“… t’was grace that brought me safe this far”
— from “Amazing Grace”
I’ve always had this thing about fire.
Maybe it came from that night as a boy when I saw flames towering out of a neighbor’s house. Maybe it was something else.
All I know is, I’ve always had it. It’s why I’m punctual about changing smoke alarm batteries, why I have fire extinguishers all over the house, why every bedroom has one of those escape ladders you unfold out of a box and clip to the window ledge. I’ve always wanted to be ready if ever there was a fire at my house.
Last week, there was a fire at my house.
I am in my office upstairs when I hear the smoke alarm go off. I wait a second for it to stop. When it doesn’t, I go stand at the top of the stairs and yell down. I’m not surprised to hear The Son Whose Cooking Always Sets Off The Smoke Alarm yell back that it’s a false alarm.
“Don’t burn down my house,” I call down.
“Never,” he says.
I am not even back to my desk when I hear him screaming for me. I lunge into a bedroom, grab a fire extinguisher, and hurtle down the stairs to the kitchen where tongues of flame three feet high are dancing on the stove, the cabinets are engulfed and a bank of black smoke is rolling across the ceiling. Up comes the fire extinguisher, and …
