Maggie hadn’t said a word since we walked into the building. I glanced at her now. Her gaze was on the firefighters and I wondered what she was thinking. I was never sure how much she remembered of her father. She had a framed picture of Jamie in his dress blues on her bureau beside a picture of Andy taken on his twelfth birthday. There was another picture, taken a couple of years ago at a party, of herself with Amber Donnelly and a couple of other girls.
She had no picture of me on the bureau. I realized that just the other day.
Andy started jiggling his leg, making my chair vibrate. I used to rest a hand on his knee to try to stop his jiggling, but I rarely did that anymore. I’d learned that if I stopped the energy from coming out of Andy in one place, it would come out someplace else. Jiggling his legs was preferable to slapping his hands on his thighs or cracking his knuckles. Sometimes I pictured a tightly coiled spring inside my son, ready to burst out of him with the slightest provocation. That’s most likely what happened when Keith called him names at the lock-in. It was rare for Andy to react with violence, but calling him names could do it.
“Hey, I know him!” Andy said suddenly.
“Shh,” I whispered in his ear. I thought he meant Marcus or Ben Trippett, but he was pointing to the third poster-size photograph at the front of the room. It was Charlie Eggles, a longtime real estate agent in Topsail Beach. Charlie’d had no kids of his own but often volunteered to help with community events. I’d been saddened to learn he was one of the fire victims. I looked at his engaging smile, his gray hair pulled back in his customary ponytail.
“It’s Mr. Eggles,” I whispered to Andy.
“He held on to me so I couldn’t hit Keith again.” I watched a crease form between Andy’s eyebrows as reality dawned on him. “Is he one of the dead people?”
“I’m afraid he is,” I said.
I waited for him to speak again, but he fell silent.
“What are you thinking, love?” I asked quietly.
“Why didn’t he follow me when I said to?”
I put my arm around him. “Maybe he didn’t hear you, or he was trying to help some of the other children. We’ll never know. You did the very best you—”
Somber piano music suddenly filled the room, swallowing my words, and Trish Delphy and Reverend Bill walked up the center aisle together. Reverend Bill stood behind the podium, while the mayor took the last empty seat in our row. Reverend Bill was so tall, skinny and long necked that he reminded me of an egret. Sara told me that he came into Jabeen’s Java every afternoon for a large double-fudge-and-caramel-iced coffee with extra whipped cream, yet there was not an ounce of fat on the man. He was all sticks and angles.
Now he craned his long neck forward to speak into the microphone. “Let us pray,” he said.
I bowed my head and tried to listen to his words, but I felt Maggie’s warm body against my left arm and Andy’s against my right. I felt them breathing, and my eyes once more filled with tears. I was so lucky.
When I lifted my head again, Reverend Bill began talking about the two teenagers and one adult killed in the fire. I forced myself to look at the blown-up images to the left of the podium. I didn’t know either of the teenagers, both of whom were from Sneads Ferry. The girl, Jordy Matthews, was a smiling, freckle-faced blonde with eyes the powder-blue of the firefighters’ shirts. The boy, Henderson Wright, looked about thirteen, sullen and a little scared. A tiny gold hoop hung from one end of his right eyebrow and his hair was in a buzz cut so short it was difficult to tell what color it was.
“…and Henderson Wright lived in his family’s old green van for the past three years,” Reverend Bill was saying. “We have people in our very own community who are forced to live that way, through no fault of their own.” Somewhere to my right, I heard quiet weeping, and it suddenly occurred to me that the families of the victims most likely shared this front row with us. I wondered if it had been necessary for Reverend Bill to mention the Wright boy’s poverty. Shrimping had once sustained Sneads Ferry’s families, but imported seafood was changing all that. There were many poor people living amidst the wealth in our area.
