by Amanda Cabot
His father and Hilary exchanged a look that said they’d expected this. “Will you be back for Christmas?”
“I don’t know.”
She was almost there. Marisa took a breath, then choked on the acrid smoke. The building was enveloped in it now, dark billowing clouds that hid the entrances, obscuring the lights that had once shone from the windows. Now the only lights were sparks, shooting in all directions as beams tumbled and flames consumed more of the powder-dry wood. It was the most dangerous thing Marisa had ever seen, and somewhere in that inferno was Eric.
“Dad, where are you?” she screamed as she approached the burning building. “Get out!”
Behind her, the siren wailed then stopped as the fire engine reached the site.
“You need to get away, ma’am. It’s not safe,” one of the firemen shouted as he leapt from the truck and sprinted to Marisa’s side.
Marisa shook her head. “I can’t. They’re in there.”
“Who’s in there?” a second firefighter demanded.
“At least three people. My father went in after a baby and a grandmother.” Marisa’s throat burned, but somehow she managed to force the words out. So much depended on the firemen finding Eric and the others in time.
“Where?”
She pointed to the second of the six entrances. “The first floor apartment on the right is the Kozinskis’.” Though she couldn’t explain how he’d known that was the place baby Liam and his grandmother would be, Eric had headed unerringly for that doorway.
The first fireman nodded, then began barking commands. The others responded in what seemed as well choreographed as a ballet. As water streamed onto the building and two firemen raced toward the doorway where Eric had disappeared, a crowd began to gather. Some of the townspeople shouted, others remained silent. A collective gasp went up when the west end of the roof collapsed, sending sparks in every direction.
Marisa took a step backward, fixing her gaze on the burning building. Keep him safe, dear Lord, she prayed silently. Keep them all safe. It would take a miracle for anyone to have survived the fire, and yet she refused to give up hope.
As the first pair of firemen reached the doorway, two smoke-covered figures stumbled out. The man—Marisa could tell that much even from this distance—was doubled over, while the woman clung to the back of his sweatshirt.
“Daddy!” Her prayer had been answered. Eric was alive. Heedless of the firemen’s shouts, Marisa raced toward her father. “What’s wrong?” she demanded when she saw he was clutching his midsection.
Coughing violently, he reached under his sweatshirt and pulled out baby Liam, handing him to the waiting fireman before his legs buckled and he tumbled to the ground.
“No!” Marisa screamed and lurched forward. He couldn’t die. Not now. Not without knowing how much she loved him.
One of the bystanders restrained her. “You’ll only be in the firemen’s way. Trust God.”
Marisa did, but that didn’t stop her from wanting to be at her father’s side. She had to know if he was still alive. Even with all the noise, there was no mistaking the sound of a baby’s cry. Marisa gave a silent prayer of thanks. Though it was too soon to know how serious their injuries were, Liam and his grandmother were still alive, thanks to Eric. And then she saw it. It was nothing more than a clenching of his fist, but it was enough to tell Marisa that her father lived. As tears welled in her eyes, she sent another prayer heavenward.
For Marisa, the next few minutes seemed like controlled pandemonium. The firemen continued to fight the blaze, a pair entering each of the apartments to ensure that no one was trapped by the fire or overcome by smoke, while others pumped water onto the building.
Flashing lights and blaring sirens announced the arrival of the EMTs. After what seemed like only seconds of triage, they strapped Eric to a gurney. As one of the paramedics cradled Liam and another helped his grandmother into a police car, Marisa rushed toward them.
“Where are you taking them?” she demanded.
The paramedic who’d helped Liam’s grandmother looked at Marisa. “The clinic. Doc Santos is waiting.”
Marisa took a deep breath, regretting it the instant she did. The last thing her lungs needed was more smoke-filled air, but she couldn’t help rejoicing. The fact that the patients would be treated locally rather than rushed to a trauma center was good news. Another prayer had been answered.
