Page 13 of Up In Flames

Mr. Mittens is voluble in his indifferent silence, though he’ll change his mind once I add a tablespoon of the treat to his dish. Then, he’ll be full of opinions.

Fine. It might be an unnecessary expense when I could just walk to the market, but I deserve a treat for… well, for something. Without further hesitation, I ring up Chase’s Fetch and Flurry, our town’s local version of restaurant delivery service, and get Chase’s mom. “Hey, Minnie, it’s Nina. Can you ask Chase to get me three pints of pineapple ice cream from Dickerson’s? Oh, and a bottle of unsweet?” What the heck. I’ve got to pay the flat five-dollar delivery charge no matter what I order. Might as well make it worth my while. Sure, I could brew unsweetened tea myself and stick it in the fridge, but why bother when Chase is already delivering?

“Sure thing, doll. Give him ten minutes. Chase! Get your butt in here. Delivery to Miss Adams.” Minnie is yelling even before she hangs up the phone, which is the best thing about Chase’s Fetch and Flurry—they don’t keep you waiting like some other services I could name.

After rifling through my wallet, I extract an approximate sum (which is pretty close, since I know the prices by heart down at Dickerson’s) with a hefty tip. I tuck the money under the front mat before I scoot across the tiny postage stamp lawn to the equally small postage stamp lawn next door. Knocking twice and calling out as I enter, I find Nicholas excitedly trying to catch his mother’s attention in the back kitchen.

Mari, meanwhile, is putting on mascara, taking a lasagna out of the freezer, setting it on the stove to defrost, and clearing up dishes from lunch. All. At. Once. And gracefully, too.

A despondent feeling settles into my heart. I’m never going to be able to do what she does. Even if there’s some magical, mystical event that allows me to get married and have a child, I’m never going to be able to multitask and look effortless while doing so. I can barely sit at my computer, type a linear story, and drink coffee.

“What’s up, Nina? Why so glum? Don’t tell me you can’t take Nicholas?” An edge of panic rounds Mari’s tone as she turns to me, plates still in hand, mascara wand to eyelashes.

“Easy,” I say, rushing over to take the plates so she won’t poke out her eye by mistake when she drops them. “No, I can take him. Of course I can. I know this job is important to you.”

“Ever since Mike left, things have been hard. Even in this town with all the support, you know? But this job could change all that.” She’s interviewing for the secretary’s position at the Board of Education. Getting it would mean she could work without worrying about weird hours or who’ll babysit Nicholas, which I can do sometimes, but not every day.

“Listen, don’t worry about it. I’ve got him.”

It’s only as her chest sags with relief that I realize Nicholas is still trying to get her attention. He’s waving wildly and talking about a zillion miles an hour.

“What?” we both demand at the same time.

Nicholas huffs. “It’s Sampson Dean. He’s at the hospital because he tackled a tree and hugged it too hard!”

“Where did you hear that?” Mari asks.

“Mr. Biedermeier told me while he was walking Poopsie past the front steps, where I was drawing airplanes with chalk. He said it’s the talk of the town.”

Mari and I exchange glances. I don’t know if my eyes are as wide as hers, but probably. Mr. Biedermeier is a lawyer. He always knows what’s going on.

“Go to your interview. I’ll take Nicholas to the hospital. That’s what you’re yelling for, right, Nicholas? You want to go see him and make sure that he’s okay?”

Nicholas nods. “Finally.”

Ten minutes later, after I’ve put on shoes and placed the ice cream in the freezer, Nicholas and I walk to the hospital, hand in hand. I was born in the Piedmont, the flat, populated area of North Carolina. I never would have taken a child to the local hospitals there, but our Mossburg center of healing is a different kind of place. First, all the infectious diseases are lodged in their own wing, separated by a double set of double doors that are regularly sprayed with disinfectant. We take our health seriously here. Second… well, see first. Kids are generally encouraged to volunteer in the children’s ward as playmates to those who are suffering, so long as it’s not in the infectious wing. It builds compassion in healthy kids and brings joy to the ones who are suffering.

For that reason, I don’t hesitate to take Nicholas, especially since Mari brings him to volunteer all the time. We slip into line once we cross the lobby doors. Looks like the whole town is here to see about Sampson and his condition. We’re halfway to the counter when Pete Nerodu sidles up beside me.

“Hey, Nina. Nicholas. Nina, look, would it be a problem if we postponed dinner tonight? I know it’s late notice, but…”

“Yes, of course.” I interrupt him, trying to hold in my sigh of relief. “You’ve got your hands full here. How is he, anyway?”

“Sammy’s a fighter. Always has been. He’ll be okay.” But Pete doesn’t sound certain. “Darla’s beside herself, of course. She worries about him in general, as do all the wives. He’s such a great guy. He really deserves to be with someone special. There are only so many care packages the women can send him, you know? They want to see him married, with someone to comfort him full-time.” He shrugs. “Guess it’s a maternal thing.”

“Mmm.” The best way to patently ignore his broad hints is to make a non-committal response.

But before I can question him more fully on Sampson’s condition, a doctor comes out from behind the sealed doors. Instantly, he’s mobbed by concerned citizens. Pete touches my arm before moving off with the mob.

“Folks, I know you’re all concerned about Mr. Dean, but I assure you, we’ve got matters well in hand. He’s regained consciousness, and he’s given me permission to update his friends. Now, I think he meant his friends with the MFD, his co-workers, if you will, but since so many of you know and care about our own original orphan, let me tell you how he’s doing. He’s burned lightly across his back, from teakettle to neck, but his uniform saved him from more serious injury. The only part that got the brunt of the flames was the nape of his neck where the helmet rose up. We can thank Mr. Truman’s mortuary for the generous donation that allowed the MFD to purchase up-to-date protective gear this past winter, because otherwise, Sam’s injuries would have been considerably worse.”

A lot of people nod and agree.

“Now, it seems it took some time to douse the flames enough so the rest of the MFD could pull Sam out. The time on the ground means Sam inhaled a lot of smoke into his lungs. Even the best respirators aren’t sufficient under such conditions, so we’re not out of the woods quite yet.”

“Used a helicopter and crane to get the boy out,” someone shouts. I think it’s Mr. Applebaum. He owns a car wash just outside the town limits. “Otherwise, there would have been more injured, or our Sammy would be a doornail.”

“You should have seen him fall. How’re his bones?” someone else asks.