In Firefly Valley (33 page)

Marisa raced to the other side of the float and stared, horrified by the billows of smoke coming from the Hickory View apartments. This must have been what she'd smelled before. The north wind, even though it was little more than a light breeze, had carried the majority of the smoke away from town, leaving only a slight odor to waft toward the parade route. That and the fact that almost everyone in town was watching the parade explained why the fire had not been noticed before.

“My brother's there!” Alice shrieked, her voice filled with panic. “Liam's there!”

As Marisa remembered Susan Kozinski saying that her mother was caring for the sick baby, her heart began to pound. Surely Liam's grandmother had gotten him to safety, but if she had, why hadn't she called 911?

Marisa reached into her pocket and pulled out her cell phone. “Hickory View's on fire,” she cried when the call went through.

At the same time, she heard Eric shout “Stop!” as he pounded on the truck's back window. Without waiting to see whether the driver heard him, Eric tossed his costume aside and ran to the tailgate, quickly lowering it and jumping off the ark. A second later, he was sprinting down the street. In the distance, the fire sirens began to wail.

Eric couldn't go alone. Marisa knew that. He couldn't stop the fire. Only trained firefighters could. Eric probably thought he
could rescue Liam and the grandmother, but he didn't know which apartment was Alice's. Ripping off her costume, Marisa leapt from the float and raced toward Eric.

Marisa ran and ran, the five blocks feeling like five miles. She was more than twenty years younger, and she would have said she was in better shape, but no matter how fast she ran, she could not catch Eric. He raced as if his life depended on it, barreling down the street toward the burning building, his longer legs covering the distance faster than Marisa could.

Her legs ached, and the stitch in her side made her want to stop, but she could not.

Where were the fire engines? The sirens were still blaring, but they sounded no closer. She took another stride, trying to catch her breath as she realized what was happening. The fire truck that had been part of the parade was boxed in on Maple Street, unable to turn around. The other engine was probably unable to leave the station because of the crowds lining the street.

It would take less than a minute for the firemen to clear the road so the engines could move safely, but that might be too long. Memories of the fire chief speaking to her high school class and stressing that every second was critical raced through Marisa's brain.

And still Eric ran. Marisa was less than a block away when she saw him enter the building.

“No!” she screamed as he disappeared into the flames. “No, Daddy, no!”

I
'm sorry, sir, but the last flight has left.” The airline representative's voice registered no regret. Not that Blake had expected it. She was doing her job, and whether or not he could reach Marisa made no difference to her. He, on the other hand, was gripping the doorway in an attempt to keep his fear from escalating into panic. Marisa needed him. He knew that. And the fact that he'd been unable to talk to her only deepened his conviction that she was in trouble. That was the reason he was standing in the entry to the restaurant, trying to find a way to get to Texas.

Blake heard the click of keys. “I have one seat left on the early morning flight,” the woman said. “Do you want me to reserve that for you?”

There weren't a lot of alternatives. Greg or Drew might have chartered a private plane, but Blake was not comfortable on small aircraft. Give him a 747 any day. “What time will that get me to San Antonio?”

After a second's delay the clerk said, “Ten oh seven, local time.”

“All right.” Blake recited his credit card number and waited for the confirmation, trying to convince himself that the delay would give him more time to call Marisa and find out his fears
had no basis in reality. Worst case, he'd be in Dupree by noon. Marisa would be home from church, probably amused that he'd thought she needed help and that he'd come all that way on a wild goose chase.

Feisty, independent Marisa St. George never needed help. But deep in his heart, Blake didn't believe that. She needed his help, and more than that, she needed God's. Even if nothing was wrong—and Blake's gut told him something was—she needed God to help her with her relationship with her father and the anger that colored so much of her life. Blake began and ended each day with a prayer that Marisa would open her heart to her heavenly Father's healing, but now she needed more. He said a silent prayer that God would give the woman he loved whatever help she needed.

Shivering slightly as the door opened and another couple entered the restaurant, Blake tapped Marisa's number. Perhaps this time the call would go through. Once again he got voice mail. Once again he left no message. He'd keep trying, but if he hadn't reached Marisa by midnight, Blake would arrive on her doorstep and pray that he wasn't too late.

