In My Dreams

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Sarah looked from Vinny’s eager-to-leave face to Margaret’s obvious reluctance, but refused to let them stop her plans. Getting them to participate in this would be good for them.

“I’m not finished, Vinny. But if you have other things to do, I can catch you up later.”

“Okay.” Vinny headed for the door. “Thank you, Sarah,” he said stiffly. “Good day, Margaret. Bye, Jasper.” And he disappeared into the hallway.

“Okay, Jasper.” Sarah cleared her throat, wondering for a moment what made her think dealing with senior citizens would be easier than dealing with children. “No knives, no ring of fire, no saws. I know you were kidding, but I’d like you to get serious for a minute.” Jasper had been sighted for thirty years until an industrial accident caused a toxic adhesive to be thrown into his face. Of the three men standing with him at the time, he was the only one to survive. Now, at fifty-eight, he was determined to do everything he’d done in his youth. His courage alarmed Sarah and everyone else around him, and he seemed to delight in that.

“What about doing a recitation?” Sarah asked. Jasper had a deep, resonant voice. “You have such a good memory.”

He seemed surprised, then asked, “Will I have a teleprompter?”

“Jasper. Didn’t I just ask you to be serious?”

“You did,” he replied, smiling. “But did you expect that I would? I guess I could recite something.”

“Great. What do you think, Margaret?”

She seemed surprised to be consulted. “I think he’d do well. He always does well.”

“Thank you,” Jasper said. “So are you going to sing, Margaret?”

Sarah read the retreat in her face. She wanted to refuse. “I’m counting on you, Margaret,” Sarah said. “You and Vinny are both adults. You don’t have to perform together, but you can coexist in the interest of ownership of a new building for the seniors’ center.”

“I don’t know, Sarah.”

“I do. I’d like you to sing ‘Among My Souvenirs’ just like you sang it for me for my birthday in June.”

Margaret made a face at her. “No one wants to hear that but you. It’s sentimental and there’s no electric guitar.”

“It was beautiful. I’m signing you up for that.”

“Sarah...”

“I think you’d have a good chance at winning. We’ll talk about it while I drive you home.”

* * *

THE AFTERNOON WAS a Northwest fall postcard as Sarah followed the coast road across town. Sunlight embroidered the ocean and seagulls called loudly as they circled and dove in search of lunch.

“I apologize,” Margaret said, “for being less than enthusiastic. But Vinny annoys me.”

“He knows that and likes to push your buttons.”

Margaret puffed up a little. “I wouldn’t date him when we were kids because he was just the way he is now.”

Sarah turned up Margaret’s street and parked in front of her apartment building, interested to finally know what the problem was between them. “Really,” she said. “He’s a nice man at heart, Margaret. Do you think you can work with us if you’ll have to see Vinny regularly?”

“I’m not sure.”

Sarah stepped out of the car and walked around to help Margaret out. “That’s a pretty old grudge to hold on to. Maybe it’s time you two talked it out. You probably hurt his pride. He’s kind of a peacock, you know.”

“Yes,” the old woman agreed. “All feathers and no bird. We simply avoid each other. Now, if you’re going to be throwing us together...”

“You don’t have to help if you don’t want to.”

“Maybe Vincent shouldn’t be helping.”

Sarah saw her chance. “But he’s getting his old band together, and you seem reluctant to...”

“Fine, I’ll do it. But I’ll perform alone.”

“Got it. So were there any stars in your music class that would make good competition for the show?”

Margaret suddenly brightened as they reached her back door. “Actually, Jack and Ben Palmer. Jack inherited a little of his mother’s singing talent, and Ben’s just a good showman with decent pitch.”

“Really.”

“Really. They and the De Angelis boys used to sing for the neighborhood when they needed spending money. One time...” Her smiled widened as she thought back. “They’d outgrown their bikes and wanted new ones. So they built a stage and set up chairs in my backyard. They charged admission and sang songs from those boy bands. They were great.”

“So they got their bikes?”

Margaret’s smile dimmed. “Ben and Mario and Rico did. Jack bought shoes for his sisters and a couple of new bike tires for himself.”

“Geez.”

