The Fire at Mary Anne's House Read online

  “We can do it!” yelled Jackie.

  Claudia and Kristy looked at each other and shrugged. There was no way to stop the kids.

  Everyone trooped to the Braddocks’ house. Haley called her mom (Mrs. Braddock had brought her cell phone to my house) and explained the situation. When she hung up, she was grinning. “She says it’s fine,” Haley reported. “She even said she’d type up the final version for us when she comes home. She said the BSC deserves to win.”

  The kids sat down around the Braddocks’ kitchen table and drew up a list of BSC charges. “How about the Pikes?” Haley suggested, nothing their names on her pad.

  “Definitely,” agreed Jackie. “And the Arnold twins.”

  “Don’t forget the Kuhns,” said Shea.

  Matt finger-spelled a name, and Haley interpreted. “Charlotte? You’re right. She’ll definitely want to help.”

  “We’ll ask everybody to contribute memories of the BSC,” Haley said, scribbling down Charlotte’s name. “Once we put it all together, with some help on the details from Claudia and Kristy, it will be a complete history of the BSC.” She reached for the phone again and started dialing.

  The kids were energized by the project. Claudia and Kristy watched in amazement as they made calls, started up the computer (Matt did that; for a little kid he’s a real whiz in that department), and wrote up their own memories.

  Before long, the history began to take shape. Shea interviewed Kristy about how the club first began. “I hear you were the one with the big idea,” he said, poised to take notes as she answered his questions. “What made you think of a baby-sitting club?”

  Kristy told him the story. “Well, one night my mom needed a sitter for David Michael. I remember watching her make all these phone calls, trying to find someone who was free. She was really frustrated. And then it came to me …”

  Claudia grinned, watching her. Kristy loves to reminisce about the club’s beginnings, especially because she plays a starring role. But Kristy’s not the only one. All of us enjoy thinking about “great moments in BSC history.” That’s why it was so much fun for Claud and Kristy to be there while our charges pulled together to put the moments down on paper.

  Jackie contributed the story about landing in the hospital after his bike accident and he told how the BSC members rallied around him when he was hurt.

  Charlotte came by to bring her contribution, a memory of how the BSC helped her change from a timid, lonely girl to someone with lots of friends.

  The Pikes brought over a whole sheaf of written memories, covering everything from talent shows and parades to the time they all had the chicken pox.

  The stories flowed in all afternoon, including some that were dictated over the phone. Kristy and Claudia helped a little with organizing the material and typing it into the computer (Kristy did most of that, in order to save the spell checker), but the kids did most of the work. And by the end of the afternoon, the history was done!

  And to top it all off, Kristy went home with an excellent idea for her essay.

  Why I Like to Baby-sit

  by Kristy Thomas

  (Note to the judges: This essay should probably have a different title, maybe “Why the BSC Likes to Baby-sit,” since it is a group entry.)

  Every member of the BSC likes to baby-sit. In fact, we love it. We all like kids and enjoy spending time with them. Children are fun to be around. It’s as simple as that.

  And it’s also a lot more complicated.

  Because baby-sitting isn’t just about taking care of kids. It’s about caring, and community, and connections. I learned a lot about that over the past few days.

  Three days ago, my best friend’s house burned down. And it was what happened after Mary Anne’s house burned down that taught me the real lesson. The one about why I love to baby-sit. First of all, there was the way every member of our club came together to support Mary Anne and to help her and her family. Second was the way that our charges worried about Mary Anne and let her know how much they care. Finally, you may notice that our history section was written by the children we sit for. After the fire, our charges pulled together to make sure our entry was finished on time.

  Baby-sitting is a two-way street. We take care of the kids and make sure they enjoy their time with us. In exchange, we receive not just financial rewards but emotional ones as well. Our charges give back every bit of love we show them, and then some.

  As I wrote this essay, I came to realize that I don’t even care if my club wins the contest. I already know that each and every member of the BSC is the Baby-sitter of the Year—in my heart, in Mary Anne’s heart, and in our charges’ hearts. That’s all the recognition we need.

