The Fire at Mary Anne's House

by Ann M. Martin

  “Can we pet him?” asked Margo.

  “You sure can,” answered Mike. “But it’s good that you asked. You should always check with the owner before you pet a dog you don’t know.” Sparky turned out to be a sweet, friendly dog, according to Jessi and Abby. He loved the attention the kids gave him.

  By the time Abby and Jessi rounded up their charges for the trip home, they could tell that the Pike kids were feeling a lot less worried and scared about the fire at my house.

  The field trip had been a success.

  “Mmmph,” I muttered as I stretched and rolled over. Why was I so tired? Maybe because I’d been having horrible dreams about sirens and lights and blazing fires.

  I rubbed my eyes and opened them — and the strangest feeling washed over me. Where was I? Pink curtains, striped wallpaper — this wasn’t my room.

  Then I remembered.

  It wasn’t my room because my room didn’t exist anymore.

  The sirens and lights and blazing fires hadn’t been a dream.

  My house had burned down.

  For a moment, I wanted to shut my eyes again, pull the blanket over my head, and forget.

  Forget about the fire.

  Forget about everything that had been lost.

  Forget about the fact that my whole life had changed overnight.

  But there wasn’t much point in that. After all, no matter how hard I pretended, the facts were the facts. I wasn’t waking up in my own familiar room after a good night’s sleep. I was waking up in one of the guest rooms at Kristy’s house after a couple of hours of sleep. I had to stop and think to remember what day it was — Saturday — and to figure out that it must now be late afternoon.

  I had tumbled into bed the second we arrived at Kristy’s, without taking a shower or even washing my face. My hair still smelled smoky, and so did my nightgown.

  I heard a light tapping on my door.

  “Mary Anne?”

  It was Kristy.

  It took all my energy just to say, “Come in.”

  She entered and sat on the bed. She looked into my face. “How are you?” she asked quietly.

  Wow. Kristy was being, well, different than usual. The Kristy I know would have barged into my room and started yakking away. This Kristy was gentle and cautious. It was almost weird. I felt the way hospital patients must feel when their long-lost relatives start trooping into their rooms. When Uncle Stan shows up, you know it must be serious.

  “I’m okay,” I said. “I mean —”

  “I know,” she said in a quiet voice, laying a hand on mine. “You’re totally not okay, but what else is there to say?”

  I stared at her. Where had this new, sensitive Kristy come from?

  “What?” she asked, flashing a sudden grin. “I’m just trying to act the way you would act if our roles were switched.”

  We know each other so well.

  “Well, stop it,” I demanded. “You’re scaring me.”

  “Okay,” she said, jumping to her feet. “So, do you want something to eat? Do you want some clothes to wear? Who should I call to meet us at your house? I was thinking we could arrange shifts, so that you always have someone there to help you go through stuff. Also, I’ve already spoken to the rest of the club members about taking over any jobs you were signed up for. And Abby’s going to be the secretary for a while, so you don’t have to think about that —”

  I held up a hand. “Thanks, Kristy,” I said. It was good to know that at least one thing hadn’t changed. My best friend was still herself.

  A little later, after I’d dressed in the clothes Kristy had loaned me, she and I headed back to my house.

  Or should I say to the spot where my house used to be?

  A whole crew of people was there. Some were picking through the debris while others were sorting salvageable items that had been laid on a big tarp on the lawn. Mrs. Prezzioso was there, and Kristy’s mom, and Mr. and Mrs. Pike. Granny had showed up, even though Sharon had urged her to stay home with Pop-Pop. My dad and Sharon were still trying to dig through layers of blackened junk, hoping to find things such as her framed portrait of her great-great-grandfather, who had come to the U.S. on a boat from Ireland.

  Both of them looked exhausted. Sharon’s face was smudged with soot; my dad’s hands were filthy. “Hi, sweetheart,” Sharon greeted me. She smiled and held up her left hand. “Look what I found!”

