Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
“The firemen and the police department are all working together to figure it out,” I tell him.
I’m grateful when he doesn’t ask more questions, because I’m not sure what else I can say.
Around the time T.J.’s finishing breakfast, Buck texts to tell me he’s on his way, then he texts again right before he knocks on the door, so I’ll know it’s him.
When he comes in, his jaw is hard, his cheeks are ruddy, his eyes are tired, and he smells of smoke. His broad shoulders fill the door frame, and my body reacts to his presence with an immediate sense of relief before the rest of me catches up.
If T.J. thinks it’s strange that Buck’s driving us to school, he doesn’t say anything about it. He does, however, ask Buck a stream of questions about firefighting in general, especially about the capabilities of the engines.
At school, I escort T.J. to the library, where an aide is on duty to supervise the kids whose parents need to drop them off early.
“I’ll be back to see you before the bell,” I tell him.
“It’s okay, Mom. I’ll be fine.” I worry he tells me that because he thinks it’s what I want to hear.
“Okay, then I’ll see you at lunch. Love you.” I give him a hug, careful to keep it normal and not squeeze him extra tightly like I want to.
Buck is waiting for me at the front entrance and leads me around the building to what used to be the maintenance shed.
As I try to ignore the distressing odor of wet ash and chemicals, a small part of my brain calculates the cost of what was likely lost in the fire. Another part of my mind is picturing all the students that go to school here, from the youngest to the oldest, and I’m filled with anger that someone would bring this danger so close to them.
As we stand looking at the blackened ruin that has collapsed in on itself, Buck clamps a big hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
He looks at me like we both know it’s a lie, but he doesn’t challenge it.
I’m even less okay when I look beyond the fire remains to the adjacent wall of the main building. Across the pale cinder block, the message Buck told me about is scrawled in black spray paint.
YOU CAN’T HIDE FROM THE PAST.
My knees threaten to buckle, but I stay upright.
For a long, horrible moment, my vision blurs as the school rises in my mind the way it’s supposed to be. The squeak of children’s shoes on the hallway floor, the slap of backpack straps against puffy coats, little voices bouncing off cinder block walls before the first bell.
Then, images of the children I’m charged with protecting layer over the threatening words. Second graders looking for worms after the snow melts. Fifth graders dragging their feet after recess. T.J. running ahead because he’s excited about something.
Whatever this is about, my students don’t deserve to be involved, and I need to protect them. I need to protect T.J.
Buck comes up behind me, but thankfully, he doesn’t touch me, because I think I’d break if he did.
“It’s no surprise, but the accelerant pattern matches,” he says after a moment. “Same family of solvents. Same application method.”
I stare at the wall until it blurs.
When students arrive here every morning, it’s my responsibility to keep them safe. Parents hand over their children, the most precious thing in their lives, and expect me to give them back intact.
When I wrap my arms around myself and step backward, Buck immediately steps in front of me, blocking the message from my view.
“I have a company coming to remove the paint,” he says.
The fact that he’s already thought of that, when I’m sure it’s not part of his job, nearly undoes me. “Thank you.”
His eyes search mine. “We’ll lock down campus access tighter for now. More cameras, more motion lighting. I’ll have Sentinel add midday drive-bys. I want one of us visible at pick-up and drop-off until we end this.”
One of us. The words hit me in a way he probably doesn’t intend. More personal, and also more dangerous.
CHAPTER 17
ELENA
By the time the school day ends, I’m held together by nothing stronger than habit.
I speak with staff, and I call the district. I talk to parents who heard about the fire before the official message went out, and I try to sound reassuring enough that they don’t hear the crack in my voice.
I smile at children and monitor lunch, where I redirect T.J. when he starts asking questions in front of other kids.
Kira calls and asks if I’d like T.J. to spend the night at their house, which is likely the most secure spot in the whole county, so I take her up on the offer.