Stories

FIRE

BY
KATHLEEN DELANEY

     The fire had been out for two weeks but the smell still hung heavy in the air. The earth, scorched black, was covered with a carpet of dead, moldy leaves, damp from the rain that had helped stop the raging flames. The black stumps of the empty trees echoed the bleak desolation of the remains of the house.

     She stood very still, clutching her windbreaker tight against her, staring at the blackened shell that had been the only home she had ever known. It had been hot that morning, hot and windy, signs that a Santa Ana was brewing. Today the wind, breeze actually, came from the ocean.  She shivered slightly. She wasn’t sure if it was because of the chill in the air or because--.   She shifted her weight. Her new running shoes cut into her ankles. Running. Wasn’t that funny. It had taken everything she could manage just to make it from the road up the slope to the ruin of the house. The wooden stairs that had lead from the road to the front porch were gone, the gravel drive that ended at what had once been a detached garage was covered in charred remnants of God only knew what. She certainly didn’t.

     She took a careful step closer. That must be where the porch had been. A wonderful porch, wide enough for a swing and several rocking chairs, covered against the hot summer sun and the winter’s driving rain. You could look straight down the mountain from that porch, over rocks and tall pines to watch the never ending traffic on Highway 1 and the constantly changing shape of the ocean beyond. She took a few steps closer. Was that a runner from one of the rockers sticking up from the pile of blackened rubble? It must be. And there was the front door, no longer dark red, swinging back and forth on one hinge, inviting you into nothing at all.

     “This was my home,” she thought. “I was born here. I grew up here. I lived here all of my married life. This was where my husband and my sister died.”

     The black, charred embers that were once a house faded and it was as it had always been, a large cedar sided two story house topped with a heavy shake roof. Her bedroom looked out over the oaks, the pines, the dense underbrush for a clear view of the lights of Malibu, so close, so far. She had always kept that room, even after--.  She waited to feel something; grief, loss, but nothing came but more memories. Unwelcome memories. She tried to bat them away like flies, but they insisted on playing themselves out.

     There, on the porch, the round little girl with the pale red curls and the small breasts already, at ten, straining the fabric of her too tight tee shirt, that couldn’t really be her.  But it was. The man in the rocking chair, holding the other, smaller girl, laughing, tickling her, is her father and the girl her sister. Her curls are a brighter, deeper red; her jeans don’t strain to cover her slim hips. Her tiny hand rests on their father’s cheek as she smiles up at him.

“Flaming Freddie, that’s who you are,” he says as he hugs the child close.

     A woman comes through the front door. She stops, frowns at the older child, reaches down to minutely adjust the ribbon holding back the pale curls, then walks to the porch railing, staring out at the dry California hillside.

     The older girl watches her mother, then almost absently reaches toward the plate of cookies sitting on the low table by the rocking chair.

     “I told you, only one, Marlene,” the woman says, her back to the child. “You’ll get fat.”

     Marlene snatches back her hand as thought it had been touched by fire.

     The father takes a cookie and gives it to the giggling Freddie as he sets her down. “It’s all right, Marlene. Looks aren’t everything.” Then, almost as an afterthought, “Besides, you’re the smart one. Not that our little Flaming Freddie isn’t smart, too.” He gives the little girl an extra hug.

     “Yes,” says their mother, turning to coldly examine both girls. Her eyes rest a little longer on the oldest. “Marlene is the smart one.” She sighs and turns toward their father.

     “Must you always call Fredericka by that ridiculous name? Flaming Freddie. It’s—obscene.”

     “It suits her.” He smiles at the child.

     “No. It suits you. First you insist on naming her after yourself and now you invent that stupid nickname.” Her tone is low and scathing, designed to hurt.

     His tone is just as full of venom. “I wouldn’t have had to name her Frederica if you had given me a son.”

     She looks at him a long time, her eyes hard, her mouth pinched. “You don’t deserve a son.” She takes the smaller girl by the hand and leads her into the house, turning her back on both the man and the other child as if they didn’t exist.

     Memory fast-forwards. She is standing at the living room window, staring out at the woods, soggy from an infrequent California rain, listening to the man, their father, try to explain why their mother was gone. She can see the room reflected in the window, her father running his fingers through thinning hair, looking suddenly old. Freddie is sitting close beside him, her curls now reaching almost to her tiny waist, her tee shirt showing just a hint of the woman she would soon become.  The tears that stain her cheeks somehow refuse to blotch her complexion or redden her eyes.   

