Address to Die For (23 page)

Moving is a process that isn't completed until long after the moving van delivers your furniture. You need to arrange furniture, put things away, and develop the patterns you'll use in your new life. Where's the gas station? The grocery store? Who is your doctor? Who are your friends? Allow the process the time and energy it deserves.

 

 

 

 

B
y Friday afternoon, the boys and I were exhausted. Even without the turmoil caused by the vandalism, deaths, and Jason's investigations, we'd have been tired.

The boys were still getting to know their school campuses, remembering names, and making friends. David faced a steep learning curve and long hours in marching band. Brian was still, I suspected, waking up to check the security cameras in the middle of the night.

David had texted me to ask if he could stay at school for a trumpet-section meeting. I agreed.

I picked up Brian and we stopped at the hardware store for more lightbulbs, a special cloth that I knew would make it easy to wipe up tiny slivers of glass, and other odds and ends. I stopped at Starbucks for a small latte while Brian walked around the corner for frozen yogurt. Fortified, we drove to In-N-Out Burger and ordered.

We were eating too much fast food and I vowed we'd get back to our normal, healthy diet soon. Tess had promised to take me to the Mountain View farmers market and show me which vendors she preferred.

Tonight, though, we needed fast fuel and an early night. If Purina had made something called “Tired Family Chow,” I would have served that with a little ketchup and everyone would have been happy. Failing that, it was yet another order of In-N-Out Burger for us.

By the time Brian and I picked up David, the wind had come up, the fog had rolled in, and the warm day was cooling off fast. We showered, threw on sweatpants and T-shirts, and watched our old standby favorite,
The Princess Bride.

Stephen arrived at eight o'clock and found us all nearly asleep on the sofas. I pointed him toward the burgers. The boys and I stumbled up the stairs to bed.

After a few hours of blissful sleep, I awoke to the all-too-familiar sound of breaking glass, Belle's barking, and a houseful of smoke.
Not again!

I grabbed Holmes, who'd snuggled under the covers next to me. Shoving my feet into my sneakers, I called to the boys.

I found them both in the hallway rubbing sleep from their eyes. I made a snap decision.

“Remember the rope ladder in the attic? Time to use it,” I said. “Get out. Go straight to the car and meet me there.”

“What about you?” Brian asked, eyes wide.

I lifted Holmes. “I'm grabbing the cats. We'll meet you at the car.”

“Come on, squirt.” David grabbed Brian's hand and pulled him up the attic stairs. “It'll be fun. Just like we practiced.”

Holmes squirmed, and I braced myself for cat scratches, but he was only burying his head in my armpit, apparently trying to pretend he was back under the covers.

“Stephen?” I called, breathing in smoke and coughing as I dashed down the front stairs. The treads were covered with glass shards. I avoided looking at the wisteria window. If it had broken, I didn't want to know.

“Here, Maggie,” Stephen called to me from the front door, coughing and wiping his streaming eyes with a handkerchief. “Where are the boys?”

“Fire escape. Where's Watson? Belle?” I looked at Stephen's side, where I was used to seeing Munchkin, with his head nearly glued to Stephen's thigh.

“Belle, Watson, and Munchkin are in my car. Fire department is on the way. They've called out mutual aid countywide. The whole hillside could go.”

I grabbed my backpack from the hall table and wasted no time getting out. My chest felt tight, but I couldn't tell if it was because of the smoke or because I was terrified.

I pushed the
unlock
button on my key fob over and over as I ran to the car. I was relieved to see the boys were in the car with their seat belts on, waiting. I opened the passenger door and handed Holmes to David.

“Stephen's got Belle and Watson,” I said.

My phone rang as I jumped in the driver's side and fastened my seat belt. I tossed my backpack to Brian.

“Find the phone and answer it, please.” I put the key in the ignition, started the car, and put it in
drive
, planning to move us all back into the barn. I cursed the inept electrician who must have goofed up the wiring, neglecting to resolve the problem that had made our fuse box so dangerous back when we'd moved in.

As I pressed the accelerator and looked up to see where I was going, I slammed on the brakes, pressing hard enough and fast enough to engage the automatic braking system. The pedal throbbed and the car came to a skidding halt.

Flames shot from the roof of the barn. The field and hillside were dotted with small fires started by sparks.

My heart sank and my lower lip trembled. I cleared my throat and fought back tears, trying to avoid upsetting the boys any more than they already were. What I'd thought had been a fire restricted to the house was now an imminent disaster. Everything we'd fought for was at risk: our home, the barn, the view, and Max's dreams of taking the boys backpacking from our back porch to the coast through oak chaparral and redwood forests. We'd all worked so hard to move, to settle in, and to make the house a home. I now had to face the very real possibility that it was all going to go up in smoke.

But first, I had to get the boys to safety. My hands shook as I shifted the car into reverse.

