Page 130 of Engulfing Emma

I practically run down the block, with Becca not far behind. I slow when I pass the firehouse, hoping I’ll see Squad 13 parked in the garage, but it’s not there. I knew it wouldn’t be.

At my house I can’t even fit the key in the lock.

Becca takes it from me. “Let me do it. Your hands are shaking a mile a minute.”

The door opens to an empty house. I’m glad Evelyn is at camp. She’d be devastated to know Brett was involved.

I turn on the television. The coverage is on all the major news networks. I sink down on the couch. “This isn’t a routine fire. They wouldn’t give this much attention to it.”

“You still don’t know if he’s inside,” Becca says. “He could very well be outside the building trying to put out the fire.”

I shake my head. “That’s not what he does. Brett is the one who runsintothe burning building, Becca. He’s on Squad. They rescue people when no one else can.” A camera in a helicopter shows people frantically waving on the roof. “Oh my God, look, people are trapped up there. That means they can’t get below the fire.”

I pick up my phone and call Ivy. It rolls to voicemail. Then I try Sara, only to have the same thing happen. I try Ivy again and leave a message. “It’s Emma Lockhart. What’s going on? Do you know anything? Please call me.” I leave the same message on Sara’s phone.

My head slumps. “Why isn’t anyone answering?”

Becca gently touches my arm. “I’m sure everyone is calling them. Friends. Family. They are probably trying to make calls to get information too. They’ll call you as soon as they can.”

I can’t just sit here and wait. I can barely hold still. I continue to call them over and over.

News coverage shows people being carried out of the building and put on gurneys. But the cameras are so far away, there’s no way to tell who they are. Not that I’d be able to recognize Brett in his helmet and turnout gear anyway.

I sit and watch the TV, hot tears rolling down my cheeks, hoping for any indication that he’s okay.

It’s stupid and futile, but I send him a text anyway.

Me: Are you okay? Just send me a text. One word even. I need to know.

It’s ridiculous to think he would have time to send me a text. Does he consider how worried I am about him? Does he care? I put my head in my hands. I can’t do this.

Becca puts a cup of tea on the table in front of me. “Drink this. It will help calm you.”

“Calm me?” I say, sounding like a crazy woman. “An entire bottle of Xanax couldn’t calm me right now. He’s in there, Becca. I know he is.”

My phone rings. It’s Ivy.

“Please tell me they aren’t inside,” I say.

“I don’t know much,” she says. “Their entire house is on the scene, along with just about every other company in Brooklyn.”

“Oh, God.”

“Emma, this is their job. I promise you they are doing what they can to stay safe and help people at the same time. And I’m sure it looks worse on TV than it really is.”

“Are you there? On the scene?”

“No. The last thing they need is more people getting in the way.”

“Will they tell you anything?” I ask. “Is there anyone we can call?”

“We’re trying. I promise to let you know as soon as I know anything.”

“I … I …”

“Emma. I know what must be going through your head right now. But listen to me. Hear my voice. I’m not panicking. And neither should you.”

“Why aren’t you? How can you not worry about them?”

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