Page 68 of Never Forget
Go back to New York.
I'd tucked it in my purse, which had burned to ash along with everything else.
Was the fire a directed attack? Or was it just the boys and their cigarette butts, finally causing the damage I'd always feared they would?
CHAPTER 17
Sam
The couch was too short for me by a good six inches.
I woke with my neck at an angle no adult spine was meant to hold. Morning light came through the wrong window. The smell of coffee pulled me out of a dream I couldn't remember. For a moment I didn't know where I was.
Then I remembered. Jamie. Rosie. The fire.
I sat up. My back protested. Worth it.
Jamie stood at the counter with her back to me, pouring coffee into a mug. She was wearing the flannel I'd bought her yesterday, her hair damp from the shower, dark and heavy against her shoulders. She looked at home in my space in a way that made my chest tight.
"Hey," I said.
She turned. "Hey." She held up the coffee pot. "I hope this is okay. I couldn't sleep."
"It's more than okay."
"I kind of took over your kitchen."
"Jamie." I stood and stretched the knots out of my back. "Stop apologizing. You can take over anything you want."
That didn’t sound right.
She almost smiled.
I crossed to the kitchen and took the mug she offered. Our fingers brushed, and I felt it longer than I should have.
"Did you sleep well?" I asked.
"A little." She wrapped both hands around her mug. "Thank you for letting us take your bed.”
Before I could respond, Rosie appeared in the hallway, rumpled and confused. Her eyes scanned the unfamiliar space until they landed on me. Something in her face relaxed.
I found cartoons for her. Made her cereal. She didn't complain, just ate quietly with Biscuit tucked under her arm.
Jamie watched from the kitchen. Her eyes met mine over Rosie's head.
I could get used to this. Waking up and seeing Jamie’s face when I opened my eyes.
I shook off the thought and turned my attention back to Rosie.
The fire marshal arrived at 11:00 a.m. He was older, mid-fifties, with a weathered face and the kind of calm that came from decades of delivering news people didn't want to hear. He shook my hand, nodded when I introduced myself as a firefighter from Station 33, and settled into the chair I offered him. Rosie stayed on the couch with Biscuit, eyes on her cartoons, while we talked in the kitchen.
Jamie had pulled her hair back and changed into jeans and a clean shirt. She looked composed. Ready.
"Miss Donovan." The fire marshal stood to shake her hand. "Thank you for making time. I know this is difficult."
"Of course."
He pulled out a notebook and moved through the preliminary questions efficiently. Any electrical issues with the house? No. Gas leaks? No. Candles, space heaters, anyone smoke inside? No, no, no.
