Page 22 of Melting for the Firefighter
A lot of work.
A lot of money.
My stomach twists.
“The insurance adjuster is coming tomorrow,” Zain continues. “The town council approved an emergency permit process in case you rebuild.”
“They already met?”
“People get things done here.”
A movement near the alley catches my attention.
Jordan comes around the side of the building carrying a large plastic storage tub.
“We pulled what we could from the back,” he says. “Clothes are in rough shape. Some of the pictures might be salvageable.”
He sets the tub down and opens the lid.
My framed graduation photo lies on top. The glass is cracked, and water has curled one corner of the picture.
Grandma’s smile remains.
Her arm is around me. Her yellow dress is too bright for the gray afternoon we had that day, and I am laughing at something she whispered right before the picture was taken.
I press my bandaged hand to my mouth.
“Thank you.”
Jordan’s expression softens. “We’ll get more once the inspector clears us.”
“You already saved me. You don’t have to save my things too.”
“I carried some stuff.” He glances toward Lance. “He did the saving.”
Lance shifts beside me.
Praise makes him uncomfortable.
I understand that. Kindness makes me uncomfortable too. We both seem poorly equipped for anything gentle.
My phone rings from Lance’s pocket.
He insisted on carrying it because of my injured hand, although I suspect he would carry me around in his pocket too if I were small enough.
He checks the screen.
His expression hardens.
“Your mother.”
My chest tightens.
“I should answer.”
He gives me the phone.
“Hi, Mom.”
