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“Setting up more masks on the table!” Jace calls out.
Owen waves at him, then turns his attention back to me. “What’s wrong?”
“Huh?” I say, because I’m eloquent and have a way with words.
“Are you okay?”
I shake my head slightly and erase whatever expression is trying to give me away. “Oh, yeah. I just—thought this was part of your job.”
He chuckles lightly. “We just put the fires out. We don’t usually handle the clean-up.”
I want to ask him why my house is the exception, but he doesn’t give me the chance.
He turns toward the front door. “So, the main thing we want to do is go through and separate out what can and can’t be saved. I’m going to make you get rid of all the food in there, and any clothes that look like they took a hit. You need to wear these too—” he hands me a pair of gloves— “and don’t get any of the soot or ash on your skin. If you do, we need to wash it off right away.”
I put the gloves on and look around. Everyone else seems to have already gotten this speech. The people moving in and out of the house are masked and fully covered.
“I told everyone they need to wait for you to go through everything first. Nobody is going to throw anything away without your say so.”
I nod. I feel. . .off. “Okay.”
We’re standing on the front porch. It’s not the first time I’ve been back here, but it is the first time I’ve been back with the intention of throwing things away. Things that only about a week ago were in perfect condition.
I follow him to the open front door. It’s almost as though I’m watching someone else do this—like it’s not exactly real. I can hear people moving around inside. I can hear the noise of people sifting through what’s left of my things.
And then, just as a few minutes before in my car, the edges of my vision start to close in.
Oh. . .oh no.
I can hear the flames. Owen’s voice, telling me we’ve got to go. And I can feel the heat. I draw in a quick deep breath, panicked, expecting the cloud of smoke to block my airway. It’s clear, and yet I feel like I can’t breathe.
Logically, I know I’m out of any danger.
But my brain isn’t listening.
My gloved hand begins to tremble.
Owen says something, but I can’t make it out. My ears are ringing, filled with the sound of my pounding heart.
I’ve been here already. This shouldn’t affect me. I’ve walked through the house. I’m safe now. I look down at my feet, still outside on the porch, and the tremor in my hand quickens. I grab ahold of it and squeeze.
It’s not helping. I can’t see. I want it to stop. I try to rub it away, but it doesn’t work, and now I’m gasping for air.
Owen moves toward me, takes my hand, and pulls me around to the side of the house.
He positions me with my back against the side of the house and stands directly in front of me, leaning down so his eyes are level with mine. Through the blackness of my vision, I can only see the center of his face, his eyes, and I’m trying to catch my breath, but I can’t. I can’t breathe, and I’m trying to see him through my tears, but it’s all a jumbled up mess, and I’m afraid I might actually suffocate.
Through the haze I hear, “Slow, long, deep breaths.”
I can’t, I can’t, I. . .
“Emmy. I’m here. Breathe. You can breathe.”
My breath hitches, my chest spasms as I fight to do as he says, focusing on the deep breath that I desperately need.
“It’s just me and you now, Emmy,” he says, calmly. “Nobody else matters. Can you look around and tell me three things you see?”
Three things I. . .?