I thought of Sara. Ever since I’d heard that Keith had referred to Andy as rich, apparently with much disdain, I’d been stewing about it. Andy and Keith had known each other since they were babies and the disparity between our financial situations had never been an issue, at least as far as I knew. I wondered now if there was some underlying resentment on Sara’s part. God, I hoped not. I loved her like a sister. We were so open with each other—we had one of those friendships where nothing was off-limits. We’d both been single mothers for a decade, but Jamie had left my children and me more than comfortable. We had a handsome, ten-year-old four-bedroom house on the sound, while Sara and Keith lived in an aging double-wide sandwiched in a sea of other mobile homes.
My cheeks burned. How could I have thought that didn’t matter to her? Did she say things to Keith behind my back? Had Keith’s resentment built up until it spilled out on Andy at the lock-in?
Sara had been at the UNC burn center with Keith since the fire, so we’d had no good chance to talk. Our phone conversations were about Keith’s condition; he was still battling for his life. Although the most serious burns were on his arms and one side of his face, his lungs had suffered severe damage, and he was being kept in a medicated coma because the pain would otherwise be unbearable.
Neither of us brought up the fight between our sons. Maybe she didn’t even know about it. She had one thing on her mind, and that was getting Keith well. I’d offered to help her pay for any care he needed that wouldn’t be covered by his father’s military health insurance, but she said she’d be fine. Was it my imagination that she’d sounded chilly in her response? Had I insulted her? Maybe she simply resented the fact that Andy was safe and whole while her son could die.
Everyone around me suddenly stood up. Even Andy. I’d been so caught up in my thoughts that I didn’t realize we were supposed to be singing a hymn, the words printed on the back of the program. I stood up as well, but didn’t bother singing. Neither did Andy or Maggie, and I wondered where their thoughts were.
Long ago, Sara helped me turn my life around. When I got Andy out of foster care, he was a year old and I had no idea how to be a mother to the little stranger. After all, Jamie’d been both mother and father to Maggie when she was that age. It was Sara who helped me. Keith was nearly a year older than Andy, and Sara was a goddess in my eyes, the mother I wanted to emulate. Keith was adorable, and our boys were friends. They stayed friends until Andy was about nine. That’s when Keith started caring what other kids thought, and my strange little son became an embarrassment to him. Andy never really understood the sudden ostracism. In Andy’s eyes, everyone was his friend, from the janitor at school to the stranger who smiled at him on the beach. Over the past few years, though, I was glad Keith and Andy had drifted apart. Keith got picked up for drinking once, for truancy a couple of times, and last summer, for possession of an ounce of marijuana. That was the last sort of influence I needed over Andy. Andy longed to fit in and, given his impulsiveness, I worried how far he’d go to reach that goal.
We were sitting again and I felt ashamed that I’d paid so little attention to the service. Reverend Bill swept his eyes over the crowd as he vowed that “a new Drury Memorial will rise from the ashes of the old,” embracing everyone with a look of tenderness, skipping over my children and me. Literally. I saw his eyes light on the man sitting next to Maggie, then instantly slip to the Carmichaels on the other side of Andy. We were the heathens in the crowd, and Reverend Bill carried a grudge for a good long time. I was willing to bet his eyes never lit on Marcus either when he looked in the direction of the firefighters. Still, I felt for the man. Even though his congregation was planning to build a new church, he’d lost this one. I knew some families were talking about suing him for negligence. Others wondered if Reverend Bill himself might have set the fire for the insurance money. I was no fan of
the man, but that was ridiculous.
My gaze drifted to Marcus. His face was slack and I could suddenly see the first sign of age in his features. He was young. Thirty-eight. Three years younger than me. For the first time, I could begin to see how he’d look as he got older, something I’d never have the joy of seeing in Jamie, who’d only been thirty-six when he died.
Reverend Bill and Trish Delphy were changing places at the podium. Trish licked her lips as she prepared to speak to the crowd.
“Our community will be forever changed by this terrible tragedy,” she said. “We mourn the loss of life and we pray for those still recovering from their injuries. But I’d ask you to look around you and see the strength in this room. We’re strong and resilient, and while we’ll never forget what happened in Surf City on Saturday, we’ll move forward together.
