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The flames were nearly out by the time your car pulled up to the line of tape blocking the street. There were a handful of people watching from their yards, unable to tear their eyes away from the tragedy.
You barely put your car in park before you were out the door, running toward the house.
Your house. The house you’d grown up in.
The house you just moved out of last week, after trying (unsuccessfully) for over a year to get your mom to find a retirement community to join, if only to have less real estate to worry about.
Now it was all gone, the argument moot.
A police officer stopped you when you got to the sidewalk, his hands on your shoulders. “Ma’am, you can’t go in there,” he said to you once you could focus on his voice. You looked away from the house then, seeing the fifteen plus police and firemen on the scene. The firetruck was still spraying water on the house, smoke rising into the night air and being swept away by the breeze.
“My mom…” you said, trying to make him understand. You had to see if she was alright. Was she still in the house? Had she gotten out?
A buzzing filled your ears while you looked around the yard, searching for your mom in that stupid purple nightgown she wore every night. You didn’t see it, but there were a couple trucks that partially blocked your view of the street.
Before you knew it, the officer was ushering you over to an ambulance, sitting you down on the open back end. Someone wrapped a scratchy blanket around your shoulders and another person handed you a water bottle. Your eyes were back on the house, watching as the final flames were put out and a couple firemen headed inside.
You took a long gulp of water, your ears ringing and mind drifting. The adrenaline had apparently put you into a state of shock or something, because you weren’t registering much of anything that happened around you.
Finally, a man came up to you and sat beside you.
“Y/N Y/L/N?” he asked, his voice soft and breaking through to you. You looked over, seeing a handsome brunette in partial firefighter attire, sans jacket. He was watching you carefully but keeping his distance.
He’d obviously had a lot of experience talking to people in shock.
“Yes, I’m Y/N,” you answered, capping the water bottle. “Did you find my mom?”
The firefighter looked toward the house and then back at you, a sadness in his eyes. “My name is Sam,” he said first, holding his hand out in introduction. You took it, feeling the calluses on his palms. Instead of shaking your hand and letting go, he covered the back of your hand with his other one, holding yours between his as he sat next to you.
“Your mom, it seems like she slept through the fire,” Sam said, bringing you the worst news you could have imagined in this situation. “My friends found her laying in her bed, only some minor burns on her feet and outer arms. It looks like she passed away from smoke inhalation.”
You were suddenly cold, the feeling that you could have prevented this seeping into your mind. Your mom was gone. If you hadn’t moved out, you might have woken her up to get her out, or better yet – you could have prevented the fire in the first place.
Sam seemed to register the change in your thoughts, because his hands squeezed yours. “This couldn’t have been prevented, Y/N. It seems that there was a leak in the gas line to the oven, which is what caused the fire. Since your mom’s bedroom was on the opposite side of the second floor, the flames didn’t hit there quite so bad, but the smoke and heat made it there anyway. She went peacefully, there was no sign of distress.”
Tears were flowing down your cheeks now, you realized. You didn’t know when you started crying, but your sight was blurred and Sam’s face went out of focus.
He pulled you toward him, this stranger who you somehow felt so comfortable with. You sunk into his shoulder, tears wetting his white t-shirt. Sam rubbed your arm and kept your hand held close in his other, giving you as much comfort as he could.
When your breath was under control again and your tears slowed, you heard Sam talk again. This time he was less professional, his tone quieter than before.
“My mom died in a fire when I was a baby. It started in my nursery, and my dad got my brother and me out, but when he went back for my mom…”
His words trailed off, and you knew what he was trying to tell you.
You weren’t alone.
“Thank you, Sam,” you whispered against his shirt.
Silence fell over the two of you, huddled in the back of the ambulance with your feet hanging down. Chaos surrounded you, but it was all background.
Right now, you were mourning for the death of your mother with a new, understanding friend by your side.