  Kristy put down the paper she’d been reading from. “What do you think?” she asked.

  It was Monday evening and we were gathered in Claudia’s room for a BSC meeting. I had been planning to skip it, but my dad and Sharon urged Dawn and me to go. “You need some time with your friends,” Dad had said. “And some time away from the house.” Logan, who had been working with us that afternoon, walked us to Claudia’s and stayed for the meeting.

  Kristy looked around the room. “Guys?” she asked. “Do you like it?”

  Stacey sniffed, then grabbed a tissue from Claudia’s bedside table and blew her nose. “Id’s beautiful,” she said.

  “Pass me those, would you?” asked Jessi, who was also sniffing. The tissue box went around the room. Everybody took one, even Logan. Everybody but me.

  It wasn’t that I didn’t like Kristy’s essay — I thought it was great. It was well written and very moving. So what was wrong with me? Me, who used to be known as the “Town Crier.” I was the only dry-eyed person in the room. This was starting to feel very, very weird. “I love it, Kristy,” I said. “If those judges have any sense at all, our entry has to win.”

  “Thanks, Mary Anne,” she replied, giving me a curious look. I knew she was wondering about the fact that I hadn’t been first in line for one of those tissues.

  I gave her a half smile. I couldn’t explain it to myself, so how could I explain it to her? Logan, sitting next to me, took my hand and squeezed it.

  My friends had been wonderful. Their kindness definitely gave me strength. But even with all that love surrounding me, what I mostly felt was — hopelessness. My life had changed overnight. All I could think about was what I’d lost: not just my house but my sense of who I was.

  Kristy put her essay aside. “I’ll put the whole entry together tonight and send it tomorrow,” she promised. She turned to me. “Want to tell us what’s going on?” she asked gently.

  I shook my head. I wasn’t ready to talk about it. “Dawn can tell you.”

  Everybody focused on Dawn. She looked down at her hands. “It’s pretty serious,” she said. She took a deep breath. “My mom and Richard are talking about moving away,” she said in a rush.

  “What?” Kristy cried.

  “Away? Like to Stamford or something?” Claudia asked.

  Jessi frowned. “They can’t do that!”

  Logan just squeezed my hand even harder and looked into my eyes. I looked away.

  “It’s not for sure,” Dawn said. “It’s just something they’re thinking about. Richard has a job offer in Philadelphia.”

  “Whoa,” said Stacey. “That’s pretty far away.”

  “No kidding,” said Kristy. “It might as well be the North Pole. How can they even think about that?” Her face was white.

  “They have to do what’s right for them,” said Dawn softly. “For all of us.”

  “I can kind of understand,” Abby said slowly. “I don’t think my family really began to heal from my dad’s death until we moved away. Sometimes you have to leave the past behind.” Her eyes met mine, and I saw tears in hers.

  I sat and listened while my friends discussed my life. I felt detached, as if I were watching a TV show. The things they were saying didn’t seem to have anything to do with me. Logan held onto my
hand through the meeting, and his touch was the only thing that felt real.

  Later, after Kristy had adjourned the meeting, Logan asked if I’d like to take a walk. “My mom will drive you over to Kristy’s afterward,” he said.

  “Go ahead,” Dawn urged me. “I’ll ride home with Kristy and Abby and see you later.”

  Logan and I took a long walk together. We didn’t talk much, and we didn’t go anywhere near my house. We just held hands and strolled along quietly.

  Finally, as we were returning to his house, Logan stopped and looked at me. “Mary Anne,” he said, “I’m worried about you.”

  I looked down at my feet. “I’m okay,” I mumbled.

  “No, you’re not. And that’s normal. It would be weird if you were totally okay. Something awful just happened to you. What worries me is that you’re not talking to anyone about it.”

  I shrugged. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

  “You know that’s not true.” Logan put a hand on my shoulder. “Mary Anne, if you can’t talk to me, do you think you could talk to Dr. Reese? Maybe it would be a good idea to see her.”