“Stephen says to follow him,” Brian said. Anything else he might have added was lost in a fit of coughing. We'd all inhaled too much smoke. I had to get us out of here.

Emergency plans need to include strategies for protecting people and grabbing shoes, keys, animals, and critical medications. Organization is essential and can save lives.

 

 

 

 

I
followed the taillights of Stephen's car, trying not to panic. Sweat coated my face as a result of fear, or heat, or both.

Fire trucks screamed past on the other side of the road: red from Mountain View and white from Orchard View and Santa Clara County.

“David, call Stephen and ask if he's alerted the Open Space District. The barn was sparking and starting fires on the hillside.”

David dialed, relayed the message, and listened.

“Okay . . . good . . . okay . . .” he said to the phone and hung up as I was about to ask him to put it on speaker.

“We're headed to his house off Grant Road,” David said. “Paramedics will meet us there to check for smoke inhalation and lacerations from the glass. He says the county takes charge of wildfires in the Open Space District and they've alerted other local departments to stand by in case they need help.”

At Jason and Stephen's house, David and I were examined and quickly released from the paramedics' care. Brian's coughing had improved, but they hooked him up to an oxygen sensor, listened to his lungs, and kept an eye on him for a little longer.

After an hour they released Brian too, with instructions to head straight to the emergency room if he grew worse. Stephen grabbed blankets and pillows and I tucked the boys in on the sofas in Jason and Stephen's front room. David fell asleep immediately. Brian stayed awake a little longer. Belle curled up on the floor next to Brian's couch. His arm dangled over the side, patting Belle's head in a gesture that appeared to be soothing them both.

Stephen had hospitality down to a science, even at two o'clock in the morning. While I settled the boys in, Stephen had transferred the cats from our cars to a cozy den at the back of the house. Clearly, this was where the couple spent most of their time. Rust-colored recliners were positioned in front of a wide-screened television set. A complex sound system and speakers filled shelves behind the chairs.

Stephen had filled a mixing bowl with water and found a plastic dishpan that would do as an emergency litter box for the cats. He ripped up newspaper in place of kitty litter.

“Is this okay?” he asked. “We're not well fixed for a feline bathroom.”

I nodded. “They'll have to make do like the rest of us.”

I plopped down on the end of a pullout sofa bed Stephen had made up for me. I sniffed at my sweatshirt and wrinkled my nose at the smoky smell.

“I'm sorry,” I said. “Everything in your house will smell like a campfire.”

“Forget it. I'm glad we're all safe. Do you want tea? Jason will be calling with a report soon.”

I shook my head. I'd resigned myself to losing everything. I didn't need to wait to hear Jason confirm it. Lists of to-do items ran through my head: call Max, contact insurance . . . it was too much.

“At this point, I just want sleep,” I said. I was tempted to climb into the bed, throw the sheets over my head, and hide from the world for a week. A part of me managed to hope this was a horrible dream from which I'd awake, wondering why I was at Stephen's house.

“Of course. Sure you don't want water?”

I shook my head and Stephen nodded, leaving the room and closing the door behind him.

He reopened the door and stuck his head in. “Wake me if you need anything.”

I nodded, he closed the door, and I slipped between the sheets. I wiped tears from my cheeks and wished Max were here, but I was awake only long enough to feel Holmes burrow under the covers while Watson curled up behind my knees.

Organization does not prevent disasters, but it can help you bounce back from a crisis more quickly.

 

 

 

 

T
he next morning I awoke to a knock on the door.

“Nine o'clock, Maggie,” Stephen said. “The boys are up and breakfast is ready.”

I ran my fingers though my smoky hair and hawked up ugly gray mucous.
Gross!

I followed the sound of laughter broken up by coughing. In the kitchen, Stephen flipped pancakes while Jason sliced strawberries. Brian sipped a cup of tea and David was juicing oranges using a mechanical device with a whirring motor that drowned out any attempt at a conversation.

Jason handed me a cup of steaming coffee.

“Let me give you the highlights before you bombard me with questions,” he said. “The fire department's primary job was to keep the fire from spreading. They plowed firebreaks on the hill and extinguished grass fires before they could spread. Any damage to the hillside will repair itself quickly after the next rain.”

“The barn?”

“Unsalvageable,” Jason said. “Insurance should cover a rebuild, though current environmental regulations may require you to relocate it.”

I took a deep swallow of coffee to fortify myself and asked, “The house?”

Jason leaned back in his chair and smiled. “Nearly one hundred percent undamaged,” he said. “Smoke bombs. You've got another broken window. There may be a residual smoke smell, but nothing that opened windows can't handle. Your house is fine.”

I sighed heavily, unaware until then that I'd been holding my breath. I bit my lip and fought back tears. It seemed like tempting fate to ask about the wisteria window, but I sat up straight, squared my shoulders, and asked.

“Wisteria window?” Jason said.

