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There were the mother and daughter who had packed up the family station wagon and sat on the porch with their golden retriever, the garden hose and a full bucket of water on hand while they watched for embers flying down from the mountain.
Each time she spoke to someone, she heard the same thing: we’re waiting to see if the wind changes.
Around two o’clock in the morning, Theresa had just finished filing her latest quotes and was dictating down the phone the feature on the neighbors she’d written in Miss Pearce’s living room when she asked, “What’s the latest official word from the fire department?”
“Sounds like it might be bending to the northeast,” said Brad, who had come back on shift to relieve Archer.
She closed her eyes. “That’s good news.”
“Firefighters have got good containment on the south side closest to the homes. If they get lucky, this might not be a bad one.”
She hadn’t been in Pasadena long enough to know what a bad one might look like firsthand, but she had heard some of the veterans around the newsroom talking about the sheer destruction of them that could turn a neighborhood into a moonscape in a matter of hours.
“That’s good.”
“Don’t get your hopes up yet,” said Brad. “The wind can always change.”
“That’s what everyone here keeps saying,” she said.
“Hold on a minute, Johnson. Phil wants to talk to you.”
She heard the phone being put down and then picked up again.
“Johnson?” her editor’s voice filled the line.
“Yes?”
“You’re doing good work up there,” said Phil.
She rubbed her eyes. “Thank you.”
“Is there somewhere nearby you can get some sleep?” he asked, almost as though he could hear the exhaustion on her.
She glanced over at a sofa in Miss Pearce’s living room. “Yes.”
“We’re going to put the early edition to bed. Get some sleep, get something to eat, and then call in in the morning.”
“You want me to stay on the story?”
“Half the newsroom is away for the holiday weekend, and I need the rest of them reporting second-day stories and working the phones while you chase the on-the-ground color. We have an entire issue to put out, not just fire coverage,” grumbled Phil.
“I understand,” she said quickly. “I’ll call back first thing tomorrow.”
He wasn’t pulling her from the story. He was treating her like an honest-to-God real reporter who could be trusted in the field.
Theresa smiled and shuffled a few steps over to one of a pair of sofas facing each other on either side of Miss Pearce’s fireplace. Then she collapsed onto the cushions and let sleep take over.
Theresa didn’t dream, exhausted as she was from hours of work and the pump of adrenaline that accompanied reporting on breaking news.
Still, at some point in the night when it was pitch-black outside, she awoke enough to hear the tread of boots on the floor and shifted a little to open her eyes.
“It’s just me,” said Matt. She started to lift herself up to sitting, but he put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Don’t get up.”
“What about Miss Pearce?” she asked.
“I have strict instructions to wake her at four so she can take over fire watch. Then I’ll get a few hours of sleep.”
Theresa nodded and put her head back down. As she drifted off to sleep again, she could have sworn she felt a soft brush of lips to her temple.
