The Good Neighbor (2 page)

The house to the right of Jessie’s was dark. Felix and Maude Calassis had probably gone to bed early, although Felix often walked at dusk.

Beyond the Calassis place, the porch light shone at the empty house on the corner. The Realtor, Eris Coghlan, had forgotten to switch off the light. A SOLD plaque overlaid the FOR SALE sign posted in the yard.

To the left of Jessie’s house, beyond a dense stand of firs, the Frenkels kept an immaculate home at the end of the cul-de-sac. Lenny Frenkel stood on the front porch, cell phone plastered to his ear. He was the thinner of the Frenkel twins, a charming fast talker. Several girls had already asked him to the senior prom. Lukas, the thicker twin, resembled his father, Verne—brawny and shy.

On a street like Sitka Lane, with only six spacious, identical houses, it was difficult—but not impossible—to keep secrets. I could watch the neighbors come and go, but nobody knew what truly went on inside each home.

Upstairs in the master bathroom, I could smell Johnny’s pine-scented aftershave and his favorite shea butter soap. I changed from my coveralls into one of his extra-long T-shirts and opened the window before climbing into bed. The scents of night drifted in—salty sea air, astringent cedar, and the honey-scented flowers of the bugbane plant beneath the window. I tried to focus on reading
Your Healthy Pregnancy
, but the words blurred across the page. Didn’t prehistoric parents already know what to do without a book? Didn’t they trust their instincts? They weren’t sitting in their caves, reading how-to manuals around the fire. But then, too many newborns must’ve died back then, before the age of modern medicine.

The murmur of voices drifted up from the Kimballs’ backyard, mingling with the smell of barbecued hot dogs. After a time, their patio doors slid open and shut, followed by a quiet interlude. Heaviness lingered in the air, like the threat of a coming storm.

I lay back and closed my eyes, but sleep eluded me. The wind whipped through the fir branches, and beneath the wind came the deep rumble of an engine prowling up the street. The motor cut off, and silence followed. Probably teenagers making out. It was way past their bedtime, and way past mine.

Finally, I slipped into a restless slumber, only to awaken in darkness. The gale rattled the window, and a loud sound echoed in my ears, maybe a truck backfiring. The digital clock on the nightstand read 1:17 a.m. Diffuse orange light played across the walls; the smell of smoke wafted through the air.

I switched on the bedside lamp, and the room rushed into view: my favorite wedding photo on the bureau, sweatshirt draped across a chair, lotion bottles on the dresser. Nothing appeared amiss, but my heart thumped erratically. I got up and peered out the window. It took a moment for the scene to register in my sleepy brain. Smoke and flames billowed from the house next door, from the Kimballs’ first-floor windows. Their fire alarm kicked on—a high-pitched beeping. A child’s terrified cries pierced the night. Mia. She was trapped in her bedroom on the second floor, right above a raging fire.

CHAPTER TWO

I grabbed my cell phone from the nightstand, punched in 911. My fingers trembled; I thought I might faint. An operator’s nasal voice came on the line. “Shadow Cove 911, where’s your emergency?”

“My neighbors’ house is on fire! Hurry! Their little girl—”

“What’s your name, ma’am?”

“Sarah Phoenix. My neighbors are the Kimballs, Chad and Monique. Their daughter, Mia. She’s only four. She’s crying in her room—”

“What is their address, ma’am?”

“Theirs is 595 Sitka Lane. We’re in 599, right next door. Hurry.”

“Help is on the way.”

“How long will it take?”

“First responders are en route from the central station.”

Fifteen minutes away. I hung up, dialed the Kimballs’ number, got a fast busy signal.

I couldn’t wait around. I yanked on my sweats and sneakers, dropped my cell phone in my pocket, and ran out into the hall. Halfway down the stairs, I tripped, tumbled down the steps, and landed sprawled out in the foyer. Stupid, stupid. People tripped this way only in the movies.

In a moment, I was back on my feet, and out of habit, I snatched my purse from the table and flung the strap over my shoulder on my way out the door.

Towering cedars swayed against the blustery night. The fire crackled and roared like a living creature. The neighborhood glowed in an orange-tinted tableau of shadows, the air thick with the acrid stench of burning wood and plastic. The Kimballs’ alarm still shrieked, and Mia’s plaintive cries drifted through a haze of smoke. Voices yelled across the street; doors opened and slammed.

The entire first floor of the Kimballs’ house was engulfed in flames. Jessie’s parents, Don and Pedra Ramirez, raced over in their nightclothes. Jessie followed in jeans and a hoodie. The neighborhood converged on the Kimballs’ lawn. Felix and Maude Calassis were there, and the Frenkels with their twin teenaged sons in pajamas. Don tried the Kimballs’ front door, but it was locked. Lukas Frenkel strode up the steps and kicked in the door, then stumbled backward, coughing in a cloud of smoke. Lenny turned on the garden hose and shot a jet of water toward the blaze.

“I called 911,” Orla Frenkel yelled above the din, her angular face tight with worry. Her flimsy silk negligee fluttered in the wind.

“Me, too,” I shouted back. “We need to get inside!”

“We can’t go in the front,” Lukas said, still coughing.

“But Mia!” I said. “Chad and Monique—where are they?”

“They’re still inside!” Don yelled. He and Verne Frenkel ran around to the other side of the house. Lenny kept hosing the front, but the thin stream of water seemed only to feed the flames.

