Chapter 10
Smoke lay low that morning. Mom hit doorway and dropped to knees. I remembered that move later — not standing, crawling. Fire made air too thick to breathe upright.
She'd run from house in socks, hair half up, garden gloves still tucked in back pocket. I saw her face when she saw Daddy inside. Bound, shirt torn, sweat cutting lines through soot on his chest. Rope dug deep around his torso, tattoo half-covered.
I held hose with both hands. Water ran weak but steady now I had turned spigot outside. It hit flames along floor edge and hissed. I wouldn't let go.
Mom shouted my name. I didn't move. She shouted again, lower this time.
"Macy, stay there, baby, keep water on fire," she said.
I nodded. Rabbit slipped in my left arm. I needed both hands for brass nozzle. Mom saw rabbit and reached.
"Put bunny down, just for second," she said. "Dry spot, right there."
I looked at concrete outside doorway. Dry patch near threshold where smoke hadn't blackened. I set rabbit down carefully. Beige ears flopped. One pink sock foot slipped on wet floor. I caught myself. Didn't drop hose.
Mom crawled past me into shed. Smoke rolled over her back. Daddy tried to sit taller. Rope creaked.
"Don't — stay low," he told her.
"I know," she said.
She reached knot at his side. Thick natural fiber, coiled three times around his chest and post behind him. I saw her fingers work. Knot had tightened. Daddy had struggled against it when he shouted for me to run. Fiber swelled with sweat and heat.
Mom pulled at loop. It wouldn't give. She tried fingernails, then teeth. Nothing.
"What is this rope?" she asked.
"Was tying lumber," Daddy said. Cough broke his voice. "Load shifted. Wrapped myself to hold it. Then gas can tipped—"
He coughed again, couldn't finish. Mom didn't wait for rest.
She yanked harder. Rope burned her palms. She hissed and let go.
"Needs knife," she said. "Need scissors, something sharp."
Daddy nodded. His eyes found mine over Mom's shoulder. He tried to smile. Soot on his cheek cracked.
"Good girl, Macy," he said. "Keep water there. Don't stop."
I squeezed nozzle tighter. Water sputtered. Fire behind Daddy flared where water didn't reach. Smoke thickened fast. Mom coughed hard, head down near floor. She'd been inside maybe thirty seconds.
"Can't cut it by hand," she said to me. Louder, to Daddy: "I got to go get shears. From house."
Daddy's bound shoulders shook. "Go."
Mom backed out low, one hand on concrete, other covering mouth. She bumped my leg as she passed. Grabbed my ankle like check — I was still there, still holding hose.
She stood outside, gasping clean air. Hair stuck to forehead. She looked at rabbit on dry concrete, then at me.
"Stay right here, Macy," she said. "You keep holding hose. Point at orange, not at Daddy. I will be right back. Don't come inside. You hear me?"
I nodded. Throat too tight to answer. Water kept running. Steam rose where it hit hot floor.
Mom turned and ran toward house. Socks slipped on grass. She didn't stop to put on shoes.
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I stayed at threshold. Hose heavy in small hands. Brass nozzle cold despite fire. Daddy watched me from smoke. Rope still bound him tight. Flames licked wooden wall behind post, closer now.
I didn't let go. Rabbit waited on dry spot beside my bare foot.