“Is everything all right, son?” his father asked when Blake returned to the table.

“I don't know. I can't reach Marisa.”

It was possible she was ignoring his calls, but that didn't jibe with the feeling that something was terribly wrong. Though he had tried to convince himself that it was nothing more than his imagination, Blake had failed. Marisa needed him. No one could tell him otherwise. Perhaps it wasn't rational. Perhaps he should have called Lauren or even Kate to see what they knew, but Blake did not. Whatever was wrong was between him and Marisa and God.

“I hate to do this,” Blake said as he spread the napkin on his lap and cut a piece of the steak that had seemed so delicious a few minutes ago. “I hate to desert you, but I'm going to Texas tomorrow morning.”

His father and Hilary exchanged a look that said they'd expected this. “Will you be back for Christmas?”

“I don't know.”

She was almost there. Marisa took a breath, then choked on the acrid smoke. The building was enveloped in it now, dark billowing clouds that hid the entrances, obscuring the lights that had once shone from the windows. Now the only lights were sparks, shooting in all directions as beams tumbled and flames consumed more of the powder-dry wood. It was the most dangerous thing Marisa had ever seen, and somewhere in that inferno was Eric.

“Dad, where are you?” she screamed as she approached the burning building. “Get out!”

Behind her, the siren wailed then stopped as the fire engine reached the site.

“You need to get away, ma'am. It's not safe,” one of the firemen shouted as he leapt from the truck and sprinted to Marisa's side.

Marisa shook her head. “I can't. They're in there.”

“Who's in there?” a second firefighter demanded.

“At least three people. My father went in after a baby and a grandmother.” Marisa's throat burned, but somehow she managed to force the words out. So much depended on the firemen finding Eric and the others in time.

“Where?”

She pointed to the second of the six entrances. “The first floor apartment on the right is the Kozinskis'.” Though she couldn't explain how he'd known that was the place baby Liam and his grandmother would be, Eric had headed unerringly for that doorway.

The first fireman nodded, then began barking commands. The others responded in what seemed as well choreographed as a ballet. As water streamed onto the building and two firemen raced toward the doorway where Eric had disappeared, a crowd began to gather. Some of the townspeople shouted, others remained silent.
A collective gasp went up when the west end of the roof collapsed, sending sparks in every direction.

Marisa took a step backward, fixing her gaze on the burning building.
Keep him safe, dear Lord
, she prayed silently.
Keep them all safe.
It would take a miracle for anyone to have survived the fire, and yet she refused to give up hope.

As the first pair of firemen reached the doorway, two smoke-covered figures stumbled out. The man—Marisa could tell that much even from this distance—was doubled over, while the woman clung to the back of his sweatshirt.

“Daddy!” Her prayer had been answered. Eric was alive. Heedless of the firemen's shouts, Marisa raced toward her father. “What's wrong?” she demanded when she saw he was clutching his midsection.

Coughing violently, he reached under his sweatshirt and pulled out baby Liam, handing him to the waiting fireman before his legs buckled and he tumbled to the ground.

“No!” Marisa screamed and lurched forward. He couldn't die. Not now. Not without knowing how much she loved him.

One of the bystanders restrained her. “You'll only be in the firemen's way. Trust God.”

Marisa did, but that didn't stop her from wanting to be at her father's side. She had to know if he was still alive. Even with all the noise, there was no mistaking the sound of a baby's cry. Marisa gave a silent prayer of thanks. Though it was too soon to know how serious their injuries were, Liam and his grandmother were still alive, thanks to Eric. And then she saw it. It was nothing more than a clenching of his fist, but it was enough to tell Marisa that her father lived. As tears welled in her eyes, she sent another prayer heavenward.

For Marisa, the next few minutes seemed like controlled pandemonium. The firemen continued to fight the blaze, a pair entering each of the apartments to ensure that no one was trapped by the fire or overcome by smoke, while others pumped water onto the building.

Flashing lights and blaring sirens announced the arrival of the EMTs. After what seemed like only seconds of triage, they strapped Eric to a gurney. As one of the paramedics cradled Liam and another helped his grandmother into a police car, Marisa rushed toward them.

“Where are you taking them?” she demanded.