  “Your wedding ring! That’s great,” I said. I made an effort to smile at her. I was finding it a little easier to talk. But it was still hard to grasp the enormity of what had happened. Sharon and I were standing in the middle of what had been the dining room — but I only knew that because the bottom of the staircase, mostly burned but still standing, helped me figure out where I was.

  Our dining room table was gone.

  So were the chairs with the tapestry seats.

  The china cabinets, and their contents, no longer existed. No more big platters to be used on holidays. No more crystal wineglasses, the ones I’d drunk sparkling cider from, toasting the New Year with Dawn. No more silver pitcher —

  “Look!” Sharon exclaimed. She’d been digging frantically in one spot, unearthing layers of what had once been the second floor in order to reach a much lower layer. “Don’t you think this must have been that silver pitcher?”

  I looked at the misshapen, lumpy, blackened object in her hand. “I don’t know,” I said. But I did know. It was the pitcher. I just wished she hadn’t found it at all. It was harder to see it ruined.

  Kristy nudged my elbow then. “Want some help?” she asked.

  I had told Kristy I wanted to try to find some things from my room. I didn’t expect to be able to save much, but I wanted something. Something from my past, something that would prove to me that my past existed.

  “Sure,” I told her. We left Sharon to her digging and walked to the other side of the almost-destroyed staircase. I looked up. It was still unnerving to see the sky from where I stood. “This would be the spot,” I said. “If you figure my room was about there,” I pointed up, “I guess what was in my room would be down here.” I waved a hand around, looking down at the mess at our feet.

  “We’ll need shovels,” said Kristy. “I’ll go find a couple.”

  While I waited for her, I thought about what I’d like to find. I pictured my room — and winced. I’d never sleep in my room again. I shook my head, trying to let go of that thought. Then I brought the image back and remembered the things I hoped to find.

  My journals. That was number one. I’ve kept journals ever since I could write, and I’ve saved them all. I don’t write in them every day, but I do record the highs and lows of my life. If I’d lost them, it would be like losing a big piece of my own personal history.

  Same with my letters, the ones I kept in the cedar box. Notes from Logan, letters from my grandmother, postcards from friends, birthday cards from my dad. Were they all gone?

  Some people don’t save things like that. I’ve seen Dawn throw a letter away after reading it. But me? I’d probably saved every piece of mail I’d ever received. Not every card and letter went into the cedar box, just the most special ones. The ones I particularly wanted to keep safe.

  My pictures. Everything from school pictures from every grade to snapshots from vacations with friends and family. My baby pictures. Pictures of my dad when he was a boy.

  Pictures of my mom.

  I moaned out loud thinking of those. I had to find at least one of them. They were more precious to me than anything. Some were ones Mom had kept from her girlhood, some were ones of her and my dad when they were first married, and some had been given to me by my grandmother. She had gone through her collection recently and had sent me most of her pictures of my mom, saying I should have them.

  Just then, Kristy returned with two shovels. “What is it?” she asked, seeing my face.

  I shook my head. “Just thinking,” I muttered.

  “Well, there’s not much time for tha
t,” said Kristy. “Somebody just told us the weather report. It’s going to pour tonight.”

  I looked at her. “So?” I asked. I couldn’t think why that mattered.

  “So anything that hasn’t been pulled out of here is going to be even less salvageable if it rains,” she explained. “Your dad’s asking people to help move things into the barn. All the stuff out on the lawn, anything else people can grab.”

  I nodded dumbly.

  “People have started bringing tarps by, but that’s not going to be enough,” Kristy went on. “We have to cover a big area.”

  I nodded again.

  “But your dad said it’s okay for us just to work here for now,” Kristy went on. “Stacey and Logan are here, and Claudia’s on her way. I think Jessi and Abby will be over later, when the Pikes go home.”

  “Great,” I said. It was nice of my friends to want to help.

  “Watson and my mom are heading to the airport soon to pick up Dawn. They wanted to know if you’d like to go with them.”

  I shook my head. “I want to stay here,” I said.

  I knew Dawn would be disappointed if I weren’t there to meet her, but I hoped she would understand. I just couldn’t seem to leave the house, or to stop searching for things I could save.

