Page 83 of Sparrow

“Do you have an architect in town? Because I’m not sure you’re right.”

I glance down at her. “And how would you know?”

She rolls her eyes at me. “Did I or did I not tell you that my specialization is in engineering? I may not be a building engineer but I know how load-bearing walls works, and what fire can’t actually do to steel. If you have an architect in town, I bet we could get this figured out quickly.”

I don’t want to feel the hope surging through me at the thought.

I don’t want to think it might be that easy to fix this.

That sort of hope is how you end up disappointed.

“It’s Saturday. Even if we have an architect, what makes you think he’d help me on the weekend?”

She stares at me like I’ve lost my mind, then turns her eyes on the garage, and when I follow her gaze, I realize that I wasn’t seeing the whole picture. I was staring at the walls and missing roof, and yet here on the ground...

People from town are walking into the garage and looking around, taking its measure. They’re starting to clean up the trash and clutter, and separating things into piles of still useful and completely burnt.

Penny has brought a load of blankets. Parker, not to be outdone by her pastry rival, has brought donuts.

“What makes you think he wouldn’t?” she whispers. “Everyone else is.”

And I stare for a moment... but then turn away.

This is easier for Arden because the garage wasn’t hers. She didn’t slave to build it and then sell her soul to keep it running until it started making money. She didn’t paint it by hand or train every last man who worked there.

She sees a project.

I see my entire life in that building.

And I’m not ready to contemplate any hope in it yet.

I head to the bakery, in need of sugary sustenance, and spend two hours staring out the window at the passing cars, trying to get my brain to turn back on. I feel rudderless, like a ship who doesn’t even know where it’s going, without my usual instincts for planning. I can always look at a problem and think quickly through all the options to come out to the best conclusion.

I’ve always had a knack for seeing right through the emotions and complications, and dealing only with the facts.

And yet I’m stuck in some sort of emotional quicksand here, incapable of seeing clearly or finding a way out.

The change is nearly as frustrating as the problem. I’ve evidently lost my garage and my instincts, all in one random fire.

By the time I walk back to the house, I’m starting to think I might have to tear my whole career down and start over. Do something entirely different, so I don’t have to face the hassle of rebuilding the garage. I’ve always wanted to go into law enforcement. Maybe I should tell Gunner I want to try being sheriff.

Then I come to my driveway and stop, amazed.

I expected to see a black-out lot where my garage once sat.

Only it’s not there.

Instead, there are three trucks sitting out front, and men unloading lumber. Dutch is getting gallons of paint out of his truck and Casino, of all people, is unloading saws, shovels, hammers, and nails.

Penny is standing at a table full of food and canteens of coffee, and Parker is at the table next to her serving sandwiches to anyone who wants one. Bruce has a table with books that he has marked at half price.

He’s giving every dollar he makes to Rookie, who’s collecting cash like he’s starting a bank.

Sam Marino, our vet, is organizing volunteers into groups to do different tasks, and Shane is talking to Daniel Merrimen, pointing and asking questions and then gesturing to a set of blueprints in Daniel’s hands.

The architect.

Someone actually got the architect here. And he has blueprints.