     “But, why?” She speaks in the whiny voice she uses more and more often. “Why did she want to leave us?”

     Marlene doesn’t wait for an answer. She is sure she knows why. She pulls her sweat shirt further down over her jeans, focuses briefly on her round face reflected in the window, on the light gray eyes from which no tears fall, then bends down heavily to pick up Buttons, her small white poodle, and hugs him close.

     “Victor is more exciting,” she tells Freddie, “and he doesn’t have any children.”

     Her father glares at her but says nothing. She watches him put his arm around Freddie, watches him mop at her tears as she nestles into his shoulder.

     The poodle licks her cheek and she looks down at him. Her eyes momentarily fill. She turns and slowly leaves the room. No one calls her back.

     She finds herself in the kitchen, standing before the refrigerator door, half expecting the familiar sharp voice.

     “No ice cream, Marlene. You can’t afford it. Two pieces of cake, Marlene? Is that a candy bar, Marlene?”

     No voice now. Slowly her hand reaches out and pulls open the freezer door.

     She stirred as the memory faded. She could feel her feet rustle the dead leaves as she shifted her weight, could feel the ache in her back that was always present when she stood too long. She needed to move. She’d been here long enough, she didn’t want to remember anything else, and she certainly didn’t want to remember-

.  She turned to go, but something caught her eye. There, in that blackened pile of rubble under what was left of her favorite oak, the end of a stair rail. She walked over, reached out her hand to touch it but drew it back as if the wood was still hot. Memories were coming fast, pushing at one another, demanding to be seen, to be heard.

     The staircase in the house is beautiful; oak steps topped with a hand carved rail that descends gracefully to land on the polished wood of the living room floor. It is prom night. Freddie floats down the stairs, her sea foam green dress flowing softly around her, light embracing her creamy white shoulders and throat. Her hair is pulled away from her face with jeweled combs, allowing it to cascade freely down her back.

     “Like a fire fall,” thinks Marlene as she watches her sister descend, as she watches her father’s face flush with pleasure and pride. She listens to him caution the starry eyed boy who is reaching for Freddie’s hand about driving, about curfew. She is on her way to the kitchen as the front door closes. She can feel the seams of her cotton slacks groan as she bends to peer into the refrigerator and she feels, rather than hears, her father behind her.

     He looks meaningfully at the pie she sets out on the kitchen table but makes no comment as she settles herself into a chair, Buttons in her lap. Instead, he lights another cigarette and stands in the open kitchen door.

     “Your time will come, Marlene. You’re the smart one. Looks aren’t everything. Brains are important too.” He keeps his back to her, carefully not watching her shovel in the last bite.

     She knew he didn’t really believe it. The indifference in his voice belied the words he always used. He was more excited about Freddie graduating from cosmetology school than her MBA.  Brains were good for some things, but they didn’t get you loved.

     Then, one morning, he was dead.

     The house is finally empty. The obscure members of their family and their few friends are gone, leaving just her, Freddie, their father’s attorney, his stockbroker, both old time friends, and a good looking young man she has never met before. A new associate, the stockbroker said, helping to handle her father’s investments.

     Everything is left in trust and she, Marlene, is to administer it, with the help of the attorney and the stockbroker. Freddie is to receive an income, a generous one, but has no say. The estate is much larger than Marlene had believed possible.

     Freddie is furious.

     That day started, oh, many things. It opened the rift between the sisters. It had always been there, a narrow crack, but now it is an open, yawning chasm. And it brings Robin Maxwell into both their lives.

     No. She will not think about that. It’s time to leave. She glances once more at the charred stair rail and, moving carefully, she turns to look down the hill to where her car waits. Her BMW. The car Robin had insisted she buy.

     Robin. Attentive, charming Robin. His smoky blue eyes seemed to see only her, his slow secret smile made her glow in places she’d never suspected could. He told her she was pretty and seemed to mean it. When he asked her to marry him she was ecstatic. For the first time she could remember, she felt special, loved, cherished. Life was finally good.

     Gradually, things changed. Robin started taking over, her house, her money, her car.

     “Keep that dog off my bed.” He’d push away the current Buttons.

     His bed?

     “We don’t need a cleaning lady, it’s a waste of money. You’re home all day, you do it.”