  Kristy and I began to dig through the wreckage, turning over shovelsful of — of what? Ceiling, I suppose, and floor. And pieces of furniture that weren’t furniture anymore. The smell was horrendous, and everything we touched was filthy, but we kept on digging until we began to find things that had been in my room.

  Kristy found the first item. She held it out on her shovel for me to see. It was a shoe, or at least it had once been a shoe. Now it was a twisted, blackened piece of leather. But I recognized it as one of my loafers.

  Then I found a couple of books. They were charred and soggy, and there was no way I could tell you which books they were, but there was no doubt that they were books. I also found one journal, the most recent one. I wasn’t sure if I would be able to read it, but finding it made me feel a tiny bit better.

  Abby, who joined us later, turned up a very smoky stuffed animal, a pig I’d called Elmer. Jessi found two metal hair clips. And Claudia discovered a partially melted jewelry box, a little heart-shaped tin one that Logan had given me.

  By the time it started drizzling we’d filled a couple of cartons with miscellaneous items. It had gotten pretty late. We were lugging them into the barn when Watson drove up in the minivan.

  I stood watching as Dawn climbed out, looked at the house, and burst into tears. Then she saw me. She walked to me with her arms wide open, and we hugged. She buried her face in my shoulder and I could feel her sobbing.

  But I still didn’t cry. I don’t know why. I just couldn’t.

  Dawn and I didn’t talk then, since it was almost dark and I wanted to keep searching as long as I could. Finally, though, it began to rain for real. Everyone dashed into the barn with one last load of salvage, then raced to cover as much as possible with the tarps.

  I gazed back at the house one last time as we left. What a sad-looking wreck. How could we ever rebuild the life we’d had there?

  By the time we arrived at Kristy’s it was pouring. Rain fell in sheets as we pulled into the garage.

  Inside, the house was warm and cozy, and the aromas in the kitchen were delicious. Nannie had been cooking all day, with help from Karen, Andrew, David Michael, and Emily Michelle — who had already eaten, since we were returning so late.

  “I peeled the carrots!” David Michael yelled as we walked in.

  Karen ran into Kristy’s arms. “I stirred the batter for the cake,” she said proudly.

  “Nannie let me help wash the pots and pans!” claimed Andrew.

  Emily Michelle chimed in last. “I mezzer,” she told us seriously.

  “She helped me measure the flour for a cake,” Nannie translated. “And she did a very good job too.”

  “It smells wonderful in here,” said Sharon. “How lovely to come back to a delicious dinner.”

  “The kids did most of the work,” Nannie insisted. “Now, why don’t you all go wash up. Take your time — we’re in no rush. Then we’ll sit down to a nice, calm dinner.”

  I looked at my dad and Sharon. They were filthy, totally covered in grime. Then I looked down at myself and realized I didn’t look much better.

  “Clothes!” Watson said, smacking his head. “You’ll need clothes.”

  Kristy’s mom spoke up. “All taken care of,” she said. “Watson, there’s a box out in the van. It’s full of clothes that people brought by today. I organized them by size and type, so it should be easy for you all to outfit yourselves.”

  “I’ll get it!” Sam had come into the kitchen as we were talking. He headed for the garage.

  Kristy and her family were being so nice to us. How could we ever thank them enough?

  Once we’d chosen clothes from the box, Kristy led us upstairs and showed us our rooms. Dawn and I would be sharing the one I’d napped in earlier, and Sharon and my dad would be staying in an even more luxurious room — with its own bathroom — down the hall.

  David Michael had followed us up the stairs. “There’s bubble bath in our bathroom,” he told Dawn and me. “You can use as much as you want.”

  “And there are a gazillion towels in this closet,” said Karen, who had also trailed after us. She threw open a door to show shelves stacked with piles of clean linens.

  We had everything we needed. Dawn and I each took a long shower, then dressed in clean clothes. Dawn had a suitcase full, of course, but I chose from the pile I’d taken out of the box. I pulled on a pair of denim shorts and a yellow shirt that I remembered seeing on Abby. Then we headed down to dinner.