“Yes. Thank you for the treats, Sarah.” Margaret held up the leftovers Sarah had packed for her in a plastic bag. “It was a nice afternoon, despite Vinny. Before you sign me up for the song, let me work on it and see if I can still do it.”

Sarah hugged her. “Thanks, Margaret. See you Monday.”

Sarah drove home, thinking that Jack must have been a remarkable boy. Maybe that was why he’d matured into such an interesting man. Margaret was right. One person shouldn’t have to deal with so much.

She stopped at the grocery store for ingredients for the dinner she wanted to make—chicken couscous—as well as a few things for breakfast at the Palmers’. If only she could transplant their kitchen into her apartment! But at least she did have a new stove—only two burners had worked on the old one.

Finally home, Sarah decided to cook the couscous dish here. As she cut up the chicken and preheated the oven, she made a mental note to call her mother back about the Thanksgiving invitation.

Working in the cramped little room, Sarah imagined what it would be like to have yards of counter space, enough cupboards that she didn’t have to store canned goods in the bottom shelf of the small linen closet in her bedroom, and room to put a KitchenAid, a Keurig coffeemaker and a dishwasher. How she’d love a dishwasher!

Reminding herself not to waste energy on what she couldn’t have, at least at the moment, she focused her attention on slicing lemons, then browning the chicken pieces in a large frying pan.

When they seemed done, she glanced out the kitchen window and noticed the play of sunlight through the gnarled oak tree in the backyard. She pushed the window open. The air was cool, but its fragrance could have been imported from an island that grew spices and exotic flowers. She took a deep breath and let the aroma fill her being.

She blamed the sudden acrid smell in the kitchen to preheating an oven that was brand-new. She’d had it only a few days, not even long enough for an errant spill. All thought stopped when a line of flame flared out of the wall just above the stove. She stared at it, unable to believe what her eyes were seeing. The flame was just an inch tall for about a second, like the flame from a candle, then it ate its way up the wall while she watched, openmouthed, until it was halfway up, then angled left, toward the window, obviously following a line of electrical wiring. The curtains ignited, terrifying her.

Spurred into action, she ran to the narrow utility closet for the fire extinguisher. She scanned the instructions and then, with shaky hands, aimed the nozzle at the flames. Her filmy curtains were already gone and the flames were dancing along the row of tea towels and pot holders hung on a rack there.

She gasped in alarm as the foamy stuff seemed to be drawn out the window, rather than to extinguishing the flames. Even worse, the line of flame was still running along the wall, perforating the living-room wallpaper as it went. It passed behind a glass-covered photo of her parents’ wedding, the heat of it bursting the glass from behind and knocking it off the wall.

Mouth agape, she stared, then aimed the extinguisher at it. The tank fizzled.

She fought panic as heat and smoke quickly made the room uninhabitable. She snatched her purse off the table and ran out the door.

She dialed 9-1-1 on her cell and gave a shaky but clear account to the dispatcher, who told her to get her neighbors and go across the street, that the fire department was coming. “There’s no one in the building but me right now,” she said, breathless.

“All right. Wait across the street.”

David Lester, who lived next door to her, was in his second year at Coast Community College and seldom came home until late, but she pounded on his door anyway. No answer.

The Moffits, the young couple who lived next to the empty apartment upstairs, were on vacation.

Sarah hurried across the street. A crowd had begun to gather as dark smoke billowed out of her windows and flame was visible in the upper floor.

She was losing everything, she thought with an odd disconnection that probably had something to do with shock. It didn’t look as though there would be anything left. Her clothes. Her computer. Jerica’s bear! Sarah had bought it for her and the child had loved it. Her parents had given it to Sarah when Jerica died.

The whine of a siren announced the arrival of a police car. Ben and his partner, Grady Nelson, leaped out. Sarah ran across the street toward them, a dark SUV screeching to a halt as she crossed its path. She waved a distracted apology and continued to run.

Ben had already disappeared into the fourplex. As a fire truck screamed its arrival, she raced into the building. She heard Ben shouting her name from inside her apartment. She followed the sound.

“I’m here!” she screamed, trying to find the tiny hallway to her bedroom so she could retrieve Jerica’s bear from its spot on the bed.

