Winter Sky (6 page)

She closed her eyes, but it took forever to fall asleep.

In the morning, she stood at her bedroom window, looking at the sledding hills and the creek, white with drifts of snow. She pictured Laila’s earnest face, her glasses sliding. Laila, who never lied, who always tried to think things out.

And Douglas’s hands …

Blistered.

Red.

Burned?

Hadn’t he thought about small fires growing larger?

Growing dangerous?

Hadn’t he remembered helping Pop with the model ships? And what about Izzy, or Danny and his children? Hadn’t Douglas thought about Willie and Jesse playing ball with him all last summer?

She threw on her clothes and went into the kitchen.

Mimi was scrambling eggs with bits of tomato and bacon tossed in the pan. But Siria could manage only a few bites.

“Are you all right alone for a while?” Mimi asked.

“Sure.”

“I want to go across to Trencher’s. He was supposed to have the groceries delivered, but that boy is never around when you need him.”

Siria kept nodding. She had to make herself
go down to the basement and feed the dog. And then …

She’d go up to the roof to see Douglas.

A word was in her head. A bitter word.

Arson
.

Siria bent over to look at the cans of dog food under her bed. Chicken and rice. Beef. She took them both.

As the elevator passed the third floor, she caught a glimpse of Douglas in the hallway, bouncing his ball against the wall.

He didn’t look like an arsonist. He looked more like the brother she wanted. She brushed at her cheeks angrily and stepped out when the elevator reached the basement.

The dog wasn’t there—not in the laundry room, not in the storage bin aisle. She even tiptoed to the electricity room, where machinery hummed. The back door was open, so maybe he’d wander in later.

She dumped the chicken onto the paper bowl and left the other can on top of one of the storage bins. Lucky. She hadn’t had to go near him.

She walked all the way up to the roof. What would she say to Douglas? She didn’t open the heavy door but stood beside it, head against the wall.
Stop crying
.

Crying? Over a fire starter?

She tore open the door.

Douglas was bent over the beginnings of the star shelter. Boards were piled on one side, high enough to sit against. He’d just started the second side with two boards laid end to end.

Siria could hardly breathe. She ran toward the star shelter and kicked the finished side. She pushed the top board off, and the next.

Douglas spun around. “What are you doing?”

She kept kicking at the boards. She was crying so hard, she could hardly talk. “You. Setting fires,” she managed.

“Stop!” he yelled.

“Your jacket. I know.”

He shook his head.

“Your hands.”

He put them behind his back.

“You were almost my brother.” She put her thumb to her mouth and felt blood from a splinter. “I’ll never talk to you again.”

He stepped back. “What are you talking about?” His face was blotched, and she saw that he wasn’t really looking at her.

“I’m going to watch you,” she said. “Every second. One more time and I’m going to tell.”

She stopped for a breath. “I’ll tell Pop and Izzy. I’ll go to the station house and tell the police.”

“You’ve lost it.” Now he kicked at the shelter. He was stronger than she was. The boards fell apart, and in moments, all of it was destroyed.

She went back toward the roof door, but it was locked. Over her shoulder, she saw Douglas climbing down the fire escape.

She waited until he was gone, her hands tucked in her jacket.

She tried to lift one of the boards, to begin the shelter all over again. It wouldn’t work. Even with Laila’s help, it would be too hard.

If only she were taller. Stronger.

She looked over the edge of the building. Douglas was gone. Down on the avenue, Jason straddled his bike, packages in his basket. It was a busy morning, with cars bumper to bumper and people wandering on the street.

No dog down there.

Had Douglas paid attention to her? Would he stop? No more fires?

She’d have to stay up all night to be sure.

Maybe she’d hide somewhere on the avenue. If Douglas came out of the building, she’d see him and follow.

She went down the snowy fire escape slowly,
Douglas’s footprints ahead of hers. She let herself into the apartment. Without taking off her jacket, she reached for Mom’s book, ran her fingers over the soft leather cover, and opened it. She remembered the story of best friends.

What would Mom say to all this?

Castor and Pollux grew up together. Some say they were twins, others that they were half brothers. They were the best of friends
.

Sometimes they fought, jumping to conclusions, and one would blame the other. The arguments didn’t last long, though, and they had many adventures together
.

One day, when freeing a herd of cattle, Castor was killed. Pollux was heartbroken
.

But Zeus rescued them. He sent them high into the sky, where they can be seen during the winter months. They stand with their feet in the Milky Way, always together
.

If only she and Douglas could be friends again. If only he hadn’t set those fires.

She spent the rest of the afternoon in the kitchen with Mimi. The apartment smelled of cinnamon-and-sugar cookies baking in the oven. Trays of gingerbread men and buttery Santa Clauses filled every countertop. Siria and Pop would bring them to the firehouse tomorrow. She filled another plate for her teacher, too.