  The stew Nannie had made was delicious, but I didn’t have much of an appetite. She’d even made a vegetarian version for Sharon and Dawn, but I didn’t notice them eating a lot either. I think we were all too exhausted to be hungry.

  We were also too tired to talk. The big dining room echoed with chatter, but most of it came from Kristy’s family. The kids, who popped in and out while the rest of us ate, were excited to have company. They couldn’t wait to show us their rooms. They told us about their pets and how well they were getting along with Tigger. And they asked dozens of questions about the fire, most of which Watson and Kristy’s mom tried to answer so we wouldn’t have to.

  After dinner, our hosts refused to let us help clean up. Dawn and I collapsed in our room. We lay on our beds, fully dressed, and started to talk.

  “This has been the strangest day,” Dawn mused. “I mean, I was woken up in California when it was still dark out to hear the news about the house. And here I am, in a room at Kristy’s. It’s like, how did this happen?”

  “I know,” I said. “I still can’t believe it, even though I spent almost the whole day digging through the rubble.”

  “Mom looks so tired,” Dawn said. Her voice was shaky. “I don’t even know what to say to make her feel better.” She sniffed a little.

  “I know,” I said again. “I feel the same way about my dad. It’s really hard to see him so upset.”

  I heard Dawn sniffing again and knew she was crying.

  “I feel like the last part of my life in Stoneybrook is over.” Dawn sounded miserable. “That house still felt like a home to me. Now I don’t even have a real base here. And the things I left behind are probably just — gone.”

  I knew Dawn had packed up most of her stuff and shipped it to California when she moved there for good. But she’d also left some favorite things so that she’d feel at home when she visited.

  I sat on Dawn’s bed and put an arm around her shoulders. She began to sob. “I know, I know,” I kept saying, the way you’d comfort a child who was weeping. “It’ll be okay.”

  Finally, her sobs let up a bit. I gave her one last squeeze and sat back. She looked at me. Her eyes were puffy and her cheeks were stained with tears. “Why aren’t you crying?”
she asked. Then she sniffed again.

  I shook my head. “I don’t know. It’s strange, isn’t it?”

  “Strange?” asked Dawn. “It’s beyond strange. You always cry.”

  I gave her a faint smile. “Not this time. It’s as if — as if the whole thing is just too big for me to deal with in my usual way. But I don’t know how else to deal with it. I kind of wish I could just cry, and then it would be over with.”

  “I wish you could too.” Dawn hugged me again. I haven’t felt that close to her in a long, long time.

  Just then there was a tap at the door. “It’s me,” said Kristy. “Can I come in?”

  “Sure,” we chorused. Dawn wiped her eyes and blew her nose.

  Kristy sat on my bed and the three of us talked about what we would do the next day.

  In the morning, the Brewer-Thomas household was going full blast by the time Dawn and I came downstairs. David Michael was helping Emily Michelle draw a picture to “cheer up our guests” — and teaching her to sing “Jingle Bells” at the top of her lungs. Karen and Andrew were zooming around the living room, pretending to be firefighters. Nannie was bustling about, making lists of what she had to do that morning while she supervised Sam and Charlie, who were at work making a huge pile of sandwiches for the people who would be helping us at the house. Watson was on the phone straightening out plans with the professional cleaning service we were going to hire for the worst of the job, while Kristy’s mom was on another line organizing a “housewares drive” to replace all the kitchen things we’d lost in the fire.

  Kristy grinned at us and shouted over the racket, “Welcome to my world!”

  She may have been used to that kind of chaos, but I wasn’t. And I wasn’t in any kind of shape to deal with it. I knew we were lucky to have such a wonderful place to stay and such great friends, but, frankly, if the Brewer-Thomas clan “helped” any more, I was afraid I might not be able to take it. Fortunately, Kristy’s mom seemed to understand. She finished one last call, then approached Dawn and me. “I’ve laid out some breakfast things in the sunroom,” she said. “I think you’ll find it a little more mellow in there.”