She reached a hand out in the blinding smoke, sure she was at the hallway, when another strong hand caught it.

“Sarah!” Ben shouted. “What are you doing? Get out!”

“Okay, but I have to—”

“Get out, Sarah! Now!”

“No, I have to get the bear!”

“What? No!”

She yanked away from him. “Please, Ben...”

He pushed her bodily ahead of him and out the front door. He pointed across the street when she tried to push around him to get back inside. His face was smudged with smoke and his eyes hard with determination. This wasn’t the sweet man she’d been dating. This was the cop doing his job.

She tried to explain.

“No!” he interrupted, pushing her toward the sidewalk. “You can’t go back inside. Whatever’s in there isn’t anymore. Is there anyone upstairs?”

“No.”

“Pets?”

“Not allowed.”

He led her across the street, shouted, “Stay here!” then raced back to join Grady as he emerged from the building.

She stood across the street with her neighbors in silent disbelief. All around them, onlookers were talking about old buildings, smoke alarms, homeowner’s insurance, but she wasn’t following any of it. As they watched, the side window blew out and flames caught the grass that led to the concrete pad where residents of the apartment parked their cars. Her Jeep, the closest to the building, caught fire.

“No!” she cried, taking several steps toward it, but an onlooker stopped her.

“Not smart, ma’am,” the man said. “Look. That fireman’s going to get it.”

A fireman working that side of the building aimed his hose at the car. By the time he was able to extinguish the fire, the tires were gone. The car listed sadly, like a big, broken toy.

She was homeless. And she was probably afoot for a while, too. A weird calm overtook her as she realized that now she had no possessions. She began to pace, watching Ben and Grady run back down the front steps. Grady was on the radio attached to his collar, probably reporting in to Dispatch, and Ben was on his cell phone.

Sarah imagined tomorrow’s Beggar’s Bay Bugle headline: “Bay Apartments Burn to the Ground. Residents Unhurt But Lose Everything.”

What was she going to do? She’d think of something, but at the moment, her brain didn’t seem to be operating.

“Sarah.”

Sarah turned at the sound of her name and was surprised to see Jack standing there in the paint-smeared jeans and sweatshirt he wore to work in the carriage house. On his head was a pale denim baseball cap with the insignia of the Cavalry Scouts—crossed swords in gold—and the words US Cavalry. His eyes, under the bill of the cap, were dark with worry.

Emotion swelled in her and threatened to rise in her throat in a sob. She inhaled a breath and forced it down.

“Hi,” she said, her voice shaky and a little thin. “What are you doing here?”

“Ben called me.” He placed his hands gently on her arms as he looked into her eyes. “Are you okay?”

Before she could answer, he shook his head. “Forget that. Stupid question. Of course, you’re not okay.” He turned his head in the direction of the fire and swore under his breath. Then he refocused on her. “What I meant to ask was, are you hurt?”

She had to take another breath to keep the sob at bay. “I’m not hurt. Just sort of...” What? Shocked? Scared? Alone?

The sob erupted anyway. She tried to swallow it and that somehow made it louder.

“Yeah,” he said and wrapped an arm around her. “Come on. You’re going to stay with us. Ben said he has to ask you some questions about the fire, but he can do that later.”

How could she move into the same house as the man whose proposal she’d just thwarted? “What? No. I can’t just...”

“Sure you can.” Ignoring her attempt to argue, Jack pointed to his battered SUV parked at the curb down the street. “Why don’t you go sit in the car? I want to let Ben know that I’ve got you. I’ll be right back.”

She did as he suggested. As she sat in the front passenger seat, she caught a glimpse of Ben and Jack in conversation. Jack pointed toward his SUV and Ben looked in that direction. She waved.

Behind Ben she saw the blackened shell that had been her side of the fourplex: a smoky ruin in the middle of a grove of oaks dressed for fall. The outside of the apartment above hers was charred, all the windows were blown out and there was a hole in the roof.

That’s a picture of my life, she thought. Windows blown out. A hole in the roof.

She put her fingertips to her throbbing forehead, refocusing her thoughts. Other people were involved here besides her. It was hard to assess the damage to the two apartments on the other side, but they looked far less affected. She hoped that was true for the sakes of David and the Moffits.