Winter Sky (5 page)

Jesse poured hot apple cider while the cat, tail
held high, jumped up into the open door of the rescue engine. She padded around the jacks and air guns that could slice through metal until she found an empty spot and folded herself into a ball.

“Want a kitten?” Jesse asked from the stove.

“I’m allergic,” Laila said. “To cats. To dogs. Sorry.”

Siria looked down at the carrot cupcake Jesse had put in front of her. Laila allergic! She couldn’t help with the dog even if she wanted to.

Izzy swooped down to sit at the table. She poured her own cider and leaned back. “I never had a cat.” She ran her hands through her long thick hair. “Just for now, until someone gives her a home, I’m calling her Smoky.”

It would be great to have a cat, but Siria knew Pop would never say yes to a real pet. “The most I could deal with,” he’d said once, “are hermit crabs and a couple of guppies.”

How could you count them as pets? They just hung around in aquariums, not paying attention to anyone outside their world. How could you hug a hermit crab?

Siria looked around the table at the firefighters. What would they think if they knew about the shed fire? And that whoever started that fire might have started the movie fire, too? How would they feel about Siria’s not telling?

On her way out, Siria reached into the front seat
of the rescue truck to touch the sleeping cat, its face hidden in its thick tail. Siria looked back at Izzy. “That was a great rescue.”

“My specialty.” Izzy winked.

By the time Siria and Laila reached their building, a stinging snow had begun, almost sleet, pattering over the streets and sidewalks. Laila shuffled her feet in the snow. “I’ve just decided. I’m going to ask for a couple of fish in a tank. Not as good as a horse, but they’ll be happy when I feed them.”

“They will,” Siria said.

“I’m going to ask for a trip to the Rocky Mountains, too.” Laila grinned. “I’ll get a trip to my aunt’s house in Delaware instead. Almost as good.”

Inside, Siria left Laila on the sixth floor and went up to her own kitchen. Pop was napping because he’d be working later tonight, and she opened the cabinets quietly, trying not to wake him.

She stared at the shelves. She’d never had a dog. What did dogs eat, anyway? Probably not red beets, or baked beans, original or home-style. And certainly not a jar of applesauce or peaches.

The dog would probably eat anything, but it wasn’t fair to give him something that might make him sick. Siria leaned her head against the cabinet. If only she hadn’t read Mom’s story about Orion.

She reached into the grocery-money cup and scooped out a bunch of change. She’d buy something
suitable for a ravenous dog. On a bitter snowy day like this, he might be in the basement. She put a can opener in her pocket and went outside.

A moving truck was parked at the front door, and two guys were lugging a couch outside. Their hair was covered with snow, and so was the couch. It was probably from apartment 5-E.

Inside Trencher’s, Christmas music blared:
“Walking in a winter wonderland …”

Jason leaned against the counter, talking to Mike with the tattoo. They stopped to wave at Siria. She wanted to thank Mike for helping her at the movie the other day, but he shook his head. Maybe he was embarrassed in front of Jason, so she just smiled.

In the pet aisle, Siria found a pyramid of dog food cans: beef, lamb, chicken, and vegetables. “Dogs eat beef like crazy,” Mike said, behind her now. “They love it.”

“All right.” She took a couple of cans and some cardboard bowls.

She plunked down the money and trudged around the apartment house, mounds of snow covering the path. Someone had strewn bread crusts around, probably Mrs. Gold, and sparrows swooped down, starving.

Siria went in through the open basement door. A woman was singing in the laundry room, her voice
low and sweet. Mrs. Byars?
“Sleigh bells ring. Are you listening?”

“I’m listening,” Siria whispered. Not alone after all.

She edged her way down the aisle between the metal storage bins, then opened a can of beef. “Here, dog.” She didn’t hear him. Was he there? Maybe he could smell its horrible meaty smell. Yuck!

She took a few steps away from the laundry room and the woman singing. She could run back if she had to, but as long as the woman kept singing, she was safe.

She saw him! At the end of the bins, the dog stared at her. Fur wet and matted down, he was panting, teeth gleaming.

Siria moved back against the wall. He was almost as big as she was. She dumped the beef into one of the cardboard bowls, hands shaking, and pushed it away from her on the floor.

