And their office was just like that, full of expensive computers, solid wood desks, rugs, art. Things that would take all day to ‘clear out.’
“No,” I said, though it was becoming clear that we didn’t really have another option. The house was unlivable, the firefighter was able to tell us that much. Logan and Esther would take us into their house without question, but I couldn’t put that on them either. They also had nice things, things they earned. And a five-year-old, even one with good manners like Nathan would rip through that place eventually.
I couldn’t afford to have us in a motel for more than a handful of nights.
But still, the thought of having Eliza and Karen do all that, disrupt their lives invade their homes… it went against everything in me.
“We can’t do that to you guys, you don’t have the room—”
Karen’s eyes narrowed. “It wasn’t a question. You’re staying with us.”
“They’re stayin’ with me.”
On this, we both moved to the voice and the man who we hadn’t realized was eavesdropping our conversation.
His face was pretty much the same as it had been all night, tight expression, simmering fury.
“What?” I choked out.
His eyes bore into me. “We’ve got that place down the street. It ain’t much. But it’s three bedrooms. You and Nathan will have space to yourselves. Someone from Greenstone will be there at all times, mostly me. You’ll be safe. So shit like this doesn’t happen again.” His sentences were short. Clipped. Painful.
Karen looked from Lance to me.
“I know you consider yourselves to be one step up from a Hemsworth brother in an Avengers movie, and you kind of are, but Greenstone Security can’t stop me from forgetting to blow out a candle,” I told him in my raspy low voice.
Something moved in Lance’s face, something that wasn’t fury. I didn’t quite catch it.
“Not a discussion,” he said. “Makes more sense and you know it. So don’t hurt your throat tryin’ to argue with me. Right now, you need to go in, get some sleep, so when your boy wakes up to the sight of his house, you’re gonna have at least an hour under your belt to deal with that.”
I hated that he was saying things like that, ordering me around like that, like he had a right to. I also hated that he was making complete frickin’ sense.
My throat did burn like a mother and the paramedic had specifically told me not to strain it too much by talking.
So instead of talking, I just glared at him, turned on my heel and did exactly as he said.
Despite the fact I somehow knew it would turn me into ashes, just like my burning house next to me.
Although I didn’t think I would be sleeping with the remains of my house, Nathan’s home, still hot and smoking right beside us, somehow I did.
Not for long, though.
Partly because I kept having dreams of burning alive in my own home with my son in my arms.
Mostly because my very alive son was lying on my chest, obscuring my breathing and yelling, “Mommy!”
He first wanted to know why we were having a sleepover at Karen and Eliza’s, and then when I’d gently, in a raspy voice told him the truth, I’d hugged him tight while he blinked rapidly trying to understand that all of his toys, everything he knew and made him comfortable was gone.
When I let him go, expecting tears, his eyes were dry, though they were full of hurt.
“But you saved Feebo,” he said quietly, snatching the rabbit that smelled of smoke and had a charred left ear and pulling it to his chest.
He used his other hand to brush my hair from my face in a gesture that was about forty years older than he was.
“You saved Feebo for me, Mommy. So we will build a new house. It will be okay.”
I had never worked harder to stave off a complete mental breakdown in front of my son in my entire life.
Somehow, with a little chubby hand caressing my cheek, I managed it.
“Yeah, buddy, it will all be okay,” I whispered.
I didn’t know quite how it’d be okay, but I’d make it so.
I started making it so by getting up with my son, having breakfast with Karen and Eliza—who were already up and had made pancakes and coffee—then I continued doing so by having the courage to step outside to see the damage, my son’s hand clasped in mine, giving me strength.
It was bad.
To say the least.
But it wasn’t bad, not really, with Nathan beside me, clutching his soft toy talking about how he wanted his new room to be up in a tree instead of in the house.
The day was long.
Really frickin’ long.
Lance arrived as we were standing in the yard, talking about how Nathan could not have a treehouse for a bedroom.