       But it’s my money she silently answered.

     Soon it was, “Are you really going to eat all that?” She’d push her plate away but find herself in front of the refrigerator more and more while he was gone.

     Then one day Robin announced that he had left his job. “All I do is manage our money. I can do that from home. That’s what computers are for.”

     She wanted to protest but didn’t know how. Besides, shouldn’t she want him home?

     A few days later Freddie appeared. “I’m moving in,” she announced. “I’m sick of apartments and it’s my house too.”

     Marlene watched her smile at Robin, saw her sway her hips slightly as she started up the stairs, heard Robin’s quick intake of breathe before he followed, loaded down with Freddie’s things.

     A feeling of hopelessness started that day and it grew. She found Robin and Freddie together more and more, standing too close, sharing a joke. They started going for long drives and they always used the BMW. Robin started calling her ‘Flaming Freddie’ and then he’d laugh. Freddie would laugh back at him, then turn toward Marlene and give her a small smile. The same smile she had used when their father was alive.

     Robin ignored her more and more and Marlene found she was relieved, for now it wasn’t only his remarks that hurt. His grip on her arm left bruises and she seemed to trip too often when she was near him. He aimed a kick at Buttons at every opportunity, leaving the little animal terrified, and he snarled at Marlene when she protested. Finally he moved out of her bedroom into her father’s big corner one. She smuggled Buttons back into hers. How odd, she thought, that I prefer it this way, but her room had become her only sanctuary from Robin’s taunts and Freddie’s triumphant little smiles.

     She didn’t want to remember any more. It had been a mistake to come here. She’d thought, somehow, she could come to terms with it all if she came back, saw what was left of the house, make herself realize it was all behind her. She had to go on, start a new life, but the old one wasn’t ready to let her go.

     She backed up a little, looked up to where her old bedroom should have been. That day, that final day, came roaring back.

     It had begun as had many that summer, hot, dry, promising to be long. The sky was a brittle blue and a little breeze was stirring the thirsty leaves. She watched the roses on the side of the patio lift their heads, flutter their petals in disappointment at the hot breeze and droop again.

     “Marlene. Where are you?” The voice made her start, almost spilling her cream laced coffee. Hurriedly feeding Buttons the remains of her donut she went inside.

     “I suppose you took all the cream.”

     She could feel the scorn like a hot poker between her breasts as she tried to pull her housecoat closed across the front of her nightgown.

     “Surely you could at least shop right.” He stood beside the closed refrigerator, full coffee cup in his hand.

     Silently she opened the door, handed him the carton and turned to go.

     “Only slobs use the carton. Why don’t you put things out nicely, like Freddie? You’ve got a pitcher. Or did you break that too?”

     She reached into the cupboard and took down her mother’s cut glass pitcher, took the carton from him, filled it and set it along with the matching sugar bowl on the kitchen table. She took a freshly polished sterling silver teaspoon out of the drawer along with a freshly pressed cloth napkin and laid them beside the sugar bowl.  She reached out for his already full cup, toped it off with cream, added a teaspoon of sugar and handed it to him. She was past noticing the triumphant smirk on the now slightly puffy face. She didn’t even notice the belly that had started to overlap the pajama bottom or the start of a double chin that was coarsening the once handsome face. She saw only escape routes. She eased toward the back door, opened it slightly. Buttons darted in, looked around quickly and made a dash for the stairs.

     “I thought that dog wasn’t supposed to come in here.”

     Freddie was halfway down the stairs, makeup already in place, long, fiery curls falling over her shoulders. She was wearing a short, silk robe loosely tied over her baby doll pajamas, allowing full view of shapely breasts and slim tan legs. Marlene gritted her teeth and continued up the stairs, one hand holding her coffee cup, the other grasping the stair rail. She pushed past Freddie who watched her with that self satisfied little smile.

     Marlene paused at the top of the stairs, out of breath. She heard the murmur of Freddie’s voice as she entered the kitchen, then they both laughed. Flushed, she closed the door of her room, sat on her bed for a moment holding Buttons tightly against her. Sighing, she finally got up and went to her closet and took down the shoebox hidden on the top shelf. She selected a donut and walked out onto her small balcony. The tears in her eyes and the intensity of her thoughts at first blinded her to the strange red glow that shown under a spreading gray haze.

     Fire.