He strained to get to the food, his claws scrabbling against the cement. He was panting harder, desperately. Why couldn’t he reach it?

Even in the dim basement light, Siria could see how hungry he must be. Ah, the end of the chain around his neck was caught between the wall and the end bin. He was trapped there.

How to help without getting too close?

Siria pushed the food toward him with one foot.
He began to eat as she darted forward, yanking out the chain.

“You’re free.”

He stopped eating and looked up.

Only a faint hum came from the electricity room; the woman had stopped singing. Maybe she was gone. Siria took a breath, her heart in her throat. She rushed toward the elevator, tripping over an empty box, and pressed the button.

The elevator was right there. She slid in and leaned her forehead against the
Mery Christmas
graffiti to catch her breath.

The elevator stopped on the first floor. “What’s the matter with you?” a voice said.

Douglas stepped in, carrying a shopping bag.

It was too much to tell him everything. “I just … Let’s get out of here.”

He punched the button for three, and she saw his hands: raw, red, and thumbs blistered. “Douglas! What happened …?”

For a moment he didn’t answer. Then he grinned. “I was moving the boards. Without help.”

“I’m sorry. Really …”

He waved one chapped hand. “Don’t worry.”

She pictured the dog that needed to be fed.

Desperate.

She had a lot to worry about.

Wind swept across the fire escape outside the kitchen windows and rattled the panes.

“It’s cozy in here, though.” Mimi slid a warm platter of curly pasta twists onto the table, and then hot rolls and butter. She raised one shoulder. “But I don’t know about the dessert. A chocolate ice cream sundae? On a night like this?”

“Love it,” Siria said.

“Now, Christmas,” Mimi said. “I wish I knew what to knit for your father. Socks? A quick scarf, maybe?”

Siria bent her head, hiding a smile. Pop had dozens of Mimi’s socks in his drawer, and four or five scarves hanging from hooks in his closet. “He’ll be happy with anything.”

“Slippers for Izzy,” Mimi said. “I know that.”

Izzy was always part of their Christmas. She’d take Siria shopping on her next day off and help trim their tree.

Mimi waved Siria away when it was time for dishes. Siria blew her a kiss. “You’re the best,” she called as she went into her bedroom.

The wind blew against her window, moving the curtains. It was bitterly cold out, a night to read her mother’s star book under her quilt. The sky was dark, with only a pale moon over the sledding hills, and the creek was a strange color. It didn’t glimmer with that blue-white ice as it had before dinner.

It was red.

How could that be?

Siria pulled the quilt around her, opened the window, and stuck out her head.

It was hard to see with the wind in her face. She pushed her hair out of her eyes.

It was a reflection. Glowing. Shimmering against the frozen creek. She could see it clearly now, marked by two willows that leaned out over the water.

She pulled her head inside, shivering, and closed the window. She sank down on the floor, trying to think. What did it mean?

A fire, close to the creek. But what was there to burn? Only the small room that sheltered the picnic
tables in the winter. And the snow there was so deep.

She swallowed. Mimi would be busy in the kitchen for another ten minutes; then she’d sit in the living room, feet up, knitting, her needles clicking. There was no way to get past her.

It would have to be the fire escape, covered with snow, slippery.…

And what about that wind? There was no help for it. She tugged on an extra set of jeans, two sweaters, and her leopard boots, which lay under her bed.

“I’m going to shower, Mimi.” She crossed her fingers and went into the bathroom to turn on the water just a bit. Then she climbed out her window, sliding along as quickly as she could, holding the icy railing.

She tried to duck as she reached the sixth-floor landing. Laila would only slow her down. But there she was, doing ballet steps near the window. She stopped on one foot when she saw Siria. “Wait for me.” She looked back over her shoulder, then grabbed her jacket off the chair. “It’s freezing out. Where are we going?” she asked, her head out the window.

“The creek,” Siria said a little reluctantly.

“Ice-skating? I have to get my skates.”

Siria shook her head. “No skates. Just hurry.”

They stopped at Douglas’s floor. Ashton and Aydin were wrestling on the rug. “Hey,” Siria yelled in.

“He’s not here.” They rolled away, pounding each other.