As the ambulance pulled away, Mom arrived with Alice and her parents. Alice was crying, and the three adults looked haggard, as if they’d aged ten years in the last ten minutes.
Sprinting to close the distance, Marisa stretched her arms out to her mother, uncertain who would comfort whom. All she knew was that she needed her mother’s embrace.
“How is Eric?” The trembling in Mom’s voice told Marisa how frightened she was. When Marisa had worried that Eric might leave again and that her mother would be devastated, she had never envisioned a night like this.
“I don’t know. He couldn’t talk, and the EMTs weren’t answering any questions, but he’s alive. That much I know.”
Marisa turned to the Kozinskis while she patted Mom’s back. “I think Liam’s all right. He was crying, and the EMTs didn’t look too worried. Your mother was disoriented. I heard her say something about a nap.”
Susan began sobbing. “I should never have left Mom with the baby.”
Her husband put his arm around her and offered words of comfort, while Alice kept a firm grip on her mother’s hand, as if she feared being separated from her.
“Can you walk to the clinic,” Marisa asked her mother, “or do you want me to get my car?”
“We’ll drive,” Bert Kozinski said. He let out a short, mirthless laugh. “If my truck hasn’t burned up.”
It hadn’t. Since the apartment complex had no garages, residents parked on the street or in the lot behind the building. The fact that Bert had had to park a block away meant that his truck was safe and out of the area the police had cordoned off.
When they arrived at the clinic, Doc Santos’s receptionist was at the desk. Dressed in her signature uniform of Betty Boop scrubs, she gave no indication that a few minutes ago she’d been one of the spectators at the parade.
“It shouldn’t be much longer,” she said, offering the adults coffee and Alice a can of soda.
Half an hour later, the doctor emerged from the back of the clinic, trailed by his nurse. During that time, Marisa had done everything she could to encourage the others, all the while battling her own fears. He has to live, she told herself. If his condition had been life-threatening, they’d have airlifted him to San Antonio. But doubts crept in. Until now. The smile wreathing the doctor’s face told the story even before he spoke.
“Everyone’s going to be fine. I’m keeping them overnight, but you can visit them.”
“Thank you, doctor.” Thank you, God. Marisa’s prayers had been answered.
The Kozinskis ran in the direction the nurse pointed, and Mom started walking toward Eric’s room. It was time to go, and yet Marisa held back, unsure of what she was going to say, unwilling to intrude on Mom’s time with her husband. They needed time alone. Marisa’s turn would come later. That was as it should be. Eric had been a husband before he was a father.
“C’mon, Marisa. He’s waiting for us.” Mom turned and beckoned to Marisa. When she hesitated, Mom grabbed Marisa’s arm. “He’s waiting for both of us.”
Seconds later as they entered the small room, they found Eric sitting up in the hospital bed. Though he sported three bandages on his face and both hands were wrapped in gauze, his eyes were shining and his lips curved into a grin. He was alive. More than alive. He looked happier than Marisa could ever recall.
“Oh, Eric,” Mom cried as she ran the few feet to his bedside and wrapped her arms around him. “I was so worried.” Her English deserted her, and she murmured a few sentences of heartfelt Spanish that Marisa doubted her father understood. But there was no mistaking Mom’s sinc
erity when she reverted to English and said, “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you again.”
Eric stroked her head, his bandaged hands awkward but his expression tender. “You don’t need to worry about that,” he said, his voice raspy from the smoke he’d inhaled. “Doc says this old body’s got a lot more years in it.” Eric winked at Marisa, as if inviting her to join the celebration. “Doc said the baby’s going to be fine too.”
“Thanks to you.” The lump of fear that had lodged in Marisa’s throat had dissipated, replaced by a different set of emotions. Relief that Eric was safe mingled with worry about the conversation she needed to have with him. That would happen later. Now she wanted the answer to the question that had puzzled her from the moment she’d seen him disappear into the apartment complex. “How did you know where Liam was?”