“And now,” she continued, “Dawn Reynolds has an announcement she’d like to make.”
Ben Trippett’s girlfriend looked uncomfortable as she took her place behind the podium.
“Um,” she began, “I just wanted to let y’all know that I’m coordinating the fund-raising to help the fire victims.” The paper she held in her hand shivered and I admired her for getting up in front of so many people when it obviously made her nervous. “The Shriners have come through like always to help out with medical expenses, but there’s still more we need to do. A lot of the families have no insurance. I’m working with Barry Gebhart, who y’all know is an accountant in Hampstead, and we set up a special fund called the Drury Memorial Family Fund. I hope you’ll help out with a check you can give me or Barry today, or you can drop by Jabeen’s Java anytime I’m working. Barry and I are thinking of some fund-raising activities and we’d like your suggestions in that…um…about that.” She looked down at the paper. “We’ll make sure the money gets to the families who need it the most.”
She sat down again at the end of our row. I saw Ben, his head still bandaged, smile at her.
Trish stood up once more at the podium.
“Thank you, Dawn,” she said. “We have a generous community with a generous spirit and I know we’ll do all in our power to ease the suffering of the families hurt by the fire.
“Now I’d like to recognize the firefighters and EMS workers who did such an amazing job under grueling circumstances. Not only our Town of Surf City Fire Department, but those firefighters from Topsail Beach, North Topsail Beach and the Surf City Volunteer Fire Department as well.”
Applause filled the building, and as it ebbed, I saw Trish drop her gaze to us.
“And I’d like to ask Andy Lockwood to stand, please.”
Beside me, I felt Andy start.
“Go ahead, sweetie,” I whispered. “Stand up.”
He stood up awkwardly.
Before the mayor could say another word, applause broke out again, and people rose to their feet.
“Are they clapping for me?” Andy asked.
“Yes.” I bit my lip to hold back my tears.
“Why did they stand up?”
“To honor you and thank you.”
“Because I’m a hero?”
I nodded.
He grinned, turning around to wave at the crowd behind us. I heard some subdued laughter.
“Can I sit down now?” Andy asked finally.
“Yes.”
He lowered himself to his seat again, his cheeks pink. It took another minute for the applause to die down.
“As most of you know,” Trish said, “Andy not only found a safe way out of the church, but he risked his own life to go back in and lead many of the other children to safety. Our loss is devastating, but it would have been much worse without Andy’s quick thinking and calm in the face of chaos.”
Andy sat up straighter than usual, his chest puffed out a bit, and I knew he was surprised to find himself suddenly the darling of Topsail Island.
Chapter Seven
Andy
MOM PUT HER VITAMINS IN A LINE by her plate. She ate breakfast vitamins and dinner vitamins. Maggie and I only ate breakfast ones. Maggie passed me the spinach bowl. Dumb. She knows I don’t eat spinach. I tried to give it to Mom.
“Take some, Andy,” Mom said. “While your arm is healing, you need good nutrition.”
“I have lots of nutrition.” I lifted my plate to show her my chicken part and the cut-up sweet potato.
“Okay. Don’t spill.” She put her fingers on my plate to make it go on the table again.
I ate a piece of sweet potato. They were my favorite. Mom made sweet potato pie sometimes, but she never ate any. She didn’t eat dessert because she didn’t want to ever be sick. She said too many sweet things could make you sick. Maggie and I were allowed to eat dessert because we weren’t adults yet.
“Andy,” Mom said after she swallowed all her vitamins, “your arm looks very good, but maybe you should skip the swim meet tomorrow.”
“Why?” I had to swim. “It doesn’t hurt!”
“We need to make sure it’s completely healed.”
“It is completely healed!”
“You’ve been through a lot, though. It might be good just to take a rest.”
