The Summer of Good Intentions (23 page)

“Oh, honey,” she said, leading Mac into a corner with their appetizers. “I have something to tell you.”

Mac was caught in mid-chew of a shrimp. “Uh-oh,” he got out around a mouthful.

“No, it's good!” She set down her plate on the fireplace mantel. “I've been thinking about it for a while now.”

“Double uh-oh.” Mac swallowed and grinned. “What's up?”

She took a deep breath and plucked a piece of lint off his jacket lapel. Then she slid her arms around his waist. “I've been thinking,” she said, looking up into his eyes. “With Luke starting kindergarten in September, and the girls practically teenagers, well, maybe we should look into adding another member to our family.”

Mac's face blanched slightly in the dim lighting of the room. “Like a dog?”

“Not like that,” she said quickly. Mac was allergic. “I mean foster care. You know, helping a child who wouldn't otherwise have a home.”

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow and then coughed into his hand.

“I've been researching it a bit, and there seem to be plenty of kids who could use a loving family.”

“And by ‘loving family,' I assume you're describing ours?” Mac joked. “Wow, Mags.” He paused. “Where did that come from? That's a pretty big commitment, don't you think? It's not like you have the kid sleep over a few nights and then send him back home.”

“Of course not!” she exclaimed. She waved at the table with the pictures of all the children in the Boys & Girls Club. “But look at all the good this organization is doing. Doesn't it make you want to be a part of something bigger?”

Mac eyed her skeptically. “I'm happy to volunteer on weekends, but actually signing up to be a foster parent? That's something else entirely. Don't you want to enjoy the fact that all our children are finally out of diapers? Signing up for another one? I don't know, Mags. I kind of thought we were done.” His voice trailed off doubtfully.

“I know, but this would be different. Most of the kids who need homes aren't babies. They're older. Toddler age, even five or six. He or she could be a playmate for Luke.” She clapped her hands together, as if adding an exclamation point to her idea.

“Don't you have to get approved by the state or something, prove you're worthy?” continued Mac. “We might be shooting ourselves in the foot, inviting a stranger to evaluate our parenting skills.”

Maggie laughed. “Something tells me we'd pass. Look, I get that it's a big deal. You don't have to answer now.” She picked up her drink and let the prosecco sweep over her tongue. “Just promise me you'll think about it, okay? And in the meantime, I'm going to talk to Gretchen about volunteering for the organization. You know, something different. For me.”

Mac sighed. “I'll think about it, honey, but that doesn't mean I'm going to give you the answer you want to hear.”

She shrugged, trying not to let on how very important this was to her. She would give Mac time. He always needed time with big decisions—this one was no different. Eventually, she was confident he would come around.

She turned on her heel and scanned the crowd, which appeared to be expanding by the minute.
Poor Gretchen,
she thought.
She must be going crazy trying to glad-hand all these guests
. She was about to seek out her friend to see if she could help when the Shania Twain tune that Sophie had picked for her new ringtone played on her phone. She shot Mac a smile, as if to say,
Our girls,
then pulled the cell from her purse.

“Hello?” She held a finger to her other ear. “Hello?”

“Is this Mrs. McNeil?” She moved to a corner, away from the noise of the party.

“Yes?”
Telemarketer
she mouthed to Mac.

“Mrs. McNeil, I don't want to alarm you, but this is Fire Chief Souter. There's been a small fire at your residence on Pilgrim Lane but—”

“What?” She shot Mac a look. “Is everyone . . .?” She struggled to hear and headed for the front of the house. Mac followed her out to the front porch.

“Everyone is fine. It was a small kitchen fire.” She put the phone on speaker so Mac could hear, too. “We got it out, but I think your dad and kids are pretty shaken up.”

“Can I talk to my dad, please?” She could hear the pleading in her own voice, the crackle in the phone, a bad connection.

“Mommy!” It was Lexie. She was bawling. “Mommy!” Maggie heard her daughter gulp for breaths of air. “There was a fire!”

