Page 61 of A Favor Owed

I turn to stare at him in shock. “What the hell are you talking about?” I snap at him.

“I was just at your place. Your neighborhood’s under an evacuation order. I went to get you, but your landlady said you weren’t there.”

“You went togetme?” I shake my head in confusion and disbelief and climb on my bike. “I’ve got to go.”

Brady grabs the handlebars. “Where are you going?”

“I have to get my stuff.”

“From your apartment?” he says incredulously.

“Let go of my bike.”

“You can’t just go riding over there on your bike, Ange. Don’t you understand what an evac order is? The fire’s coming right down the canyon toward your neighborhood.”

“Well, I’d better get a move on, then. Now let go so I can get the hell out of here.”

“You’re out of your mind,” he says. “You’re not going.”

“Well, you’re not stopping me, so unless you want me to file a report with campus security, you’d better let go.” I try to wrench the handlebars away from him, but he holds tight.

“Get in my car. I’ll take you,” he says, sounding frustrated and looking like he wants to kill me.

“What are you talking about? I’m not—” But before I can complete the sentence, he grabs me around the waist, hoists me off the bike, and throws my bike in the back of his car.

“Get. The fuck. In the car.”

“Fuck. You!” I scream, stamping my foot like a bratty preschooler. But I’m also desperate to get to my place and salvage my things. I yank open the passenger side door and get in, slamming it hard behind me. I buckle in and fold my arms across my chest, my breath coming in heaving gasps that are partly the fault of air quality but mostly unshed, furious tears.

We’re silent as Brady speeds through town, his hands tight on the steering wheel and a hardness to his jaw that I’ve never seen before. Ash is now raining down on the windshield. Traffic is heavy heading away from my neighborhood, but the road heading toward it is empty. When we get to my street, we’re stopped by a barricade manned by a firefighter in full gear.

Brady puts his window down.

“Can’t go in there, folks,” says the firefighter.

“I’m FDNY,” says Brady, handing the guy an ID card. “This lady left behind a pet before the evac order went out. Can I escort her in real quick and then we’ll get out of here?”

The man returns Brady’s ID. “Yeah. Be quick, though. Fire jumped the freeway. It’s moving fast.”

“You got it, man. Thanks.” Brady puts his window back up and steers around the barricade. He speeds to my street and pulls all the way up thedrive to my apartment. “Let’s go,” he says.

Lizette is up on a ladder, spraying down her roof with a garden hose.

“You gotta get out of here, ma’am,” Brady calls to her. “Fire’s moving fast.”

“No way!” she calls back. “They’ll have to drag me out of here!”

“Jesus Christ,” Brady mutters, following me into my apartment. “Hurry!” he says.

“I am!” I huff, running straight for my cash and jewelry and throwing them into my canvasMoMAtote. I quickly throw some underwear and clothes in there, too.

“Gimme those,” says Brady, taking the stack of textbooks from me. “Let’s go.”

We run out of the apartment and get in the car. By now the smoke is unbearable, and I’m coughing.

“Last chance, ma’am,” Brady shouts to Lizette out his window.

“I’ll be all right,” she calls, still up on the ladder with her hose.

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