     She gripped the balcony railing tightly as her attention focused. She had grown up in California’s foothills and had always lived with the threat of fire. It had never touched her home, her hillside, but she had seen it’s awesome power and the destruction it left in it’s wake. She stood very still and her breath caught in her throat. The glow grew and the breeze turned into light wind, bringing with it the heavy smell of smoke. She thought she could hear sirens in the distance and there, that was the unmistakable drone of a heavy bellied borate bomber. It must be spreading quickly if it was already in the air.

     News. It would be on the news. Leaving the doors open she hurried back into the room to turn on her little TV. The screen filled with a picture of a pretty young girl, smoke billowing up behind her.

     “This could be one of the worst Southern California has ever seen.” Fear was on her face and in her voice. The picture changed to a huge map and an already frazzled looking man who pointed out the path of the fire. “People in these areas should prepare to evacuate.” The map grew larger and the man disappeared but his voice continued. “Wait for further notice. Remember, don’t panic. Just be ready and stay tuned.”

     “That’s us.” She stared at the screen but the map was already gone, replaced by pictures of fire roaring down a canyon, consuming everything within its reach. A doe flashed into sight, paused to look back at the encroaching fire, glanced briefly into the camera and bounded downhill.

     “He said it’s coming toward us.” Unbelieving, she walked back to the balcony. The glow filled the sky and smoke drifted through her room. The same frazzled man was back, showing fire lines, street closures, possible evacuation routes. Her street, her hillside stood directly in the path of the relentless blaze.

     “What should I do?” She looked around, feeling helpless, lost. “Get dressed. Packed. Hurry.” But she couldn’t seem to move.

     She could hear voices from downstairs, could hear Robin yelling. Freddie appeared in the doorway, eyes large and frightened.

     “Marlene, hurry. Fire. We have to get out.  We’re going to start packing the cars.”

     “Yes, yes.  But what shall I take?”

     “Start with your check book. And get some clothes on.” She paused long enough to give one quick mean smile. “Good thing this fire won’t require lugging anyone down a ladder.”

     Marlene stood for a second, feeling the familiar sting, listening to the familiar soft laugh, then pushed the resentment, the fury back down inside. Now was not the time.

     She was panting when she finally dragged the last suitcase into the garage. Robin was packing Freddie’s car; his already full. All her things sat beside her car, which stood in the driveway.

     “You brought enough crap down,” he snarled. “What’s in that?” He pointed to a heavy box.

     “My great-grandmothers’ sterling. I put it in with all the financial records.”

     “Nice to know you have some sense. Start packing you’re car.  We’re running out of time.”

     Freddie came flying out of the house, her arms loaded with clothes.

     “Here, can you get these in?” she asked Robin, her tone shrill, her eyes on the expanding glow. “The smoke’s terrible. Do you think we should go?”

     “Soon.” Robin looked up at the glowing hills. “I’ve got a little more room and Marlene’s got the front seat. Go get another load.”

     “Freddie, try and bring Grandmothers’ portrait.”

     Freddie paused only long enough to throw her an incredulous look and was gone.

     “God damn it, Marlene. Now’s not the time to worry about old pictures.” Robin exploded

     “It’s not replaceable.” She tried to grab his arm but he pushed past her, headed for her car, pulled open the passenger door.

     “I can get a lot of Freddie’s stuff in here.”

     “No. No, that’s where I’m putting Buttons carrier. Don’t put anything on that seat.” She could feel the panic she had been trying so hard to control start to escape. Buttons was under the car, trembling, black eyes wide with terror. She could at least save him.

      She headed quickly into the garage and pulled the carrier down from the shelf. It wasn’t heavy but it was awkward and she was already off balance when Robin lunged at her, snatching it from her, throwing it across the garage.

     “You aren’t taking that thing or that fucking dog. Get back in the house and help Freddie, and make sure you have all the checkbooks and all the money. Don’t leave anything important.”

     He turned away, intent on the contents of his trunk. She stood, immobile, feeling the pain rise in her wrist.

     “Move it.” Robin rose up from the trunk, hand raised. The slap almost brought her to her knees, but it was the look on his face that was the most terrifying. Fury as she had never seen it, fury that quickly changed to calculation. But there was no contrition in it.    “Sorry, Marlene, but you’ve got to listen to me. Here. Get the rest of your stuff in the car. I’ll go help Freddie. We’ve got to get out of here.”