“Lexie? Are you okay?” Her voice was panicked, and Mac wrapped his free arm around her.

“Lexie, honey, listen to me,” Mac began, but suddenly the phone switched over. “Maggie, Maggie is that you?” It was her dad, coughing, rasping into the phone.

“Dad, what's going on?” she cried.

“Maggie, I'm so sorry. I left the kettle on. We're all okay. I think it's out. The fire.”

“Dad, it's Mac here. Are all the kids with you?” Mac was shouting, and a small group was beginning to form around them.

“Yes, yes. I've got them right here,” Arthur said. Suddenly, Jess and Tim were by her side. They could hear sirens in the background, more shouting across the phone lines.

“Count them, Dad. Just count them for me please, okay. There should be five kids,” Maggie pleaded.

They waited as her dad counted aloud. “
One, two, three
,
four, five.
Yes, we're all here. Everyone's safe.”

“Oh, thank God,” Jess whispered.

Maggie remembered to breathe. “They're okay,” she said as much to herself as to anyone else.

“We're on our way, Dad,” Mac said now. “We'll be right there. You guys sit tight.” They were the words she needed to hear to remind her that she could get to her children and hug them.
They were safe.

Mac grabbed her hand as they careened through the small throng, Tim and Jess following. Somewhere Virgie was calling out Maggie's name. Gretchen rushed after them. “Maggie, my God! I just heard. Are the kids okay?”

“Yes. They're out of the house. I'll call you when I know more.” It was a jumble of words, but it was all she could manage as they piled into the car.

“We'll follow you,” Gretchen said.

When they pulled up to the
house, flashing sirens circled the front yard. Two fire trucks and a handful of police cruisers were parked at jagged angles on the lawn. Maggie leapt out of the car, her eyes searching for the kids. Pillows of smoke billowed from the kitchen window. The air smelled acrid, the singe of smoke lingering. To the left of the house, a good twenty yards away, stood Arthur and the children.

“Mommy!” shouted Luke. He ran toward them, the rest of the kids racing behind him. Arthur slowly began to make his way over.

“Oh, honey. Are you okay? Let me look at you.” She cupped Luke's face in her hands, checking for any burns or scrapes. His cheeks were streaked with tears. Lexie's and Sophie's eyes were wide with fear. But each one was okay. Maggie kissed their sweet, angelic faces. Jess did the same with Teddy and Grace. “Are they all right?” Maggie asked, and her sister nodded, tears of relief leaking from her eyes. A fireman brought over blankets and wrapped them around Arthur and the kids, still in their pajamas.

Arthur collapsed on the hood of the car, rested his head in his hands, and began to weep.

“There, there, Dad,” Mac said, coming over to rest an arm on his back. “It's all okay now, everyone's safe.”

“But it could have been so different,” he said between sobs. “I just forgot about the kettle. It must have steamed up all the water. My kettle at home has a whistle,” he said, as if it explained everything. “And the house! Look at the house! It's ruined.” His breathing was labored, his face streaked with soot.

“No, no. Come on now. All of that is fixable. Don't you worry about the house. What's important is that you're all okay.”

Two paramedics walked over to check her dad's pulse and breathing. “Sir, your oxygen levels are a little low. Do you mind if we put a mask on you for a few minutes?”

Her dad shook his head, as if not hearing, while the paramedic was already slipping a mask over his nose and mouth.

Maggie studied her dad, her emotions tumbling inside her. He seemed so frail sitting there, the mask strapped to his face, the tube trailing out one side to the oxygen tank. She worked to tamp down the fury that was starting to color her overall relief. Didn't Arthur understand that she'd entrusted him with her children? That Jess and Tim and Mac had done the same? It wasn't just about him anymore—it was about his grandchildren! And he'd failed to keep them safe. She felt her stomach lurch, and she ran to the bushes, where it emptied itself. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, trying to squelch the sour taste at the back of her throat before Mac was at her side, propping her up and helping her to the car.