I rushed to the back deck, yanked at the sliding glass door. Locked. I peered through narrow slats in the blinds. Flames and smoke filled the family room. Through the haze, I glimpsed the kitchen window, which appeared to be shattered, as if someone had hurled a rock through the glass.

“Don’t go in there!” Orla said behind me, tugging my sleeve. “It’s not safe.”

We sprinted back to the side of the house where Mia’s second-floor room faces my room. Pedra Ramirez approached in a flapping white robe and pink slippers. “
Díos mio
. Where are the Kimballs? Sarah! Where’s Johnny?”

“San Francisco,” I said, breathless. How had my sweats become damp?

Jessie had turned on our front faucet and dragged the hose across the Kimballs’ driveway, shooting a useless stream of water toward the fire.

Don jogged up to us, his face sooty and grim. “We can’t find a safe way in. I called 911 again. Responders are eight minutes out.”

How could so little time have passed? I pointed up at Mia’s bedroom window. “Get a ladder. Hurry!”

“You can’t go up there,” Pedra said, her eyes wide.

“We’ve got a ladder,” Don shouted. He and Jessie raced back across the street to their house.

I pulled the phone from my pocket, called Johnny’s cell. No answer, so I dialed information for his hotel and reached a perky-voiced woman at the front desk. “Give me Dr. Johnny McDonald’s room. It’s urgent.”

“Hold on, please. I’ll try that extension.” But the phone kept ringing in Johnny’s room. The clerk’s voice came back on the line. “He’s not picking up. I’ll put you through to his voice mail.”

I left him a frantic message and hung up, just as Don and Jessie returned with the ladder. Don propped it against the side of the Kimballs’ house, below Mia’s window. A group of neighbors gathered around; others dragged more garden hoses across the street, shooting crisscrossing arcs of water at the flames.

“Hold the ladder,” I said, my heart racing. I slipped my cell phone into my purse, handed the purse to Pedra.

“
You’re
not going up,” Don said.

“I can fit through the window,” I said.

“So can I,” Jessie said.

“You stay here. Don’t argue.” I elbowed my way to the ladder, grabbed a brick from the Kimballs’ side garden, and dropped it in my sweatshirt pocket as I climbed.

“Wait!” Pedra shouted. “Let Don go instead.”

“I’m fine!” I yelled down. “See if there’s another way in, something we missed.”

“We’re on it,” Don said, and ran around back again.

Verne Frenkel stepped forward and held the ladder in place. “Steady as she goes,” he said.

“Be careful up there,” Jessie shouted.

“Don’t let go of the ladder.” I kept my gaze trained upward. My knees turned to rubber, the palms of my hands sweaty. I clenched my teeth, determined to ignore my fear of heights. Smoke thickened in the air, stinging my eyes and making me cough.

At the top, I found Mia’s window open a few inches but locked in place. Inside, a night-light revealed the shapes of a dresser, a rocking chair, and a single bed. But no Mia. The alarm had gone silent. A sliver of light glowed around the frame of the bedroom door. The fire seethed on the other side, a monster trying to gain entry.

“Mia, where are you?” I shouted through the screen.

A small form crawled out from behind the bed. “I’m right here. I want my mommy!”

“Don’t move. I’m coming for you.” I popped out the screen. “Watch out below!” I dropped the screen to the ground. “Stay out of the way, honey.”

Mia cringed, crawling backward.

Holding the ladder with my left hand, I swung the brick in my right, broke a hole in the glass. I tossed the brick into Mia’s room, onto the floor, then reached in and unlocked the window. In a moment, I stood inside the room, a blanket of heat pressing on me. I stepped over crunching broken glass and scooped Mia into my arms. She felt much heavier than her thirty pounds. “Hold on around my neck. Don’t let go.”

She nearly strangled me with her grip. Two more steps and we reached the bedroom door, the heat almost blasting us backward. “Chad! Monique!” I yelled. No answer. “I have Mia!” Still, no reply.

I headed back to the window and climbed over the sill, a tricky maneuver with a child in my arms. “I have her!” I shouted. “Coming down!”

“We’ve got you!” Verne called up. “Hurry.”

On the way down the ladder, Mia grew heavier by the moment, although she was small for her age.

“Mommy,” she whimpered. “My Cinderella shoes.”

“We can get you new ones,” I said. Where were Chad and Monique? I hoped that Don had found them, that they had escaped.

“I’m scared,” Mia whispered, looking into my eyes.

“Me, too. But we’re going to be okay.” I clamped Mia’s small body between my arms, hoping not to drop her. The nauseating stink of burning chemicals blew through the air, and suddenly, something exploded overhead. A tempest of debris rained down through the smoke. Flames shot from Mia’s window, embers catching an updraft and landing on our roof, igniting the cedar shingles.

Jessie was shouting below. “Your house is on fire. Sarah, hurry!”

In an instant, crazy thoughts raced through my mind.
My manuscript, the wedding photos, my journal, legal papers, passports. The painting of Miracle Mouse. Kamba wood carvings from my mother in the Peace Corps in Kenya. My wedding band on the dresser.
I always took off my ring at night. I had to get back into the house, but I couldn’t rush.

Five more rungs and we reached solid ground. As I transferred Mia into Pedra’s arms, the wail of sirens approached in the distance. The fire had flared across our roof. The master bedroom lit up from within, illuminated in a dreamlike glow I could see through the skylight. More debris pelted down, and when I looked upward, a large black object was hurtling toward me in slow motion, a meteor, space wreckage tumbling end over end, down and down, and then I saw nothing at all.