Page 21 of Happy After All

Jonathan and Joseph leave begrudgingly.

But Gladys stands rooted to the spot, a strange light in her eye, and I recognize I’m contending with a lifetime of worries and fears that are manifesting in this moment. It isn’t that she doesn’t trust me, but something happened in her life to make her feel the need to be vigilant now.

“You can’t stop a fire,” I say to Gladys gently.

“I need to watch.”

Her voice is trembling, and she’s beginning to waver.

Then two things happen at once. She begins to fall, and Nathan moves into position, catching her in his arms and scooping her up off the ground.

It’s effortless. I’ve observed his strength in an aesthetic way many times, but this is the first time I’ve really seen it employed. He sweeps Gladys into the lobby, and I follow.

“We need to call a paramedic,” he says, laying her gently on the couch.

Elise races in after us, her phone pressed to her ear. “I’m already on with dispatch,” she says.

Emergency services are slammed, but paramedics arrive within fifteen minutes, taking her vitals and giving her oxygen.

Everything is fine, and their best guess is that she essentially had a panic attack and fainted when her breathing became too shallow.

Elise is sitting on a stool behind the counter, tears silently falling down her cheeks. “Three of the apartment complexes are completely gone,” she says, wiping at them. “My cousin Solis and her husband lost everything.”

“They can come here,” I say. “Her and her whole family.”

“I’ll tell them,” she says.

Currently, I have five empty rooms, and I’m thinking of what we can do to house people who are displaced.

In addition to the rooms, we also have the courtyard, which is a safe place for people to camp out if need be.

I keep watching updates. The fire began in a residential space. Two apartment complexes and a housing development burned to the ground within hours. Then the elementary school.

It starts to get darker, cooler, but the wind doesn’t stop. Off in the distance I can see an orange glow, and I know it represents so much loss.

On social media, people put out calls for places to shelter those who lost their homes. I respond, and within an hour, we have eleven families at the motel.

Nathan doesn’t wait for me to delegate tasks to him. He’s organizing people and supplies and giving orders to people who look on the verge of panic. He’s keeping them busy, I realize, making them feel useful, while not overtaxing them.

“I’ll make some food,” Albert says, reminding me again why I like him.

Nathan joins in food prep but also gets some of the kids to help.

I make a list of supplies I think we might need and go into the closet where I keep toiletries. Nathan appears with a duffel bag. “Can I help carry supplies and distribute them?”

I nod. “Thank you.”

I fill the bag with shampoo, washcloths, toothbrushes, toothpaste, floss, and other amenities, and Nathan carries it out for distribution.

Soon, the courtyard is filled with the smell of food and the sound of people talking, laughing, even though it’s more because of trauma than anything being significantly funny.

We have showers, and between everybody there are enough clothes to go around. We’re able to start laundering the dirty clothes people were wearing when they arrived. By the time we’re done settling everyone in, it’s one in the morning, and the fire is still burning.

We’re still on alert.

“I’m going to stay up,” I say to Elise. “You go be with Emma. I’m sure this is ... terrifying for her.”

“It’s terrifying for everybody,” Elise says. “I don’t have to leave you alone.”

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