“If I had a brother,” Laila called, “I’d know where he was.”

They circled the last landings and jumped to the ground. It was a long walk; snow crunched under their boots and coated their shoulders. No engine lights flashed in the distance; no sirens wailed. No one else had called in the fire.

Laila stopped. “Why are we rushing down to the creek if we’re not skating?”

“No time.” Siria took her arm. “Just wait till we get there.”

At last they reached the creek and stood on the rocks at the edge. “Poor fish under all that ice. They can’t even see the sky.” Laila’s teeth chattered. “What are we doing here, anyway?”

Siria brushed snow off her face with her glove. She leaned forward. “Someone is setting fires.”

“Here?” Laila’s eyes widened behind her glasses. “Call your father!”

If only she could. But she’d have to tell him about going out at night. What would he say? What would he think? “Let him know I’m wandering around? I can’t do that.”

“You could call the fire department without giving your name,” Laila said slowly. “No one would have to know it was you.”

Siria tapped the cell phone in her pocket. “What about caller ID? They’d know. Everyone knows me.” She shrugged, feeling a little sick over it.

Laila tilted her head. “Maybe I could call.”

“Don’t do that. Let’s wait and see.”

Laila nodded. “But let’s get out of here.”

“In a minute. We’re okay, really.” She wondered if that was true. She walked around the willows, their thin limbs swaying. What could have caused that reflection?

In front of the picnic house, she found a plank of wood like the ones Almo had dragged up to the roof, but this one was charred.

“You’re right,” Laila said. “There was a fire.”

Siria pulled off her gloves and reached out. It was hot, still smoldering.

Someone had wedged paper bags underneath, although most of the paper was gone now.

“Who …” Laila stood behind her, touching her shoulder.

Siria glanced around. There was only the sound of the wind, the cracking of ice, and branches rustling. The creek was half hidden by rocks. Anyone could be hiding, watching them. They’d never hear him. He could come right up to them and …

Laila pulled her sleeve. “Let’s go back. Please.”

Still, Siria looked down at the board. Why would anyone set a fire here?

“Siria?”

“I’m coming.”

They turned and went back to the apartment. Siria looked over her shoulder once or twice. But singing came from the church on the avenue, the choir practicing “Silent Night.” Not like tonight, with the whoosh of the wind and car horns blaring.

The traffic light changed; Jason and Mike crossed from the other side of the street. Mike wasn’t wearing a hat. In this weather! But then she saw that cool tattoo on the back of his neck. Of course, he was showing it off. The dog, looking meaner and scruffier than ever, followed, a half block away.

“Siria,” Laila said slowly, “I think I know who set that fire.”

“That green cloth you found? It belongs to Douglas,” Laila said. “It’s part of his jacket.”

Laila was right. “Even so, you can’t believe …”

“Good people can do bad things,” Laila said slowly.

“Not Douglas.”

“He loves fires. Remember the time he set one in his bathtub? And another, down in the lots …”

Siria put her hand up. Shook her head. “That was a long time ago. We were in first grade.”

“You know it,” Laila said. “Remember?”

“Don’t.”

The wind was strong, and they were silent as they climbed the fire escape.

Laila let herself in her window. “I’m sorry, Siria,” she whispered. “Really sorry.”

Siria didn’t answer. She turned and went back down the fire escape, feeling the terrible wind and cold through her jacket. She’d talk to Douglas, ask him. He’d tell her …

Never mind what he’d say. It wouldn’t be about setting fires.

She stopped at his window. She could see Douglas standing in the living room, wearing his brother’s jacket, his hat wet from snow. He’d been outside, then. At the creek?

His brothers must be fighting. Yelling again. Kevin, loudest of all. “Are you trying to kill us, Douglas?”

She leaned against the wall.

“What’s Mom going to say when she sees that stove?” one of the brothers shouted. “Soot all over the place. If we weren’t here, the whole kitchen might have gone up in flames.”

She didn’t wait to hear the rest. She scrambled upstairs.
Just a coincidence
, she told herself over and over. But still she was crying.

She didn’t bother hanging from the closet. What was the use? She hadn’t grown a speck in months. She huddled under the quilt, but she couldn’t get warm; her hands and feet were numb.