After dinner, she went down to the basement. The food was still there, a sticky mess. The dog hadn’t come back, then. Suppose he was caught somewhere with that chain he dragged behind him?

In bed later, she wondered: Was he trapped out in the cold and the snow? Hungry, with no way to
get food? Such an ugly, unfriendly dog. Would anyone ever stop to help him?

Don’t think about it
.

She must have dropped off to sleep, but then she heard the sirens.

A dream?

She sat up to listen to the wail as they came closer. The sound was real, and Pop was on duty.

Siria rolled out of bed and crouched at the window, the pane cold against her forehead. She caught a glimpse of the engine, huge and misty red against the sky as it turned the corner.

The sirens cut off; the fire had to be nearby.

Siria stood up and opened the window. The smell of greasy smoke drifted up from the street, where two or three people were running by.

She glanced at the little clock on her dresser; it flashed twelve. Midnight. She threw her jeans and jacket on over her pajamas and toed into her boots.

In the living room, Mimi was sound asleep on the pullout couch, breathing softly, her head resting on her shoulder. A ball of gold wool had let loose, cascading across the floor.

Was that going to be a Christmas present for her? Siria closed her bedroom door. No time to wait for the elevator.

She flew down the fire escape, passing Laila’s darkened window, hesitating at the third floor. Douglas’s floor.

Was he there, or somewhere outside? Would he have dared start tonight’s fire? She peered in. Dark. Too bad they wouldn’t go after the trucks again.

She didn’t bother with her bike. More people were running now; doors were opening; someone was yelling. She turned the corner to see another factory on fire, its painted walls stained black. Ashes drifted through the air like gray snowflakes.

Someone said, “Old wires. I always knew it would happen.”

Siria took a breath. Maybe it wasn’t arson this time.

Engines lined up along the curb, red lights pulsing onto the snow. Firefighters moved around the trucks, calling to each other as Willie and Izzy unwound the hose.

More trucks pulled up; the dispatcher had called in a second house for help. That meant a three-alarm fire: hot and dangerous.

One of the firefighters was up on the roof with an axe, breaking the tiles, trying to make an opening for the smoke and fire to escape. Close to the building, the ladder went up and up, then stopped
at the top floor, bumping gently against the wall just below one of the windows.

Siria looked for Pop’s lucky number, seventeen, on the side of the truck, but even though she couldn’t see it, she knew it had to be his.

A pair of ambulances drove up, sirens screaming. People moved away to give them room. Through the smoke, Siria saw Mrs. Byars from the fifth floor, her hand to her mouth. And Patti from school, huddled next to her mom.

Was Douglas somewhere watching?

Siria turned, staring into faces, standing on tiptoe to see past the knots of people. Douglas wasn’t there, but she saw his brother Kevin.

Pop’s voice was in her head as he grasped the bottom of the ladder:
Nothing to worry about, Siria. Climbing is a piece of cake
.

And he was always right.

Always.

If only Pop were a teacher, or had an art store like Max’s. Anything but a fireman. He’d be home at night, and they’d watch TV while he worked on his ship models or filled in the newspaper crossword puzzles with a sharp pencil.

The ambulance sirens cut off, but the turret lights kept turning slowly as the drivers pulled in closer, waiting.

Pop began to climb.

“It must be at least eight stories,” someone whispered, and Siria counted the line of windows. Yes, eight.

Pop stopped halfway. Catching his breath? He began to climb again.

A man reached out of the highest window, the fire behind him like a torn orange curtain. He must have been terrified of the terrible heat, throat dry, eyes burning from smoke.

Pop’s eyes were so often bloodshot from smoke. He’d rub them, tilt his head back, using eyedrops from the medicine cabinet.

Now he stood at the top of the ladder, right under the window, reaching for the outstretched arms, moving in closer, grabbing for him.

And then the man was on the ladder with him!

“One of the security guards,” Mrs. Byars said behind Siria.

So much noise! The steady rumble of the engines, the fire crackling as a board broke loose and slammed onto the cement. Still, she heard a soft sound from the people around her beginning to breathe again.

Pop and the man were coming down.

Pop was safe.

Piece of cake, Siria
.

But Pop wasn’t finished. As soon as he and the guard reached the bottom, he turned and started up again, three firemen holding the heavy hose as it sprayed water high across the building.

Siria sank on the ground, the wet snow under her, hands to her mouth. Why was Pop going up again? No one was at the window; the flames weren’t as strong. Water from the hose streamed into broken windows.

Another firefighter went up behind him, fast. Even in all that gear, Siria was sure it was Izzy, quick and light. Pop climbed inside the window, Izzy right behind him.

How long were they in there?

She must have said it aloud; someone beside her whispered, “It’s only been a minute or two.”