  Dr. Reese is a therapist I’ve seen a couple of times in the past, times when I needed someone to talk to about things that were confusing to me. She always made me feel better.

  But this time I didn’t feel like talking to Dr. Reese, or to Logan, or to anyone. I just wanted to be left alone.

  Unfortunately, that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. When Mrs. Bruno dropped me off at Kristy’s, I tried to slip up the stairs to my room unnoticed. But David Michael spotted me.

  “Mary Anne!” he cried. “Come and see what we’re doing.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me into the den, where he and Karen and Andrew were making a huge building out of LEGOs. “Guess what this is?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “I don’t know.”

  “It’s a new house for you!” David Michael crowed. “We’re building the biggest LEGO house ever. Do you like it?”

  “It’s great,” I told him. “Thanks.” I smiled and edged my way out of the room, only to be greeted by Watson.

  “You’re just in time for dinner,” he announced. “I was about to call the kids. We’re having spaghetti with meatballs. Your dad told me that’s a favorite of yours.”

  I wasn’t in the least bit hungry, but what could I do? I thanked Watson and headed for the dining room.

  Dinner was chaotic, as usual. Emily Michelle dropped a meatball and burst into tears. Sam and Charlie took turns giving play-by-play accounts of that day’s baseball game. Kristy kept shooting Looks at my dad, as if that would keep him from deciding to move away. And David Michael and Karen had a noisy, messy spaghetti-slurping contest.

  As we were helping to clear the table, my dad pulled me aside. “I know this is hard on you,” he said quietly. “Staying here, I mean. Sharon and I feel the same way. We’ll be moving into a rental house as soon as we find one that the insurance money will cover.”

  That was good news. As much as I loved Kristy, and as much as I appreciated her family’s help, we couldn’t stay with them forever.

  It was time to go.

  “Tigger! Tigger! Where are you?”

  I could hear him mewing, but I couldn’t see him. In fact, I couldn’t see much of anything. Smoke filled the room, and flames crackled around me. I stumbled forward, waving my arms in front of me in hopes of touching him.

  Finally, I felt fur. “Tigger!” I shouted with relief, scooping him up in my arms. I began to run for the door. But where was the door? Even with all the smoke, I should have been able to find it. Somehow, the layout of my room had changed. I felt my way around the walls, wincing as the heat nearly seared my fingertips.

  No door. There was no door! Desperate, I ran around the room again. It couldn’t be true, but it was. There was no door, no window.

  No hope of escape.

  Tigger lay quietly in my arms, not struggling at all. He was counting on me to save him. But how could I? I couldn’t save myself. I started to pound on the walls, hoping someone would hear. “Help! Help!” I cried as the smoke grew thicker and the flames darted higher.

  “Help,” I cried one more time, waking myself up.

  I lay in bed, my heart pounding. Another nightmare. I’d been having them every single night. Sometimes the fire trapped me in a room; other times I escaped, but only after running down endless unfamiliar hallways.

  It was exhausting, having those horrible dreams. When I woke, I was often too wound up to go back to sleep, so I would lie awake for hours, listening to Dawn’s gentle breathing from the bed across the room. She wasn’t having nightmares. Not that she wasn’t upset about the fire — she was. It was just that she hadn’t been there, hadn’t heard the alarms and smelled the smoke. She was lucky.

  She was also lucky because she had another home, back in California. This fire had changed her life, sure — but not the way it had changed mine.

  I rolled onto one side and then onto the other. I smushed up my pillow, fluffed it, smushed it again. I tried to imagine myself in a nice, peaceful place. That’s what my dad always advised when I was little and couldn’t sleep. But the only nice, peaceful place I could picture was my room at home — before the fire. And I didn’t want to think about that. It hurt too much.

  No matter what I did, I couldn’t seem to fall asleep again. And then, suddenly, I didn’t want to sleep anymore. I sat up in bed, wide-awake. Then I swung my legs to the floor and stood up. Quietly I rummaged through the pile of clothes at the foot of my bed until I found jeans, sneakers, and a sweatshirt. I pulled on the clothes and let myself out of the room, being careful not to let the door make noise as I closed it behind me.

