Broken Honor Read Free Page B

stopped protesting after Amy had pointed out that Sherry had refused to take pay for house-sitting, and it would have cost her a fortune to board Bojangles. It had become a good arrangement.
    Amy got in her twenty-year-old yellow Volkswagen, which she loved just as she loved Bojangles. It was another stray that needed constant and tender care. It had, in fact, been her very first car. Her only car. She wondered what that said about her.
    Her house was ten minutes away. It had consumed nearly every penny she had, but it was hers. And that had been very important to her. She impatiently waded through heavy traffic. She had just enough time to get there, take Bojangles out for a short walk, and make it back in time for her class.
    While waiting at a long light, her mind flipped over her schedule for the next week. Examinations. Grades. Most important, the tenure hearing in three weeks. And then she had the summer to work on her book. That damned article about her grandfather crept into her mind. She vowed to look into that, too. She owed it to her grandfather.
    She had lent three boxes of her grandfather’s papers to one of her colleagues who specialized in World War II. Perhaps she could find something there. She would go through them again before she started her book.
    Satisfied that she was doing what she could for his memory, she pressed her foot on the gas, turned left into her neighborhood, then another left. As she reached the house, she saw flames dart out the window, then spread up the side of the house.
    Bojangles !
    She grabbed her keys, ran to the front door, and unlocked it. Fire was already filling the house with smoke. She grabbed a sweater resting over a chair and held it to her face. The bathroom. If something had scared Bojangles, he’d be hiding behind the toilet. Amy felt heat as she ran through the hallway toward the bedroom and its bathroom.
    â€œBojangles,” she called.
    She heard a bark and then she saw him streaking toward her. For once, his belief in her overcame his fear. She picked him up and ran for the door, aware that the fire was following her. The smoke was acrid, the heat unbearable. Bojangles huddled against her, his faith in her giving speed to her feet.
    She didn’t think she’d make it. Her throat burned and flames were everywhere. She couldn’t see anything; only familiarity with the house kept her going in what she hoped was the right direction.
    Fear was suffocating her as much as the smoke. Then she saw light where she’d left the door ajar. Flames ate away at the bottom of the door. Praying, she pushed open the screen and burst through it. She stumbled down the steps, trying to take them in one single leap. Bojangles flew out of her arms but other hands—neighbors’ hands—reached for her and the dog, dragging them away from the fire.
    Sirens. She looked back. Her home . Her first home was a roaring inferno. She suddenly realized that cinders had burned through her pantsuit, and Bojangles was frantically licking himself and whining plaintively.
    She stooped down and took him in her arms, burying her head in his wiry fur as fire engines pulled up in front of the house and men jumped down and started unrolling hoses. One pulled her away.
    But she couldn’t help looking up and watching everything she owned going up in flames. Everything but Bojangles.
    If she’d been a few moments later.…
    Even through her shock, her practical mind ran over this morning’s routine. She knew she hadn’t left anything on. Not a stove or an iron or another appliance. She was meticulous about that. She’d always had a fear of fire, especially after her mother had left hot oil on the stove and it had caught fire. Amy had been burned when she’d tried to put it out with water. The next-door neighbor had heard her scream and came in, smothering the flames with baking soda.
    Bojangles licked her face, and she realized she was shaking.
    A fireman