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Sprinting toward her, I snatch the extinguisher out of her hands and take over.
“Go outside. Now,” I yell at her.
She looks at me with wild, panicked eyes, and I yell even louder. “NOW!”
For once in her life, she listens, and I squeeze the handle as hard as I can and sweep from one side to the other, trying to put out the base of the flames.
What the hell was she doing?
Why was she still in here trying to put it out?
Why didn’t she just yell for me? I would have heard her, or Cole would have, and I could have helped her sooner.
Irrational and unthinkable thoughts barrel through my mind as I do my best to contain the fire. Fear like I’ve never known has my eyes watering, but then again, maybe it’s smoke.
The fire department arrives within minutes, and I’m being dragged outside. I don’t even realize I’m coughing until one of them shoves an oxygen mask onto my face, and Goldie stands in front of me sobbing, wearing one of her own.
“Are you okay?” she’s asking, so distraught that her words barely come out. Tears stream down her beautiful face, creating tracks where there’s soot covering her, and it’s the most terrible, gut-wrenching thing I’ve ever seen.
Breathing in, I pull hard on the air. In many ways, this feels like the first full breath I’ve taken since I saw her last Tuesday, and I need to be closer to her. I need to touch her, to know she’s okay and mine.
“Come here,” I tell her, pulling her into my arms. This need is so fierce, I’m not sure I could let go of her if I tried. She collapses into me and cries with her face buried in my shirt. Her chest convulses. The sound is so gut-wrenching my eyes flood with tears of my own. I’ve never thought about her crying before, but I know for certain after this, I never want to see her cry again.
My heart pounds hard, and my arms tighten.
She’s safe. I keep telling myself this as the sound of water flies from the truck onto the back of the house. A fireman stands next to us and explains that it’s not really needed, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. The fire inside was contained and has been extinguished. I hear him, and I don’t, as the adrenaline runs through my ears, blocking everything out. And that’s when I see Cole standing beside him, looking devastated and panicked.
At this, something inside me snaps. I know he’s got it from here. He can finish up with the fire department, and I can take care of my girl. Even if she isn’t my girl.
For fuck’s sake. I think I just lost five years of my life.
I shift the mask and tuck my head in next to hers. “Goldie, you’re okay. I’ve got you.”
She cries harder, and this makes me cry too. I don’t care who’s watching. I could have lost her, and she’s so upset she’s almost inconsolable. In many ways, this feels bigger than the house. I’m just not sure why. The house is fine. It’ll just need a bit of repair. She is fine, and we will be fine. I will make us fine if it’s the last thing I do.
“My painting,” she whispers, and I calmly ask Cole to go inside and get it and take it home.
Of all the items in her house, this is the one item she wants. Not her music, not her cello, not her plants, but the painting. The painting that she keeps as a reminder of what it’s like to be loved by someone.
My poor, lonely girl.
Maybe that’s it, maybe she thinks I don’t love her or can’t love her, or maybe she doesn’t know how to love me, I’m not sure . . . but soon, I will be rectifying this, and just maybe she’ll realize that one day she can love me too.
A few minutes later, she pulls back and looks me in the eyes. There’s fear and pain, but not the emotional. This is one hundred percent physical.
“My arm,” she says as she holds it up. I gasp as my stomach turns over, and I try not to vomit. While I’m certain it could be a lot worse, more tears drip down my face seeing that she’s hurt. If I hadn’t been so stubborn and just came and checked on her when I heard the alarm, this might not have happened to her. The underside of her forearm is red, angry, and blistered in quite a few places. It one hundred percent feels like it’s my fault.
“Goldie,” I whisper. “What happened?” I ask while simultaneously looking around for one of the firemen. My eyes lock with Cole’s. He nods and heads toward the truck.
“I was trying to make the apple fritters again, and I don’t understand how I’m getting the oil too hot. It started smoking, and I thought I turned the burner heat off, but I didn’t. The burner has two settings where there’s a small burner or a large one, and I turned it where it didn’t click off, so it was on the small setting. I turned around to start cleaning up, and before I realized it, the smoke had turned to fire, and some of the grease had popped and splattered out. It happened so fast. I went to get the fire blanket and remembered I hadn’t replaced it from before, so I ran to grab another towel and soaked it in water. I went to lay it over the top, but more grease splattered, hitting my arm. I jerked, dragging the towel through the grease, and it spread the fire. I tried to put it out, but everything happened so fast, and the flames engulfed the whole stove.”
She starts coughing again, and I shove the oxygen mask back over her face. I can’t take this. My soul hurts so badly.
“I called 911 and then panicked about my painting, plants, my cello, and other things, but instead of trying to get them out, I thought I could put the fire out with the extinguisher.”
She cries more, and all I can do is hold her to me.
“Ma’am.” We’re interrupted. Cole is back with a fireman standing next to him. Goldie pulls away from me as he slowly reaches for her arm. She turns it over for him, and his eyes flick to mine. “I’m going to call EMS. She needs to be seen.”
