She said, hedging Cara’s references to her single status. “What about you, Cara? There’s no ring on your finger either.”
“No, Sabrina, but I’m two years younger than you and still in school. Plus I think Bruce is getting closer to proposing every day.”
Bruce and Cara had met and begun dating in their first year of law school. After nearly three years together, Mr. and Mrs. Montrouge were becoming impatient for him to make a more solid commitment to their daughter.
“Really? Well, I hope he does. I’d be very happy for you, Cara.” With that, Sabrina shut her eyes and drowned out her sister’s prattling. Soon she was asleep and did not awaken until they arrived in Vermont.
With Cara lugging her suitcase, Sabrina walked into the house to find her cat, Softy, furiously meowing for that magical combination of attention and food. “Oh, poor kitty. I missed you!” She obligingly pet the pure white cat just as a knock sounded at the door. Frowning, knowing instantly it was her nosy neighbor/house sitter, Mrs. Benjamin, she opened the door a crack.
“ Bonjour , Sabrina! Or is it bonsoir ? Yes, it’s after dark now. Welcome home and hello to you Cara!” The pudgy old woman said in a screeching faux French accent that made Sabrina cringe. “Did you meet any French amours ? I guess you haven’t developed your pictures yet, or did you take Polaroids? Tell me everything!”
“Mrs. Benjamin, I’m a little jet lagged, so I hope you don’t mind if I retire to bed. I do appreciate your watching the house this past week…”
“Anytime dearie,” the woman interrupted. “I also watered your plants…and I hope you don’t mind, but I took a look inside that refrigerator of yours. Really, young lady, I mean ginger ale and pound cake? How can anyone live off of that? I left you some of my famous macaroni and cheese with ham chunks.”
Sabrina resisted the urge to gag at the mention of ham chunks. She also refrained from explaining that she would have had more food in her house had she not been on another continent for over a week.
Instead, Sabrina was characteristically tactful. “How kind of you, Mrs. Benjamin. Thank you so much.”
Within a few minutes time, Sabrina had hustled the inquisitive woman out the door. Cara was wide awake, so Sabrina left her in the living room to watch television. She gratefully retreated to her soothing bedroom, bathed in soft pastel colors and decorated with breathtaking photographs that she had taken on various international assignments. With a murmur of relief, she plopped into bed, sliding under the luxuriant, cream-colored comforter. Outside her window, just as she was drowsily drifting into an enveloping sleep, the distant sound of fire trucks blaring their horns startled her. Quickly, she closed her eyes again, not bothering to unpack or disrobe, but instead letting the abyss of sleep claim her for the next ten hours.
That Same Night …
Giovanni was laboring to the point of a drenching sweat inside his sixty-two pounds of fire gear, fighting desperately to extinguish a house fire before it raged out of control. While he worked, he pushed flashbacks from his mind about the blackened rubble he had found all those years ago. His mouth tightened as he determined not to let history repeat itself with this poor family’s abode.
Hours later, Giovanni was back in his loft, lying in bed staring at the ceiling, feeling happy that no one had perished or been seriously hurt in the fire, but curiously on edge. It was a long time before sleep finally claimed him.
The next morning, a s the blinding winter sun streamed through his bedroom windows, he felt a surge of heat . Giovanni’s energy level was already, inexplicably, stoked, and he didn’t require his usual caffeine injection to launch the day. It was a Saturday morning, one of the few weekends that he
“No, Sabrina, but I’m two years younger than you and still in school. Plus I think Bruce is getting closer to proposing every day.”
Bruce and Cara had met and begun dating in their first year of law school. After nearly three years together, Mr. and Mrs. Montrouge were becoming impatient for him to make a more solid commitment to their daughter.
“Really? Well, I hope he does. I’d be very happy for you, Cara.” With that, Sabrina shut her eyes and drowned out her sister’s prattling. Soon she was asleep and did not awaken until they arrived in Vermont.
With Cara lugging her suitcase, Sabrina walked into the house to find her cat, Softy, furiously meowing for that magical combination of attention and food. “Oh, poor kitty. I missed you!” She obligingly pet the pure white cat just as a knock sounded at the door. Frowning, knowing instantly it was her nosy neighbor/house sitter, Mrs. Benjamin, she opened the door a crack.
“ Bonjour , Sabrina! Or is it bonsoir ? Yes, it’s after dark now. Welcome home and hello to you Cara!” The pudgy old woman said in a screeching faux French accent that made Sabrina cringe. “Did you meet any French amours ? I guess you haven’t developed your pictures yet, or did you take Polaroids? Tell me everything!”
“Mrs. Benjamin, I’m a little jet lagged, so I hope you don’t mind if I retire to bed. I do appreciate your watching the house this past week…”
“Anytime dearie,” the woman interrupted. “I also watered your plants…and I hope you don’t mind, but I took a look inside that refrigerator of yours. Really, young lady, I mean ginger ale and pound cake? How can anyone live off of that? I left you some of my famous macaroni and cheese with ham chunks.”
Sabrina resisted the urge to gag at the mention of ham chunks. She also refrained from explaining that she would have had more food in her house had she not been on another continent for over a week.
Instead, Sabrina was characteristically tactful. “How kind of you, Mrs. Benjamin. Thank you so much.”
Within a few minutes time, Sabrina had hustled the inquisitive woman out the door. Cara was wide awake, so Sabrina left her in the living room to watch television. She gratefully retreated to her soothing bedroom, bathed in soft pastel colors and decorated with breathtaking photographs that she had taken on various international assignments. With a murmur of relief, she plopped into bed, sliding under the luxuriant, cream-colored comforter. Outside her window, just as she was drowsily drifting into an enveloping sleep, the distant sound of fire trucks blaring their horns startled her. Quickly, she closed her eyes again, not bothering to unpack or disrobe, but instead letting the abyss of sleep claim her for the next ten hours.
That Same Night …
Giovanni was laboring to the point of a drenching sweat inside his sixty-two pounds of fire gear, fighting desperately to extinguish a house fire before it raged out of control. While he worked, he pushed flashbacks from his mind about the blackened rubble he had found all those years ago. His mouth tightened as he determined not to let history repeat itself with this poor family’s abode.
Hours later, Giovanni was back in his loft, lying in bed staring at the ceiling, feeling happy that no one had perished or been seriously hurt in the fire, but curiously on edge. It was a long time before sleep finally claimed him.
The next morning, a s the blinding winter sun streamed through his bedroom windows, he felt a surge of heat . Giovanni’s energy level was already, inexplicably, stoked, and he didn’t require his usual caffeine injection to launch the day. It was a Saturday morning, one of the few weekends that he
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