“She’s fine, Jack,” Thomas said. “She’s in the back of Michael’s car, but she’s unharmed.”
Jack shook Michael one last time and then the two of us headed toward the car, realizing before we reached it that the backseat was empty. We looked up in confusion, searching the sea of people in the yard for Nola. I started to panic at the sight of the house, where flames and smoke were now pouring out of the upstairs windows, and my ears pounded with the sounds of shattering glass and splintering wood.
And there, climbing the front steps in a zigzag motion, was Nola. We stared in numb horror as she waved at us.
“I need to get my guitar,” she shouted, her voice barely audible over all the noise. She turned, swaying as she made her way through the open front door.
“Nola!” Beau shouted, but she didn’t reappear.
We had barely begun moving forward when Beau sprinted past us and disappeared inside the house behind her. Not two seconds later, a loud crash came from inside, followed by a billow of smoke and fire from the doorway. I screamed, falling to my knees as Jack ran toward the front door, only to be pulled back by a fireman who refused to let go no matter how much Jack struggled or cursed at him.
I ran to Jack and we clung to each other, neither one of us willing to accept what we had just seen. Veronica and Jayne came to stand with us, all of us sobbing, deaf to the pleas of the fireman, who urged us to step away from the flying sparks and growing flames as the fire consumed the house.
A great roar arose from the gathered crowd at the sound of a window smashing. The roar was quickly replaced with loud applause. We turned to watch as Beau threw a chair through the large library bay window, then carried Nola through it, pivoting on the windowsill before jumping down with her in his arms.
We ran toward them, the crowd parting. Then we showered both Nola and Beau with indiscriminate hugs and kisses, and I knew that, with the exception of my wedding day and the day the twins were born, this was undoubtedly the happiest day of my life.
CHAPTER 34
It was nearly five in the morning when we returned home from the hospital with Nola, who was remarkably unscathed despite her ordeal. I imagined that healing mentally would take longer and probably require professional help, but for now she was safe and sound and tucked in her own bed.
We had all thankfully suffered few effects from the smoke. Unfortunately for Nola, this gave Jack a clear enough head to begin working on a very long and very arduous punishment that meant no friends, no phone, and no free time. Not that she didn’t deserve it, but I felt the need to mitigate some of it. At points in every parent’s career, it’s necessary to take turns being either the mean parent or the nice parent, and I was choosing now to play nice. We had come so close to losing her, and my gratitude at having her back made me never want to let her out of my sight again.
The whole ride back from the hospital, she’d been complaining about the loss of her guitar and how if Beau had just waited a little longer, she could have saved it. Her reasoning was completely irrational, but we were oddly reassured that she was going to be fine.
We stood in Nola’s bedroom watching her sleep, and I wasn’t planning on leaving until she awoke. I kept touching her, as if to make sure she wasn’t missing any parts, until Jack gently pulled me from the room, afraid I would wake her.
“I’m too wired to sleep right now,” he said, “and I’m thinking you probably are, too. This would be a good time for us to talk. No one else is here, and Nola will most likely sleep all day.”
I already knew what I wanted, and I would have been happy to skip past any discussion and just lay my cards on the table. But that was solidly “old version of Melanie” territory, and we’d come too far for me to slide backward.
“Sure. Can I make you some coffee?”
“Only if it’s decaf. I’m afraid I’ll start flying on my own if I add to the adrenaline still pumping through me. And we’ll both need sleep when it wears off.”
My original look of horror at the word “decaf” was replaced with one of resignation. “I know Mrs. Houlihan keeps her own stash of beans in the pantry. Why don’t you wait for me in the parlor? Just don’t trip over the clock.”
My fingers shook, from either residual shock or nervousness or both, as I went through the motions of grinding beans and making the coffee, using our favorite mugs, which had been decorated by our children. I poured a hefty amount of cream in my coffee, followed by four teaspoons of sugar. I placed it next to Jack’s plain black coffee on a small tray and carried it into the parlor, the mugs clanking together as my hands shook.
Jack took the tray so I could step over the clock, and he set it down on the coffee table. We had both taken a seat on the sofa when Jack popped up again and walked across the room. He picked something up from the floor next to the grandfather clock, and I saw that he was holding Frozen Charlotte’s coffin with as few fingers as he could manage.
“What is this doing here? After her most recent escape, I put her in her little coffin and stuck it in the closet in my office behind a case of copier paper.”
I frowned. “Maybe Evangeline is just pointing out that she tried to warn us that Nola was in danger from the tall man and we didn’t heed her warning?” A shudder went through me as a brief picture of what had happened in the attic flashed through my brain. “I shouldn’t have assumed she was referring to Marc just because he was the easiest candidate—especially after the clock broke his foot. I’m so angry with myself. I’ve been given this gift, and yet I still managed to mess things up. And because of that, we almost lost Nola.”