“But there’s always a need for editors,” I point out.
“Yeah, I know,” she says wistfully. “But… well, I sort of got off track after the fire.”
I go still at the mention of the incident that left her with physical scars and trust issues, but neutrally say, “Big trauma in your life. Of course, you’d get off track.”
She pulls her lower lip between her teeth and her gaze drops to her wineglass as she nods. “The recovery wasn’t as fast as I’d hoped it would be.”
Without thought, I reach across the table and snag her hand. I lace my fingers lightly with hers, and I don’t say a word. I just sit in silence with her, in case she wants to talk about it or if she wants to move on to something else.
Her eyes lift to meet mine. “I didn’t know fire could spread so fast.”
My fingers reflexively jerk from those words, tinged with not only sadness but respect and awe of her. I squeeze her hand.
“I was babysitting my boyfriend’s daughter, Chelsea. We were at their house, but I spent so much time there, it was like we were living together.”
My chest burns thinking about her being close to a man in such a way that they lived together, but I push it aside. That’s her past.
I think.
“Paul was pulling a double shift—he was a paramedic—and Chelsea was upstairs getting dressed. She was only five, but she was such a mature little girl. Liked to be independent and do things on her own.” Jenna’s eyes drop to our hands and then lifts to meet mine again as she talks. “I was cooking bacon and a grease fire started. I panicked. I didn’t know what to do other than I knew I shouldn’t throw water on it. I looked for a fire extinguisher but couldn’t recall ever seeing one before. And in just those few heartbeats that it took me to check the cupboards and pantry, the entire wall where the stove was went up in flames. It was an older house, and they said later that all the old, dry wood was pure fuel.”
“Jesus,” I murmur, feeling slightly sick at the panic she must’ve felt.
“I abandoned the hope of putting out the fire and went upstairs to get Chelsea. But by the time I grabbed her and made for the staircase, it was already on fire. We were trapped upstairs.”
I think about my sister, Melanie. Her youngest son, in kindergarten, learned about fire safety not long ago, and they were tasked with mapping out escape plans for the house in case of fire. The entire family did it together, and as part of it, Mel and her husband bought emergency escape ladders, one for every bedroom. You hook them to the windowsill, unfurl the stairs against the house, and climb down to safety.
Precarious for small kids, but far better than dying.
I’m guessing Jenna’s boyfriend didn’t have one of those in the house.
“I carried Chelsea to the front bedroom, farthest from the fire, and opened the window, but we couldn’t jump. We were too high up.”
They were trapped. My stomach sours as I consider that Jenna is alive, but I have no clue how this ended for Chelsea.
“Neighbors called 9-1-1 quickly, but it took a few minutes for the fire trucks to arrive, and the house was burning really fast. It was already at the door that I’d closed. I remember the wood actually glowing orange before the flames broke through.”
“Fuck… what did you do?” I ask, unable to keep quiet and needing her to get to the end. The suspense is literally making my heart slam inside my chest.
“A neighbor got an extension ladder and put it up against the house. It wasn’t high enough to reach the window, but he climbed up as far as he could. The flames were in the room, just consuming everything. I was holding Chelsea nearly entirely out the window since the smoke was so bad, we couldn’t breathe. I’m still not sure how we didn’t drop her, but I was able to lower her down to him.”
“And she was okay?” I ask.
Jenna nods, her smile actually bright. “Yeah… a little smoke inhalation, but totally fine.”
“And you?” I prod.
The smile disappears, her lips falling into a flat line of awful memories. “I remember the back of my shirt catching fire first. I was hanging as far out the window as I could, just trying to breathe. The fire truck was there, and they were raising the bucket. It was so hot, but the firemen were almost to me. When my clothing caught fire, it hurt so bad, I actually jerked back inside the window, my instinct to beat at the flames. It was the wrong move as my hair and face were burned. By then, my entire backside was on fire, and I was just going to jump out the window. I figured maybe the fall would just kill me and put me out of my misery because the pain was so excruciating. I mean… death would’ve been preferable.
“And then, I don’t remember anything. They told me a fireman was able to reach in and pull me out, but I was unconscious, probably from the pain. My body was in shock.”
I have to force myself not to grip her hand too painfully, and it’s difficult. The desire to crush something in anger over what she went through is fierce.
“I didn’t wake up for twenty-two days,” Jenna says, her eyes meeting mine. “They put me in a medically induced coma to keep me cut off from the pain. The burns wreaked a lot of havoc on my organs, and I understand it was quite precarious for a while whether I’d make it.”
“I can’t even begin to imagine,” I murmur low.
“Well, the good thing was I was unconscious, so I didn’t feel the treatment… sloughing off burned skin, applying cadaver skin for a temporary fix, growing new skin and transplanting it, cutting off grafts from other parts of my body for transplant. Grossed out yet?”
Her eyes bore into mine, giving me the escape she thinks I need. “No, I’m not grossed out,” I admonish. “I’m incredibly sad for what you went through. I imagine what you’ve told me so far was just the beginning of the journey.”
“I’m sorry,” she says, trying to tug her hand away, but I don’t release it. Her eyes drop, and I see a waiter approaching, but I give him a curt shake of my head to detour and he veers appropriately. “I just… some people in my life didn’t handle it very well.” I frown and she clarifies. “Not Emory or my parents. They were there constantly, rotating in and out of the hospital and rehab facilities with me.”
I don’t ask her to elucidate further what she means. “Some people” could be anyone from friends to coworkers or maybe her boyfriend. She’s obviously single now, but I won’t jump to conclusions. She can tell me that at some point in the future if she wants, but for right now, I’ve heard enough.
Or rather, she’s recounted enough.
“All I know is I see an incredibly strong, courageous woman sitting before me. You risked your life to save a little girl, and you battled death and what sounds like an arduous journey to recovery. I’m in awe of you, Jenna, because you are absolutely irrepressible. Just look at you now.”
She tips her head, brows drawn in slightly.
As if she can’t fathom what that means.
“You don’t get many people pointing out your strengths, do you?” I ask, taking her silence to mean I’ve confounded her.
A ghost of a smile flickers across her lips. “Actually, my parents and sister tell me all the time. But they’re family… they’re supposed to be nice to me.”