Ashes of Fiery Weather Read Free Page B

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    â€œWe’ll miss him, Norah,” she said. There were tears in her eyes.
    Norah thanked her and continued on. She felt Grace’s gaze between her shoulder blades.
    She went down to the garden level again, intending to step outside for some air. She recalled how strange it had looked to her when she first arrived in Brooklyn to see doors built into the sides of stairs, as if to some kind of secret passageway. As soon as Norah opened the door, she heard the voices of firemen and smelled the cigarette smoke.
    â€”that story, right. With Sean and the guy who gave us the finger?
    Norah, though she’d been about to slam the door in frustration, stopped.
    Nah, I don’t think so.
    I know it. It’s fucking funny.
    This was a couple years ago. We’re heading back to the firehouse after another fucking false alarm and Tommy’s driving. It’s got to be eleven at night.
    We’re coming to the light and this asshole in a Toyota shoots right in front of us, cuts us off. Tommy slams on the brakes and hits the horn, and the prick sticks his hand out the window and gives us the finger.
    Asshole.
    Yeah, so, Tommy, he’s pissed as shit. He floors it. He goes around the corner, goes around the corner, we’re hanging on in the back. I don’t know how he does it, but we beat the guy to the next intersection. He’s sitting there at a red light. Tommy stops the truck and gets out. You know him, he’s a big fucking guy. He goes over to the car and opens the door and pulls the guy out and he says something we can’t hear.
    So he gets back in the truck, we’re heading back and it’s dead quiet. Then Sean goes, “Hey, Tom, you misunderstood the guy. He wasn’t flipping us off. He was telling us we’re number one.”
    Norah smiled into the general laughter. Sean never told her that but then he’d never talked much about work. There had to be a lot of stories, she realized. Stories starring Sean. Sean, alive. Stories that would come to Aidan and Brendan someday.
    Norah went back upstairs and into the living room, trying to prepare for the onslaught of pity. Brendan scampered over and declared he was hungry. She didn’t see the other two, but she knew Aidan would be in the center of a pack of boys, with Cathal nearby, she assumed. If they weren’t in Delia’s yard, it was because they’d already gone over the fence to the firehouse. Aidan would want to show his uncle Sean’s locker, which still had to be cleaned out, and then no doubt he’d take Cathal up to the bunkroom to visit Sean’s bed.
    Maggie might be with Joe Paladino’s daughter, Isabel, who was her age, though they weren’t quite friends, mostly due to Maggie’s reserve, a thing that had puzzled Sean and frankly annoyed him. More likely, Maggie was in her grandmother’s bedroom, with Delia’s books. If Sean were here, he’d say, “Put the book away, Magee.” If he were here. If it weren’t his funeral.
    Grateful for a job, Norah took Brendan’s hand and led him to the dining room. The smell of cheese always got to her in the first two months. She’d been avoiding the dining room, though if she threw up, surely it would be put down to nerves.
    Ray Cavalieiri had handled the food. He owned a deli with his brothers, and he told her not to worry, they’d get everybody fed. Indeed, Cavalieiri’s supplied trays of ziti, lasagna and meatballs, and cold cuts for sandwiches. Roast beef and ham and Swiss and American cheese. There were rolls and Italian bread. Salads and olives and pickles. Norah wasn’t sure if the deli had also taken care of the soda and beer and ice, but somebody certainly had.
    Seeing the abundance of food made Norah suddenly wonder about the cost. Was Ray expecting to be paid? Would he bill her? Or was he donating the food?
    There was maybe a twenty in her wallet. The morning after the fire, she’d