Eric gave a little shrug, as if the answer were insignificant. “I fixed Bert’s car once. I had to drop off a loaner while we waited for the parts.” And though that had to have been close to a decade earlier, he’d remembered.
“You’re a hero. You know that, don’t you?” Mom asked, patting her husband’s hand.
When he started to shake his head, Marisa nodded. “Yes, you are, Dad.” The name came out as easily as if she’d been saying it all her life. And she had, deep inside. Marisa smiled at her father, noting the tears that welled in his eyes, tears that were mirrored in her own.
Mom gave her a long look, then rose. “I think I’ll see if Doc’s got any more coffee,” she said as she strode to the door, closing it softly behind her.
“What was that all about?” Dad asked.
“Mother’s intuition. She knew I wanted to talk to you.” This wasn’t the way Marisa had imagined the scene. She’d thought they might sit in the gazebo or even in Rainbow’s End’s beautiful lodge. Not once had she envisioned a hospital room and her father with bandaged hands and raw vocal chords. Perhaps she should wait until he could speak more easily, but now that she had been given the opportunity, she didn’t want to waste it.
Marisa took the seat her mother had vacated and reached for her father’s hand. “Mom wasn’t the only one who was worried about losing you. When I saw you run into that building, all I could do was pray that I wasn’t too late.”
He started to speak, but Marisa shook her head, blinking back tears. “Please let me continue. There’s so much I want to say. Most of all, I’m sorry for all the unkind things I’ve said and done to you. I love you, Dad. I didn’t think so at the time, but now I know that I never stopped loving you. It’s just that I was so afraid of being hurt that I pretended I didn’t. I let anger blind me to the love I really felt.”
Her father patted her hand, then cleared his throat. “I’m the one who needs forgiveness. You were a child. I was an adult who shirked his responsibilities. I won’t try to defend what I did—there is no defense. But I will tell you that once I was sober, my prayer each morning and night was that you and your mother would forgive me and give me a second chance. Will you do that, Marisa?”
“Of course.” She nodded as she leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I love you, Dad.”
“And I love you.” He gave her a hug, then stroked her hair with one of his bandaged hands. “I hear your mother’s footsteps. She and I need some time together, and you . . .” He paused and smiled. “I suggest you go out and do what you do best: find a way to turn this fire into a happy ending.”
Marisa stared at what had once been home for twenty-four families. In the bright midmorning sun, it looked worse than it had last night. The tape cordoning off the area only highlighted the piles of sodden mattresses and charred wood. It seemed that Marisa’s fears had proven accurate. Nothing could be salvaged.
The families who had once lived here had lost everything: their homes, their personal belongings, their sense of security. Fortunately, as the minister had reminded them this morning, there had been no loss of life other than three goldfish. Hickory View’s “no pets” policy had proven a blessing. So too had the parade, which had meant that most of the residents were out of the building.
Though the investigation was still incomplete, it appeared faulty wiring on a string of Christmas tree lights had caused the fire. The county fire marshal had arrived last night for a preliminary walk-through, and he was back now, searching what remained of Hickory View to rule out the possibility of arson.
One by one, the answers were coming. Liam’s grandmother had admitted that she’d been tired, and so when the baby had gone to sleep, she’d turned off her hearing aids and had taken a nap. That was the reason she hadn’t heard the smoke alarms. Though Susan had told Lauren she might never again trust her mother to babysit, Marisa suspected she would change her mind once the horror of last night faded.
It had been a hectic and yet surprisingly rewarding night. More pleased than she’d thought possible by her father’s faith in her, Marisa had volunteered her services to the mayor. Working with him and the town council, she’d helped set up emergency housing in the school gym.
Residents had provided cots, blankets, and food, the basic survival needs, but no one had been able to answer the most critical question: what’s next? There were no other apartments in Dupree, and none of the families had the money to purchase a home. Most were un- or underinsured, which meant that replacing their furniture, clothing, and other possessions would be difficult. And Christmas was only a few days away.