     She held her hand against her bruised face while she watched him run for the house. No one had ever slapped her before.

     Buttons crawled out from under the car, making little whimpering noises. She picked him up and put him in the front seat. Robin was right. They had to get out of there. Now.

     She headed back toward the garage. She had no idea where they would end this day, but she knew she wasn’t leaving her dog and she’d need the carrier. Was it smashed? No. Good She grabbed it and headed back toward the garage door. Smoke began to swirl around the edges and the smell choked her. She paused, looking out toward the ridge behind their house. It glowed bright red. Fear as well as smoke caught at her throat. Don’t panic, she told herself. Just get in the car and go.

     “What the hell do you thing you’re doing?”

     She hadn’t heard Robin come in the garage. But there he was, her metal strongbox in one hand, a pile of Freddie’s clothes under his arm.

     “I told you we aren’t taking that dog. Drop that thing and help me with Freddie’s stuff.”

     “No.” She started to edge by him, holding the carrier in front of her as a barrier. “And what are you doing with my strong box? That’s got all my papers in it.”

     “You think I don’t know that? Everything we’re going to need is in here, and you were going to leave it behind. The deeds, your will, everything. You’re a fool, Marlene. Now drop that damn dog carrier and help me get this stuff packed.” He put the strong box on the concrete floor, dropped the clothes and started toward her. She took a step back, raising her hands to her face, her terror now out of control. She was conscious of the dog’s frantic yelping, of her own horrible feeling of helplessness when her foot met metal. Her hand went down to steady herself and found the handle of the heavy garden spade. Robin was still coming toward her, his arm raised and fist clenched, as her other hand found it’s place on the handle and she swung, The edge of the spade seemed to fit perfectly into Robin’s throat. She watched as he sank to the garage floor, his blood mixing with the grease on the concrete. She thought he tried to say something, make some sound, but there was a roaring in her ears and she couldn’t hear.

     How long she stood over Robin’s body, still clutching the spade, she didn’t know. Seconds? A minute? Gradually she became conscious of Button’s yelping, more frantic now, and there was Freddie.

     “What have you done?” She stood in the doorway, her arms full, staring down at the body on the cold concrete floor. “My God, what have you done?”

     She let the clothes she held fall unheeded, and walked slowly into the garage.

     “You’ve killed him.” She stopped and looked down at the still body. “How could you?”

     Freddie took a step closer, her eyes now fastened on Marlene. “Answer me, you fat slug. Oh, Robin.” Her hand flew to her mouth and she seemed about to kneel beside the body but instead she abruptly turned again and took another step toward Marlene. “It was me he loved.” Her voice was low and razor sharp. “Not you. He never loved you. How could he? We were going to be married. Now you’ve ruined everything. You always ruin everything.”

     Ruined what? Freddie always got what she wanted. And married? To Robin? But he was married to her. How could they--.

     What was Freddie doing? Marlene wasn’t sure. She watched Freddie look around, saw her eyes fasten on the dog carrier. “Maybe it’s not all ruined. You think you own me because you control the money.  Well--.”

     Freddie lunged for the carrier, grabbed it and swung all in one movement. Marlene hadn’t been aware she still held the shovel until she felt it swing once more, almost as thought it moved on it’s own. This time it sent the dog carrier flying.

     “Damn you.” Freddie snarled and lunged forward. The shovel swung again and this time caught Freddie on the side of the head. Marlene saw the surprise in Freddie’s eyes and heard the soft grunt as her body hit the concrete floor.

     “Her hair is really more the color of blood than fire,” Marlene thought, as Freddie twitched once and then lay still.

     Fire. Smoke filled the garage, twirling around the bodies, around the cars, covering everything with a gray haze. It filled her nostrils, making her cough, forcing her out of the dream like trance that surrounded her. The terror was gone. Instead, she was filled with an icy calm.  For the first time in months she felt confident, competent. Throwing the spade aside she retrieved the dog carrier and fastened it quickly into the back seat. Buttons could ride up front with her.

     “You’re safe now,” she whispered in his ear as she gently set him down on it.

     Car keys, yes, in the ignition. Purse, yes, all the records from the office, yes. Wait. The computer. She quickly pulled the machine out of Robin’s trunk, dumped Freddie’s clothes, blankets, silk sofa pillows, out of the trunk of her car and jammed the computer in, pausing only to wrap it in Freddie’s favorite silk throw.  She checked the skyline. The glow was too bright and she could see flames leap up above the trees on the ridge behind her house. Time to check one more time?