“I don’t need a rest!” My voice was too loud for indoors. I couldn’t help it. She was pressing my start button.
“If your arm is all better, then you can.”
“It’s better enough!” I wanted to show her my arm, but I punched it out too hard and hit my glass of milk. The glass flew across the table and crashed to the floor. It broke in a million pieces and milk was all over. Even in the spinach.
Mom and Maggie stared at me with their mouths open. I saw a piece of chewed chicken in Maggie’s mouth. I knew I did an inappropriate thing. My arm did.
“I’m sorry!” I stood up real fast. “I’ll clean it up!”
Maggie catched me with her hand.
“Sit down, Panda,” she said. “I’ll do it. You might cut yourself.”
“I’ll get it.” Mom was already at the counter pulling off paper towels.
“I’m sorry,” I said again. “My arm went faster than I thought.”
“It was an accident,” Mom said.
Maggie helped her pick up the pieces of glass. Mom put paper towels all over the milk on the floor.
“My arm did it because it’s so strong and healed,” I said.
Mom was scrunched on the floor cleaning milk. Sometimes when I talk, she looks like she’s going to laugh but doesn’t. This was one of those times.
I put my napkin on top of the spinach to clean off the milk.
“Andy,” Maggie said, while she got five or maybe six more paper towels. “I know you’re upset that you might not be able to swim, but you’ve got to think before you react.” She sounded exactly like Mom.
“I do,” I said. That was sort of a lie. I try to think before I act, but sometimes I forget.
Mom stood up. “We’ll check your arm again in the morning.” She threw away the milky paper towels. “If it still looks good and you feel up to it, you can swim.”
“I’ll feel up to it, Mom,” I said. I had to be there. I was the secret weapon, Ben told me. I was the magic bullet.
The pool was the only place where my start button was a very good thing.
Chapter Eight
Maggie
I WAS SPACED-OUT AS I LINED UP MY TEAM of ten little Pirates at the end of the indoor pool. Aidan Barber pranced around like he had to pee and I hoped that wasn’t the case.
“Stop dancing, Aidan,” I called to him, “and find your mark.”
He obeyed, but then Lucy Posner actually sat down on the edge of the pool and started picking at her toenails.
“Lucy! Stand up! The whistle’s going to blow any minute.”
Lucy looked surprised and jumped to her feet. I usually loved these kids. I was good with them. Incredibly patient. That’s what the parents always told me. You’re so much more patient with them than I am, Maggie, they’d say. Now that I was floating through this meet like I
was in a weird dream, I had no patience at all. I wanted it to be over.
People talked about canceling the meet, since it was only a week since the fire. It was like Mom had called me to say the church was on fire minutes ago instead of days; I was still that shaken up. I couldn’t sleep. I kept seeing flames and smoke pouring out of the church and was afraid of what I’d dream if I shut my eyes.
Since I coached the little kids’ team, I had some say about if we should hold today’s meet between our team, the Pirates, and the Jacksonville team, the Sounders. I voted for canceling. I told Ben, who coached Andy’s team, that it was totally insensitive to hold it, but mostly I didn’t think I could concentrate. Ben wasn’t much in the mood for a meet either. He still had a bandage over the gash on his forehead, and he was on pain meds for his headache.
One of the girls who was in the burn center at UNC was on Ben’s team, though, and her parents wanted us to have the meet. The kids need it, her mother said. They need the normalcy. They persuaded Ben, and I didn’t have much choice but to go along.
The whistle blew and my kids were off, paddling furiously through the water in a way that usually made the people in the bleachers laugh, but either there was less laughter today or I couldn’t hear it through the fog in my head. I shouted encouragement to my kids without really thinking about what I was saying.
I got through their event—they lost every match and that was probably my fault—but they didn’t care. I hugged every one of their cold, wet little bodies as they came out of the pool and told them they did great. I was so glad it was over. I pulled my shorts on over my bathing suit and headed for the bleachers. Ben passed me as his team came together at the end of the pool.