Though she had brainstormed with the others, they’d found no easy solutions. The town could hold a fund-raiser, but that took time, and time was one thing Dupree’s least fortunate did not have.
“Blake! What are you doing here?” Surprise and wariness crossed Lauren’s face as she opened the door. Still clad in her Sunday church clothes, Lauren looked as if she’d slept as little as he had. Perhaps she’d worked late, trying to finish her Christmas orders. Blake had spent the better part of the night at Newark airport, not wanting to risk missing his flight.
“I’m looking for Marisa. She’s not answering my calls.” Blake had left her a voice mail once he’d made his reservations. There had been no response.
Lauren pursed her lips. “That’s because her phone was run over by a fire truck. She’s got mine now.”
“I tried calling her a gazillion times, because I had this weird feeling, but . . .” Blake stared at Lauren as her words registered. “Did you say fire truck? What happened?”
Blake’s confusion must have been evident, because Lauren’s face softened. “That’s right. You don’t know. The Hickory View apartments caught fire during the parade last night. They were completely destroyed.”
A shiver ran down Blake’s spine. “What time was that?”
“Around 7:30.”
Exactly the time he’d sensed that Marisa needed him. And she needed him now. He managed to call a brief thanks to Lauren as he raced back to his car.
Within a minute, Blake approached what used to be the town’s apartment complex. His eyes scanned the area, his heart aching at the devastation. There she was, sitting on a bench across the street, staring at the cordoned area.
Blake pulled to the curb, switched off the engine, and sprinted toward Marisa. It was a measure of her concentration that she didn’t seem to register his arrival until he called her name.
She turned, and as she did, Blake saw that her eyes were ringed with the same dark circles as Lauren’s. But what caught and held his attention was the expression in those beautiful blue eyes. Something had changed—something fundamental—for the anger he’d seen there so often was gone, replaced by something he could only describe as radiance. There was only one possible explanation: Marisa had found the peace that comes from God. If that was true, and he believed it was, Blake’s most fervent prayers had been answered.
“Blake!”
As she gave him a smile filled with hope, he opened his arms. A second later, Marisa rushed into them, letting him enfold her in his embrace. “It’ll be all right,” he crooned as he stroked t
he back of her head. “Together we’ll find the answer.”
34
Perhaps it was wrong to feel happy when so many of Dupree’s residents were homeless, but Marisa couldn’t help it. Her heart skipped a beat as she told herself it was true. She was in Blake’s arms, and he was looking at her as if the trip to the goat farm and the angry words she’d hurled at him had not taken place. If it hadn’t been for the stench of burned wood and smoky ashes, she might have thought she’d gone back in time. But she hadn’t. Somehow, the one thing Marisa had thought impossible had happened. Blake had come to her.
“How did you know I needed you?” she asked when she could form a coherent thought.
There was no denying that Marisa needed Blake. Though a huge hole deep inside her had been filled last night when she and her father had been reconciled, an empty space remained in Marisa’s heart.
When her brainstorming with the town council had produced no ideas for temporary and longer-term housing, Marisa remembered how she and Blake had worked together to resolve the problem with Rainbow’s End’s tablecloths. That had been simple compared to this, but Marisa was confident that Blake would have good suggestions. And even if he didn’t, having him nearby would boost her spirits. That he was here when they’d parted so badly and that he’d said they would work together seemed like a miracle.
A hint of wonder filled Blake’s eyes. “The only explanation I have is that God told me. I was sitting in a restaurant with my dad and Hilary, celebrating their engagement, when I knew you needed me. I tried to call you but got no answer.”
Marisa nodded. “I dropped my phone. Something—probably one of the fire trucks—ran over it.”
“Lauren told me, but it seems that’s the least of your worries. What happened?”
As she recounted the events of the previous evening and her father’s role in saving Liam and his grandmother, Marisa’s eyes filled with tears. “I’ve never been so frightened. All I could think was that he might die without knowing how much I love him.”