The Perfect Match (Blue Heron #2)(118)

She looked. Assessed. You’re the heart of this family.

She could do it. She was calm, cool and collected, wasn’t she? She got things done.

“Stay here. The fire department is on its way. I’ll get her, Pops. I promise.” She tossed him her phone, then ran, ignoring his choked cry for her to stop.

There were four entrances to the Old House: the kitchen door, most used and now engulfed in flame; the front door, which Pops had nailed shut last winter; the cellar door bulkhead; and the side door into the dining room. She headed for that last one, mentally calculating what she’d do.

Ladders? No. Jack had them up at his place; she saw them there just two nights ago when they were watching Dermatological Nightmares. Ladders were not an option.

She turned on the spigot for the hose, check. Remember that intern who stitched up Tom? her brain mused. She said check, too. Oh, look, the tulips are blooming. Despite the thoughts that were tumbling through her head, she felt completely efficient and oddly calm. She doused the blanket with water and wrapped it around herself.

She looked up to the window and saw movement.

Her grandmother was still alive. And she was not going to die in a fire.

Not on Honor’s watch.

In the distance, she could hear the sirens of the Manningsport Fire Department. Because they were a volunteer department, they’d have to go to the firehouse first to get to the trucks. Sure, some guys would come in their pickups, but they wouldn’t have a hose or ladders. She’d seen it a bunch of times, the guys in their turnout gear, waiting for the engines.

Levi would be on his way as chief of police. Ned, too. Jessica Dunn, Kelly Matthews. Gerard Chartier, the big guy, would be the optimal person to save Goggy, a paramedic and firefighter with years of experience. But even as these thoughts were coming to her in laserlike clarity, Honor was inside the narrow side door.

She couldn’t afford to wait.

She’d never been in a burning building before. Pausing for a microsecond, she looked at it. The fire, beautiful and terrifying, devoured the kitchen walls, thick smoke making the room seem far away. The sound was shocking, the whooshing roar of the fire’s hunger, the cracks and pops.

Hurry, Honor.

It was her mother’s voice.

Through the dining room toward the front hall, where hopefully the fire hadn’t reached the stairs. The taste of smoke was acrid and oily. So much to fuel the fire—Pops’s wine magazines, Goggy’s boxes of patterns, Great-Gran’s sideboard. Into the living room, and her clothes were hot, God, it really was like an oven, just like people always said. The smoke was thick, cutting visibility to almost nothing, and Honor crashed into the side of the couch, coughing, then hit the wall. The photo of Dad and Mom’s wedding. The six-year-old calendar of the Greek Isles, too beautiful to take down, Goggy said.

The fire roared, and Honor couldn’t help feeling awed.

Like so many colonials, the Old House had a door to every room, so that drafts could be contained. Honor groped for the door that led to the stairs, found it. The knob was already warm.

Close the door behind you.

Good advice. She obeyed, going up the stairs, her breath short, throat burning from smoke, eyes streaming. Steam rose from the blanket as she ran charged up, and why did Goggy have to live upstairs, huh? But no need to panic, hadn’t Kate Winslet saved an old lady, too? If she could do it, so could Honor. Then again, that woman had weighed maybe a hundred pounds. Goggy was sturdier stock. But this was her grandmother. She was not going to burn to death. Nuh-uh.

Honor went through the door at the top of the stairs, pulling it closed behind her. Her throat was tight and dry and hot. “Goggy!” she called. The croak in her voice was not reassuring.

The upstairs bedrooms were connected by doors, rather than a hallway. Honor went into the first room, the lilac room where she used to sleep with Faith on those rare occasions when Mom and Dad went out of town. Goggy’s bedroom was in the back, over the dining room where Honor had come in, across from the back stairs that led to the kitchen.

The kitchen, which was already engulfed. And if Honor had seen the fire in the kitchen from the dining room, that meant the door hadn’t been closed. And the dining room was where their exit was.

Not good.

She felt the door that connected the two rooms. It was warm, but maybe not hot. “Goggy!” She choked and coughed, unable to get anything but smoke in her lungs. Tried the doorknob.

It was locked.

It occurred to her for the first time that she could die here. In fact, there was an excellent possibility of it. Her father would never get over it. She’d never see Faith as a mother; she wouldn’t see Abby graduate or Ned get married. Jack would be devastated and Pru would never be the same.

She crouched down. The air was a bit better here.

You have about a minute.

“Goggy! I’m here!”

Oh, please, God. Please, Mom.

Then the door opened, and there was her grandmother, coughing, her hair wild.

“Come on,” Honor said. She threw the blanket over Goggy’s head and shoulders. Goggy’s face was wet with tears, and she was choking without stop. “We’re getting out,” Honor wheezed. “We’re not dying this way.” Grabbing Goggy’s hand, she pulled her back through the lilac room.

There was a crash somewhere very near. The kitchen ceiling was collapsing. Almost like a movie playing in her head, Honor could picture it. The seconds had slowed to hours, and her mind was strangely clear.