The paramedic who'd helped Liam's grandmother looked at Marisa. “The clinic. Doc Santos is waiting.”

Marisa took a deep breath, regretting it the instant she did. The last thing her lungs needed was more smoke-filled air, but she couldn't help rejoicing. The fact that the patients would be treated locally rather than rushed to a trauma center was good news. Another prayer had been answered.

As the ambulance pulled away, Mom arrived with Alice and her parents. Alice was crying, and the three adults looked haggard, as if they'd aged ten years in the last ten minutes.

Sprinting to close the distance, Marisa stretched her arms out to her mother, uncertain who would comfort whom. All she knew was that she needed her mother's embrace.

“How is Eric?” The trembling in Mom's voice told Marisa how frightened she was. When Marisa had worried that Eric might leave again and that her mother would be devastated, she had never envisioned a night like this.

“I don't know. He couldn't talk, and the EMTs weren't answering any questions, but he's alive. That much I know.”

Marisa turned to the Kozinskis while she patted Mom's back. “I think Liam's all right. He was crying, and the EMTs didn't look too worried. Your mother was disoriented. I heard her say something about a nap.”

Susan began sobbing. “I should never have left Mom with the baby.”

Her husband put his arm around her and offered words of comfort, while Alice kept a firm grip on her mother's hand, as if she feared being separated from her.

“Can you walk to the clinic,” Marisa asked her mother, “or do you want me to get my car?”

“We'll drive,” Bert Kozinski said. He let out a short, mirthless laugh. “If my truck hasn't burned up.”

It hadn't. Since the apartment complex had no garages, residents parked on the street or in the lot behind the building. The fact that Bert had had to park a block away meant that his truck was safe and out of the area the police had cordoned off.

When they arrived at the clinic, Doc Santos's receptionist was at the desk. Dressed in her signature uniform of Betty Boop scrubs, she gave no indication that a few minutes ago she'd been one of the spectators at the parade.

“It shouldn't be much longer,” she said, offering the adults coffee and Alice a can of soda.

Half an hour later, the doctor emerged from the back of the clinic, trailed by his nurse. During that time, Marisa had done everything she could to encourage the others, all the while battling her own fears.
He has to live
, she told herself.
If his condition had been life-threatening, they'd have airlifted him to San Antonio
. But doubts crept in. Until now. The smile wreathing the doctor's face told the story even before he spoke.

“Everyone's going to be fine. I'm keeping them overnight, but you can visit them.”

“Thank you, doctor.”
Thank you, God
. Marisa's prayers had been answered.

The Kozinskis ran in the direction the nurse pointed, and Mom started walking toward Eric's room. It was time to go, and yet Marisa held back, unsure of what she was going to say, unwilling to intrude on Mom's time with her husband. They needed time alone. Marisa's turn would come later. That was as it should be. Eric had been a husband before he was a father.

“C'mon, Marisa. He's waiting for us.” Mom turned and beckoned to Marisa. When she hesitated, Mom grabbed Marisa's arm. “He's waiting for both of us.”

Seconds later as they entered the small room, they found Eric sitting up in the hospital bed. Though he sported three bandages on his face and both hands were wrapped in gauze, his eyes were shining and his lips curved into a grin. He was alive. More than alive. He looked happier than Marisa could ever recall.

“Oh, Eric,” Mom cried as she ran the few feet to his bedside and wrapped her arms around him. “I was so worried.” Her English deserted her, and she murmured a few sentences of heartfelt Spanish that Marisa doubted her father understood. But there was no mistaking Mom's sincerity when she reverted to English and said, “I don't know what I'd do if I lost you again.”

Eric stroked her head, his bandaged hands awkward but his expression tender. “You don't need to worry about that,” he said, his voice raspy from the smoke he'd inhaled. “Doc says this old body's got a lot more years in it.” Eric winked at Marisa, as if inviting her to join the celebration. “Doc said the baby's going to be fine too.”

“Thanks to you.” The lump of fear that had lodged in Marisa's throat had dissipated, replaced by a different set of emotions. Relief that Eric was safe mingled with worry about the conversation she needed to have with him. That would happen later. Now she wanted the answer to the question that had puzzled her from the moment she'd seen him disappear into the apartment complex. “How did you know where Liam was?”