That was Stacey. She had come and gone a few times during the time I stood there watching. Once she’d put a coat over my shoulders and brought me a backpack with a change of clothes. Another time she brought me a sandwich and a bottle of water. Her mom had made a whole stack of sandwiches for the firefighters and for me, Sharon, and my dad.
I hadn’t touched the food. “No,” I answered dully.
Stacey hugged me, and I let her. “Then I’m going home to sleep for a while,” she said. “Do you want to come to my house?”
I shook my head. She hugged me again, and when she stepped back I saw tears in her eyes. “Thank you,” I croaked. “Thank you, Stacey.” Then she left, and I turned back to look at the house. The sky was turning light behind it, to the east. Through the smoke I could see a pinkish glow to the clouds high above the blackened wreckage.
Tigger was still with me. I had finally put him down, but he hadn’t wandered off. He was staying close by, weaving around my ankles and meowing anxiously. I knew he must be upset by what was happening.
Sometime later — I don’t know how long, but I know that the sun was all the way up by then — a firefighter talked with my dad and Sharon. “It’s dying out,” he said, waving a hand toward the fire. There was still a lot of smoke, and parts of the house were still smoldering. But it was clear that he was right. The fire was dying out.
I felt that I was dying out too. I couldn’t even start to think about what it
meant to lose my house, to lose everything in my house.
To lose everything.
“It’ll still be awhile before we can let you any closer,” the firefighter told us. “Once the fire is really out, we’ll make sure the scene is safe. The inspectors will need to do some investigating too. They’ll try to figure out where the fire started and why.”
My dad just nodded. He looked exhausted. His face was pale, and there were black circles under his eyes. Sharon’s eyes were puffy and red. She had stopped crying, and now she just looked dazed.
“We’ll need to make some calls,” said my dad. He held up the portable phone Sharon had brought out of the house. “I guess this isn’t going to work anymore,” he added with an odd little laugh.
I pictured the base of the phone, on the hall table upstairs. Only, the hall table probably wasn’t there anymore. I wasn’t even sure if there was an “upstairs” anymore.
Mrs. Prezzioso overheard my father. “I brought you the cell phone from my car,” she said, handing it to him. “I thought you might need it. Keep it as long as you like.” She gave each of us a quick hug. “I have to head home,” she said. “But please, let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.” She glanced at the house and back at the three of us. Her eyes were filled with tears. Then she walked off.
My dad watched her go. “Let’s see, who do we have to call?” he asked, thinking out loud. “I’ll make a list.” He stopped to pat his chest, where his shirt pocket — complete with pen — would normally be. My dad’s a big list maker, and usually carries a pen and a little notebook wherever he goes. But his pajama top didn’t have a pocket.
I looked from Sharon to my dad and then down at myself. The three of us were standing there in our p.j.s, and suddenly that seemed kind of funny. I was wearing a pink nightgown printed with 50s-style illustrations of kittens playing with a ball of string. Sharon had on a holey old green T-shirt of my dad’s and a pair of those boxer shorts they make for women in gray cotton. Over that, she’d thrown an old peacoat a neighbor had brought. And my dad was dressed in red plaid pajamas, matching tops and bottoms, of course. Neighbors had also brought us random socks and shoes.
I almost laughed — until I realized something. The nightgown I was wearing was the only piece of my own clothing I still had. Even my old red plaid bathrobe was gone now. I twisted the ring on my finger — my mom’s ring from when she was my age.
Suddenly, it wasn’t so funny anymore.
It wasn’t funny at all.
“Don’t you keep a notebook and pen in the car?” Sharon asked.
“Of course,” said my dad. He turned to look at the two cars — his and Sharon’s — parked along the side of the driveway. “Good thing neither of us parked nearer to the house last night,” he said.
“Good thing we have a wide driveway, so the fire trucks could pull in,” added Sharon.
I couldn’t think of any good things to chime in with. It all seemed pretty rotten to me.
My dad went off to his car and came back with a pad and pen. “I also found the phone number for our insurance agent,” he reported. “It was on my car insurance card. I suppose that’s one of the calls I should make first.” He began to make his list.
I couldn’t believe how organized he was. I couldn’t even begin to think about what to do next.
After he’d finished the list, my dad and Sharon began to take turns making calls. First Dad called the insurance agent. Then Sharon called her parents, who I know as Granny and Pop-Pop (that’s what Dawn calls them). They still live in Stoneybrook, over on Bertrand Drive. I knew they’d be upset to hear about the fire. And I knew Sharon would urge them to stay home, since Pop-Pop has a heart condition.
After Sharon hung up, Dad asked me if I wanted to call anyone. I shook my head, so he took the phone and called his boss. Then Sharon called hers.
Next, Dad called Grandma Baker, in Iowa. She’s my mother’s mother, but my dad has become closer to her in recent years. And since neither of his parents is living, I guess he wanted to speak with her. He asked me if I wanted to talk to her too, but I just couldn’t. When he hung up, he told me that she had sent me all her love.
Sharon sighed. “I think it’s time to call Dawn and Jeff,” she said. “I hate to wake them up with this news, but they have to know sometime.”
