How many times over the past few years had she been through this drill after the blaring air-raid sirens had awakened them in the middle of the night?
Too many to count.
But those days had prepared her for whatever emergency they faced tonight.
She hurried to Thomma’s room, Elisa clinging to the hem of her robe and clutching her doll, and added a few items to the bag for him too.
He was back in less than five minutes. “I can’t understand most of what the other residents are saying, but I think there’s a fire. We have to evacuate.”
“We’re ready.” She zipped up the bag.
He grasped it with one hand, swept Elisa up into his other arm, and crooked his elbow. “Hold on. I don’t want you to fall.”
“I can manage. Take care of Elisa.”
“I can help you both. Hurry.”
No sense wasting time arguing.
She took his arm.
In the hall, they merged with other sleepy residents who were filing out of the building, some of them grumbling. As if this was a huge inconvenience rather than a possible life-threatening situation.
At home in Syria, they’d always taken warning sirens seriously.
Yet here, they were the only ones carrying a suitcase.
Perhaps they’d overreacted.
But as they hurried down the hall, Mariam caught the faint scent of smoke.
Perhaps not.
They joined the group assembled outside as the first blush of Saturday morning tinted the eastern sky. Two police cars arrived, sirens screeching. A few minutes later, a fire truck roared up, lights flashing and sirens blaring.
It was impossible to follow all that was being said. The three of them were learning English faster than she’d expected, but no more than a few words registered here and there amid the shouts and barked commands.
“Thomma—we should call Susan. Ask her to talk with someone in charge and find out what’s going on.”
“It’s too early to call anyone.”
“This is an emergency.”
He hesitated . . . but at last he set Elisa on the ground and pulled out his phone. “I’m going over there, where it’s less noisy.” He motioned to the sidewalk across the street.
Mariam put her arm around Elisa, and her granddaughter huddled against her, silent as she watched the goings-on with big eyes. She was too young to remember much about her life in Syria, but there could be some subconscious memory of terror in the night after sirens had gone off.
Who’d have thought they’d be reminded of it here, though?
Mariam sighed.
Would life ever smooth out?
She murmured soothing reassurances to Elisa, keeping an eye on Thomma. He gave the crowd a sweep as he talked on the phone, homing in on the woman police chief who’d been at their welcome party at the church. Lexie something or other. He wove toward her through the clusters of people, motioned to the cell, and held it out.
The woman took it, and after a short conversation, handed it back to Thomma. He put it to his ear, listening as he returned to them and ending the call before he arrived.
“What’s the story?” Mariam stroked Elisa’s quivering shoulder.
“The noise we heard was the fire alarm. They’re trying to determine if it’s real or if there was a malfunction.”
“I smelled smoke as we left.”
“I did too. The police chief said they won’t be letting people back in for hours if it’s real. Maybe not even then, depending on the amount of damage.”
“What are we going to do?”
He squinted at his watch in the dawn light. “Susan is calling Father Murphy to see what he thinks. In the meantime, I have to go to work. Roark is counting on me. He has a full boat of charter customers today.”
“I packed your work clothes.” Mariam indicated the suitcase.
Relief chased some of the tension from his features. “Thank you. I can change in the restroom at the Myrtle Café.” He dropped to the balls of his feet and rummaged through the suitcase. “I’ll leave my cellphone with you. Roark’s number is on speed dial. I’ll tell him you’ll be calling me with updates.” He stood and handed it to her. “Will you be all right by yourself?”
“I have lived through much worse alone. But some of us haven’t.” She dipped her chin toward Elisa.
Thomma frowned . . . exhaled . . . and lowered himself to her level. “Be good for Teta, okay?”
She nodded.
Mariam nudged him with her knee. The child needed a hug from her father, not instructions.
Thomma ignored her message. He stood and fussed with the clothing he’d draped over his arm, not meeting her gaze. “Call Roark as soon as you know anything. I’ll see you both later.”
He turned and fled.
Mariam pulled Elisa close again, stroking her hair as she watched her son disappear.
If he didn’t come around soon, he was going to lose his daughter forever.
But what could she do except pray God would see fit to show him the error of his ways before it was too late?
“Come on, kitty. Eat. Please. Don’t pick today to be difficult.” Jeannette pushed her hair back and massaged the bridge of her nose. After four days, the sleep-disrupting every-five-hour feedings were catching up with her—and she had a full house for her Saturday tea. She had to finish the last-minute preparations and be ready to greet her guests in one hour.
She nudged the kitten’s mouth with the nipple, and he finally started to suck.
Thank you, God.
If he’d continued to balk, she would have been forced to enlist Logan’s aid. The cat couldn’t wait another four hours for a feeding, and she’d be too busy during the tea to attend to it.
But nothing short of desperation would compel her to initiate more contact with her charming neighbor and his loveable niece. Being around them planted dangerous notions in her head.
She sat with the kitten in her lap until he finished the bottle, burped him, and nestled him back in the folds of the soft blanket in the box. Now she could focus on the tearoom. He’d probably sleep almost until it was time for another feeding.
After cleaning the bottle, she shifted into high gear and was ready to greet her first guests with all of five minutes to spare.
Many of the customers’ faces were familiar from town or church, and some were regulars—including Eleanor Cooper and Luis Dominguez. With his usual solicitude, the Cuban refugee guided the ninety-one-year-old Hope Harbor native who’d taken him into her home to their usual table.
“I’m looking forward to the first blooms, Jeannette.” Eleanor scanned the garden from her seat beside the window. “It’s so beautiful to see that carpet of lavender stretching into the distance.”
“I agree.” Luis took his seat. “And it is always a pleasure to enjoy your wonderful food too.”
“Thank you.” Jeannette offered them each a menu with the selection of teas.
Eleanor waved it off. “Surprise me, my dear. But pick one that’s soothing. After all the excitement in town this morning, I could use a nice, peaceful afternoon sipping a fine cup of tea.”
“What sort of excitement?” Jeannette smoothed out a crease in the linen tablecloth, mentally organizing her to-do list for tomorrow’s tea—including a quick run to Coos Bay after the early service at Grace Christian to buy more sugar cubes. Somehow her supply had run low. And she also— “. . . had a fire. Thank goodness no one was hurt.”