     She hurried back into the garage. The strongbox. Everything was in it, even her mother’s wedding ring. How had Robin—had he found the spare key—never mind that now. She grabbed it, staggering a little under the weight, and headed back toward her own car.  She turned to look at the bodies lying unmoving on the floor. Should she check—maybe they weren’t--. She shuddered and fled to her waiting car.

     At the end of her winding road sat a Highway Patrol Car. He waved her down.

     “Anyone else up there?”

     “My husband and my sister. They’re finishing loading their cars. They sent me ahead but they should be right behind me.”  The lie came out without conscious thought.

     “They’d better hurry.” The trooper grimly waved her on.

     The weeks from then to now had been like living in a nightmare. The loss of the house, then the wait while the fire crews discovered the bodies, burned almost beyond recognition. And then came the questions. When did you leave them, why did you go first, were they all right when you left, had they been arguing, drinking? Why didn’t they follow you, there should have been time for them to get out. Why? Why? Why? First the police, then the insurance company, then the police again. But, finally, it was over.

     All over. Accidental death by fire, actually by smoke inhalation. They’d waited too long, probably trying to save too much and got trapped. A tragedy. Tomorrow she would bury what was left of them, accepting the condolences of the few friends and the distant relatives. And then? What would she do then?

     A light hand touched her shoulder. She stiffened, whirled around, almost slipping on the thick carpet of wet leaves.

     “Mrs. Marshall? I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you, but you didn’t seem to hear me--.”

     She stared at the state trooper who looked stony faced back at her. How did they know—what did they know? She never should have come back here. Just when things were working out, just when she thought her life had changed—it was self-defense. Would they believe that? It was the truth. Robin had tried to kill her, and when that failed Freddie had tried. How could she--?

     “You can’t stay here, Ma-am.” He dropped his hand off of her arm but watched her intently. “It’s been two weeks, I know, but it still isn’t safe. See that wire over there?”

     She looked where he pointed. A large black wire lay on the ground looking like a long, dead black snake. It had run from the street, through the trees into the house.

     “It could be live, and if you’d touched it—well—I know all you folks want to come back, see what’s left, and I know you especially—it was a terrible loss. But, ma-am, you just can’t stay here.”

     He hadn’t come to arrest her. Only to ask her to leave. Marlene felt her legs start to give way. She wavered a little but managed to stay upright. “Of course. I just had to—I needed—I’ll leave right now.”

     “Thank you.” The trooper looked at her a little more closely. “Are you all right?  Do you need any help?”

     “I’m fine.” She turned and picked her way carefully down the incline toward her car.  She could hear Buttons excited barks as she got closer.

     “Hey, baby.” Marlene wedged herself into the front seat and took the little dog into her arms. “We’re getting out of here right now.”

     She put the key into the ignition and turned on the motor.  She took one last look at the house and paused. The office had been right about—there.

     She had been home that day, alone for once, working on the computer when the phone rang. It was Mr. Fisher, the family insurance agent. Did she know that Mr. Maxwell had taken out a life insurance policy on her for a very sizable amount and was that all right? He thought it only right to ask, he’d written so many policies for the family and--.

     She recovered from the initial shock quickly, almost as if she’d suspected something like this would happen and hastened to assure him that issuing the policy was fine.

     She sighed, shook her head a little as if to shake herself clear of any more memories, then let up on the brake and the car moved slowly up the street. She reached into her pocket for the Mars bar she always kept there and pulled it out. She unwrapped it with one hand, a skill she’d long practiced, and started to take a bite, but paused.

     “I wonder if Robin did open the strong box.”

     Buttons looked at her anxiously.

     She started to smile. “If he did, he was in for a shock. The ‘sizable’ insurance policies I took out on their lives were right on top. I wonder where the policy is he took out on me.” She started to take a bite of the candy but paused once more. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll get Mr. Fisher to cancel it when we put in a claim on the other two.”

     She started to laugh and once again raised the Mars bar up to her mouth. She looked down at it, then out the window at the ruin of the garage, the burned out hulks of the cars. She slowed her car to a crawl, rolled down the window and flung the candy with all of her strength toward the blackened mess, and with her now free hand pulled the little dog closer to her.

     The car picked up speed as she headed down the hill.