Maggie took a water bottle from Mac and rinsed her mouth. The scene before her was a montage of fire engines, swirling red lights, and firemen lumbering around in heavy jackets and boots. She wanted to erase it away, a whiteboard made clean again. Somewhere on the periphery Gretchen and her husband had arrived and led the kids to a safe spot at the end of the driveway. Maggie watched while her friend handed out water bottles and rubbed her children's backs.

She felt her body begin to shiver, then shake. Mac took off his sports coat and wrapped it around her, rubbing her arms vigorously. “Ssh, honey, it's okay now. Everything's okay.”

But she couldn't stop her body from quaking, her teeth from chattering. Somewhere in the last ten minutes she'd lost her shoes, and she rubbed her bare feet against each other, as if trying to spark a flame of warmth inside herself. The hem of her dress was torn, the white sheath streaked with dirt and soot. She watched while, one by one, firemen exited their home and placed their tools back in the truck. The chief walked over to brief Mac.

“You guys were lucky,” he said. “It's a good thing you had that extinguisher handy. Your dad put out most of the fire with it. Not too much damage. The fire's bark is bigger than its bite.”

“What does that mean?” asked Tim, joining them.

“It means it looks worse than it is. The flames mostly got the cupboards above the stove and the drawers right next to it. You should be able to save the rest.”

“Thanks, Chief. Do we know for sure what started it?” asked Mac.

“Looks like a teakettle that ran out of water. It's melted right into the stove; you'll see. You'll want to invest in a new stove. And a kettle. Maybe one with a whistle next time.”

“Thanks, Chief,” Mac said again, shaking hands. “We're grateful for what you've done for us tonight.”

Maggie searched for her voice, but it came out as a squeak. Her throat burned. “Yes, thank you.” She uncapped her water bottle and drank.

“Can we go back in the house?” Tim asked. No one had thought to ask yet. It seemed they were all still in a state of shock. Maggie fixed her eyes on her dad, the oxygen mask still in place.

The chief glanced over his shoulder and regarded the house. “Once the smoke has cleared, I don't see why not.” He tipped his head toward Arthur. “Want me to have my guys take him to the hospital? Just to get him checked out?”

Mac studied Maggie, then Arthur. “I don't know. Let's ask.”

They walked over to her dad, who was pulling off the mask. “I don't need this thing anymore,” he declared stubbornly. “I'm just fine.”

“Dad, how about a quick trip to the hospital? Make sure you're okay?” Mac asked.

“Do I look like I'm okay?” Arthur's voice was tinged with anger. Maggie was about to say,
No, not really,
when Arthur answered for himself. “Of course, I'm okay. I don't need to go to the hospital, for goodness' sake.”

“I guess we have our answer then.” Mac smiled at the chief. “Thanks, anyway.”

The chief shrugged and nodded before traveling back to his squad car, the squeaks and clicks of the officers' radios piercing the night air.

Mac returned with an extra blanket and wrapped it around her. Gradually the fire engines and police cruisers began to pull away, and Maggie and Mac joined the kids at the end of the driveway.

“Oh, honey, I'm so sorry,” Gretchen said, pulling her into a hug.

“Thanks,” Maggie said softly. She took a few steps back and dropped to the ground, where Luke crawled into her lap. She stroked his hair and kissed his head, whispering, “It's all right, honey,” while the last retreating cruisers blinked by them. “It's all right,” she said, looking at their emptied house, the lights still glowing upstairs. But she couldn't stop shaking.

All Virgie wanted to do was sleep, lose herself in a world where she wouldn't have to think. Not about the fire. About the persistent, nagging feeling that little bugs were running across her legs and, more recently, the sense that every so often the ground shifted beneath her feet, forcing her to grab on to a wall for balance. She needed to quiet the voices in her head telling her that something wasn't right. Stop googling MS, that other thing the ER doctor had mentioned in passing as a “possibility.”
This is what happens,
she told herself,
when you have too much time on your hands.