Page 3 of Feastin' with Fire
"My flowers," I whisper, though no one hears me through the oxygen mask. "Everything's gone."
I have nowhere to go. No family to call. No friends in this town where I've kept to myself, too shy to forge connections. No insurance payout coming. I'd been planning to finalize that paperwork next week, after I paid my suppliers.
I'm alone, watching everything I've worked for disappear in flames and smoke, in a town where I'm still a stranger.
The tall firefighter glances back at me once before disappearing into the building again. For a moment, our eyes meet across the chaos, and I see something there. Not pity, but understanding. Like he knows exactly what it feels like to watch your world burn down around you.
Then he's gone, and I'm left with nothing but the oxygen mask, the wail of sirens, and the terrible knowledge that I've lost everything in the space of fifteen minutes.
Chapter 3 - Jimmy
The heat inside the shop is brutal, but it's nothing compared to the look I saw in Lily Anderson's eyes as I set her down on that stretcher.
I've seen that look before. In my own reflection the day I came home from school to find my father gone and my mother sobbing at the kitchen table. Complete devastation.
"I need you to check the adjoining wall," Chief barks through the radio. "Make sure this doesn't spread to the fortune teller's place next door."
"Copy that," I respond, motioning Tommy toward the back where the fire seems to have started.
We wade through puddles of murky water, stepping over charred displays and wilted flowers. The smell is overwhelming. Smoke mixed with floral perfume and melted plastic. Water from the hoses hisses as it hits hot spots, filling the space with steam.
"Looks like it started at the electrical panel," Tommy says, directing his flashlight at the blackened wall. "Old wiring probably couldn't handle whatever equipment she was running."
I nod, examining the adjoining wall for signs of spread. "The brick firewall is holding. Shop next-door should be okay."
A flash of color catches my eye. A half-burned photograph lying in a puddle. I pick it up. It shows a younger Lily standing in front of what must be a college building, her smile wide and genuine, nothing like the shell-shocked expression she wore outside. I tuck it into my pocket without really thinking about why.
"Let's finish the sweep and get out," I say. "Nothing left to save in here."
The words taste bitter. Twenty years of pulling people from burning buildings, and sometimes it feels like all I do is deliver them safely to witness their own destruction. What good is saving someone's life if everything that makes that life worth living is gone?
We finish our inspection and emerge back into the evening air. The ambulance is still on scene, and I can see Lily sitting on the back bumper, oxygen mask pressed to her face. She's so small against the backdrop of fire trucks and emergency vehicles, a lone figure watching her world burn down.
"I'm going to check on the victim," I tell Tommy, who nods and heads back toward Chief.
As I approach the ambulance, I see Lily's shoulders trembling, though she makes no sound. She's crying silently, tears cutting clean paths through the soot on her face. The paramedic—Dave, who I've known for years—is checking her vitals while she stares blankly at the smoking ruins of her shop.
"How's she doing?" I ask Dave.
"Smoke inhalation, minor burns on her hands," he replies. "She'll need to go to the hospital for observation, but physically she'll recover."
Physically. We both know that's only part of the story.
"Ms. Anderson?" I say, crouching down to her eye level. "I'm Jimmy Sullivan, with Pine Haven Fire Department."
Her brown eyes glance at mine, glassy with tears and shock. She pulls the oxygen mask away despite Dave's protests.
"Is anything... did anything survive?" Her voice is barely a whisper, rough from the smoke.
I wish I could lie. "I'm sorry. The fire damage is extensive."
She nods like she already knew the answer but needed to hear it confirmed.
"I just opened three months ago," she says, looking past me at the smoldering building. "Everything I had was in there."
The resignation in her voice hits me harder than I expected. I've been at plenty of fire scenes, watched plenty of people lose everything. But something about the quiet dignity in her devastation twists something inside my chest.
"Do you have somewhere to go?" I ask. "Family or friends in town?"