  I tiptoed down the hall, past the room where Sharon and my dad were sleeping. Past Kristy’s room, past Sam’s. Carefully, carefully, I felt my way down the stairs.

  The living room was dark and quiet, with only the light from the VCR blinking at me as I tiptoed by. I moved silently through the kitchen and let myself out the back door and walked to the garage.

  An outdoor lamp gave me just enough light to find Kristy’s bike, which stood leaning against a row of garbage cans. I put on the helmet that hung from the handlebars.

  Okay, let me stop here for just a second and make one thing clear. I know, and I knew then, that going for a bike ride, alone, in the middle of the night, is not a smart thing to do. It’s not something I recommend. But I also want to say that I did wear that helmet, and that I made sure the bike had reflectors, and that I was very, very careful to watch out for cars.

  I just want to clear that up.

  With all this in mind, I walked the bike down the driveway, threw my leg over the bar, and rode off into the darkness.

  Where was I going?

  To my house. I don’t know where the urge came from. It didn’t make sense — none at all. But something drew me there, something deeper than sense.

  I rode through the deserted streets of Stoneybrook, a town I know like the back of my hand. The night was dark and cool and empty, which pretty much describes the way I had been feeling ever since the fire.

  There was something peaceful about Stoneybrook at night. The houses I passed were quiet; everyone lay sleeping in their beds. I envied those sleepers as I rode by.

  I took a long, meandering route from Kristy’s house to mine, letting the bike go where it wanted to. I rode by Stoneybrook Academy, its big old buildings rising high and dark in the night. I rode past the middle school, where one light had been left on in the teachers’ lounge. I passed the Johanssens’ and pictured Charlotte in a deep sleep, then the Ramseys’, where Jessi and Becca and Squirt were each tucked into their beds.

  I pedaled slowly, feeling the cool night air on my face as I glided past quiet playgrounds with empty swings and baseball diamonds with their ghostly outlines. As I drew nearer to my own neighborhood, each house became even more familiar. I passed Claudia’s house, where I’ve spent so many hours of my life — from bab
yhood to BSC — and the houses belonging to so many of the charges I’ve cared for. The Hobarts. The Newtons. The Braddocks. The Kuhns. All children I’ve come to know and care for, all asleep in their beds.

  All the children I would miss so terribly if I moved away.

  I let that thought drift off into the night as I rounded another curve and our barn came into view. The barn that was the only thing still standing on our property.

  It seemed strange to see the barn standing alone, without a house nearby. I would never grow used to that sight.

  Never.

  I rode into the driveway and toward the barn. I stopped near the apple tree, got off the bike, and leaned it against the tree trunk. I took off the helmet and hung it on the handlebars. Then I drew a deep breath and walked toward the barn.

  The moon had risen, full and bright, as I rode across town. Now it lit my way as I moved across the yard. I could see the wreckage of my former house almost as well as if it were day. But I knew nothing was there, nothing left to save.

  Everything we’d found was in the barn by then. The last pieces of my life, spread out on the dirt floor where horses used to live. I opened the barn door and let it close behind me. Then I began to stroll around, looking at what we’d salvaged. Moonlight poured through the high windows, lighting everything with an eerie glow.

  The white bathtub lay gleaming in one corner, a pile of bricks beside it. On top of the bricks were the andirons from our fireplace, decorative wrought-iron ones my dad had bought at an auction.

  A jumble of silverware, three blackened pots, and a stainless-steel colander were all that we’d saved from the kitchen.

  There was Dawn’s small pile, which included a little porcelain dolphin statue she’d always loved. Its nose was broken and the porcelain was stained with soot, but she’d saved it nonetheless. I reached out to touch its cool surface.

  My things lay nearby, an odd collection of half-burned objects. They were hardly worth saving, but they were all I had left in the world. I gazed at them: the tin box, the stuffed animal, the blackened pearl necklace, the ruined shoe. I’d found only one picture of my mother. Even her ring on my finger was cold comfort.