“That stained-glass window in the stairway. Mom loves it,” David said.

Jason shook his head and my heart sank. If only I'd taken a picture of it; we could have found an artist to re-create it.

He must have read my expression. “Maggie, I'm not saying it's destroyed. I don't know. Chances are your stained glass is fine. It survived the last attack, didn't it?”

I nodded and wiped tears from my eyes. I felt ridiculous crying over an endangered window. My kids were safe. The animals were fine. No one was hurt. Our house was mostly undamaged and definitely livable. The barn was something we could rebuild.

“What about the cameras?” I asked. “Did the security cameras show who did this?”

Jason frowned. “We took a quick look at the footage. We could see a hooded figure dressed in black who faced away from the camera. The techs are taking a closer look, but for now we can't see enough to identify anyone.”

Stephen refilled my coffee mug and flipped three pancakes from the pan to my plate.

“I'm sorry, Maggie,” he said. “I'm not doing a very good job of protecting your family.”

“That's ridiculous, Stephen, of course you are,” said Jason at the same time I said, “I shudder to think where we'd all be without your help, Stephen.” I glanced at my two boys and tears filled my eyes. I didn't want to say any more in front of them. I didn't want them to know how worried I was, nor how close a call it had been. I wanted Stephen to know, however, that I owed him everything.

He must have gotten the message, because he put his hand over his heart and bent his head in a combination of a nod, a bow, and a benediction.

David looked at the clock. He lurched from the table, nearly upending a pitcher of orange juice. “I'm late for band practice. We've got to go
now
. I need my trumpet and water bottle and sunscreen and I need to change. I'll boil in sweats—it's like a million degrees on that fake grass on the field. I need to call my section leader and explain why I'm late.”

I offered David my phone, but he didn't know the older boy's number by heart. He'd programmed it into his phone, which he'd left at home.

I took two bites of my pancakes, thanked Stephen, and confirmed with Jason that we could get back into the house. The boys and I hit the bathroom. Stephen offered to keep the cats until I could bring their carriers down. Within seconds we were headed back home.

“No exploring when we get to the house. No sightseeing. Brian, you're staying in the car. David, you're getting your band stuff, changing, and coming right out. I'll grab the cat carriers. Pretend it's a timed race-car pit stop. Go.”

We were in and out in record time. David plugged his phone into the car charger and checked in with his section leader. Brian and I dropped him off and were back home in time to meet Jason and the fire department's investigative team.

The wind blew steadily from north to south, carrying any lingering barn smoke across the creek toward the hills. I opened the downstairs windows while Brian tackled the ones upstairs. I climbed the front staircase, pausing on the landing to check the wisteria window. Small chips and cracks were visible in the vines, but the majority of the window remained intact. I took a picture of it with my phone, guarding against another attack. For now, though, I took comfort from its beauty, and from its strength in withstanding assaults that had twice destroyed the window beneath it. I made a note to find an expert to repair the damage.

I knelt to brush my fingers across soot stains left on the stairs from the smoke bomb. From what I could tell at a quick glance, the bomb hadn't damaged the stairs or the finish. The walls and ceiling, however, were marked with stains that smeared under my fingers. We could try washing them down with trisodium phosphate like we had the mailbox, but I suspected that might only be a prelude to painting. I sighed.

I was tempted to sit on the stairs and wallow in my misery, but we had work to do. I turned on the attic fan. From the small window overlooking the backyard, I could see Brian talking to the firefighters and poking at the edges of the burned beams with a stick.

Walking down the hill to the barn, I got the full impact of the devastation from the fire. Black splotches marred the hillside where sparks had tried to start a wildfire. Firefighters had done an amazing job of limiting the damage to the barn, protecting our house and the Open Space District. Autumn in California was fire season. Hillsides and wooded areas were tinder-dry and would stay that way until the winter rains dampened them sometime near Halloween.

“Morning, ma'am,” said one of the firefighters, turning a soot-stained face toward me. “Are you the homeowner?”

I nodded. “Maggie McDonald. Is it still burning?”

He periodically sprayed the wreckage.

“I'm Jackson. Those hay bales are still smoking. We're using water and a wetting agent to make sure they're out. There are hot spots that need cooling before our chief can clear the site.” He nodded to an older, heavier man talking to Jason and taking photos on the other side of the wreckage. “He'll want to ask you some questions.”

The chief looked up, waved, and he and Jason walked toward me.

Jason introduced us.

“I've got a few questions for you, when you're ready,” the chief said.

“And I've got questions for you too. I'm sure you're thirsty. Would you like lunch?”

“I wouldn't say no to iced tea if you've got it, but no lunch. And if we could sit on your steps there, I could keep an eye on the fire.”

I nodded. I was happy to turn my back to the devastation. Last night, I'd mourned the loss of everything—the house, the barn, the soothing view, and the plans Max and I had made. Today, I was angry. And I was determined to do something about it.