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And take me or leave me Owen doesn’t bother trying to prove himself.
As we look toward my house, I have a fleeting thought that even now I’d take him in a heartbeat.
That is, if I was ever given the chance.
Chapter Eight
Emmy
I slip my mom’s shoes off and step into the oversized boots.
They’re huge. I clomp around in a little circle, and Owen gives me a look.
I pull the mask on, and I’m sure I look ridiculous.
At least my lungs will be safe.
Next, he pulls out a large, drawstring bag, like the kind I used to haul dirty laundry home from college.
“I’m going to go in first. We’re going to look around, grab anything important—glasses, prescriptions, paperwork, clothes if you can find any. But remember, we can’t stay in there for long, okay?”
I nod, and the mask sags behind my head, shifting askew on my face.
He reaches over and straightens it, then hands me the bag. “You can use this to carry stuff out.”
This feels like a search and rescue mission. Operation Save My Stuff. I keep all my paperwork—birth certificate, passport, social security card, insurance information—in a pink binder in my desk. And I need to find my purse, assuming it survived.
I’ll want my car keys and some clothes, and I really, really want my microphone. For sentimental reasons as well as practical ones.
A thought hits me, one I can’t deal with right at the moment—I’m going to have to find an alternate location for recording if I’m going to keep the show up and running.
While keeping it secret.
How in the world am I going to do that?
Owen opens the front door, and I follow him inside. Even through my mask, I can smell the acrid, charred fume of smoke. The entryway looks relatively unharmed, but as I step in a little further, I can see most of the white surfaces are now gray. Some of them are black, with billowed shapes like permanent shadows.
The wall next to the staircase is caked in dark black soot, and I can only imagine what the upstairs looks like.
“My office is through there,” I say, pointing down the hall. “Can I get my paperwork?”
“Course.” He starts off down the hallway, and I follow close behind. Owen is careful where he steps, alert and aware of everything in the house.
My hands start inadvertently shaking, and my breath starts to fog the mask. I instinctively reach out and grab his arm.
He turns and reaches up to place his hand on mine—and I’m instantly comforted.
I didn’t know it was going to be this hard.
“Hey. It’s okay. If you need to take a break, or come back later. . .”
I shake my head. “No. It’s. . .I’m fine. Not sure how I’ll be in ten minutes, but I’m good. I promise.”
It’s strange. This is my home. I know that in my head, but it doesn’t feel like home anymore.
I feel like my safest space in the world has been violated.
We reach the door of the office, and Owen looks around. This room is almost completely intact, barely a trace of damage.