Dawn. It was the first time I’d thought of her. How was she going to feel? She had lived in that house, and I knew she loved it too.
Sharon talked to Jack and Carol first and told them a little about what had happened. (Carol is Dawn’s stepmother.) Then Carol woke Dawn first and put her on the phone. I could tell by listening to Sharon’s half of the conversation that Dawn was shocked and saddened.
“She wants to talk to you,” said Sharon, holding out the phone.
My first impulse was to say no. I wasn’t ready to talk. But it was Dawn. How could I refuse? I took the phone. “Hi,” I said.
“I thought you’d be crying,” Dawn said. I could hear that she was. She kept sniffing.
“Not so far,” I said. “I’m just — I don’t know. I can’t really talk yet.”
“I can understand that. Listen. I’m going to catch the first plane I can. I want to be there with you.”
I nodded. Then I remembered she couldn’t see me. “Good,” I said. “That’s good.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say, so Dawn and I said good-bye and I handed the phone back to Sharon. She spoke to Dawn again, and then to Jeff, who must have woken up by then. I could tell he was asking if he could come with Dawn. Sharon gently told him she thought it would be better if he stayed in California for the time being. I knew she thought the fire would be too upsetting for someone his age.
When she hung up, she hugged me. “That’s from Dawn. She made me promise to give you a big hug.”
The hug felt good. Any other time, that hug would have brought on my tears. But my eyes stayed dry.
A few minutes later, I heard car doors slamming, and Kristy ran up to us, with Watson and her mom right behind her. She hugged me, hard. “Oh, man!” she said, staring at the house. “It’s really true. Stacey just called to tell me, and we came over as soon as we could.”
I followed her eyes. The house — well, it wasn’t a house anymore, really. It was a pile of blackened wood. The brick chimney still stood, and two walls, but that was about it. The whole mess just lay there, smoking.
Watson shook his head. “I’m so sorry,” he said. Kristy’s mom hugged Sharon.
“Guess what?” Kristy asked me. “Watson had a great idea.”
“We’d like you to come and stay at our place,” Watson said to us. “For as long as you need to. We have plenty of room, and we’d love to have you. I know you can’t think too far into the future right now, but there’s no doubt you will need a place to live for a while.”
I hadn’t even thought of that, but it was true. I saw my dad and Sharon look at each other. “My folks’ house isn’t nearly big enough for us,” Sharon murmured. My dad nodded.
“We accept,” he said. “That’s extremely generous of you.”
“Yay!” Kristy yelled. Then she must have realized how that sounded. “I mean, I wish you didn’t have to come. But I’m glad you will.”
Just then, Stacey came back into the yard, followed by Claudia, Logan, Abby, and Jessi. My friends. They gathered around me with hugs and kind words. It was good to see their faces, but somehow having them there made the situation seem even weirder. It was as if their presence meant I had to start believing that my house really had burned down, but I couldn’t quite do that. I still felt as if I were having a dream. A nightmare. Only I knew I was wide awake.
I saw the fire chief approach our group. “The fire is pretty much out now,” he said. “It’ll still be some time before we’re done here, but you can go a little closer if you want. So far, it appears that the fire was caused by some faulty wiring in the kitchen. We’ll have a full report on that soon.”
My dad and the fire
chief talked a bit longer. Then I moved closer to the smoldering pile to take a look.
The house — my house — was totally gone.
“This was my study,” my dad said in a strange, strangled voice. “Right here. My desk was by that window, and my files —” He stopped and moaned. “My files,” he repeated.
The firefighter who was standing next to him nodded. “It’ll be awhile before you can take it all in,” she said sympathetically.
It was a few hours later. My friends had left, all except Kristy. (Everyone else had offered to stay, but I told them I’d call them when I knew how they could help.) Kristy’s mom had taken Tigger back to their house to settle him in. We’d been sitting on the grass, talking, when the fire chief approached my dad and Sharon.
“I wish we had been able to save more,” he said. “But these old buildings —”
“I understand,” Dad said. “We certainly appreciate all that you did. I hope you’ll pass on our thanks to your crew.”
“I’ll be sure to. Now, there will be some salvageable items in the house,” he went on. “But they’ll take some finding. In some places, where the second floor fell in, things on the first floor will be pretty well buried.”
“When can we start looking?” asked Sharon.
“Anytime now,” said the chief. “I’ll assign a couple of firefighters to escort you in, at least for the first few times. It can be dangerous in there, even when the fire is totally out.” He gestured toward the house.
I didn’t doubt it could be dangerous. It looked horrible. The house was nothing but a huge pile of rubble, all blackened and soaked with water.
“Maybe you’d like to start with the barn,” suggested the chief. “There was very little fire damage in there, although there was smoke and water damage to the outside.”
We looked at the barn. It was hard to believe it was still standing. I thought of how much fun Logan and I had had jumping into the hay. Had that really been only yesterday?
It felt like years ago.
“It’s amazing you were able to save it,” my dad said. “And I do want to check it out. But I think I’m eager to head into the house and see what we can find.”
The Fire at Mary Anne's House Page 4