Got a call from Kay a while ago, she had just gone to pick up her check from work and put it in the bank. (Still hard to get over her working and driving and all that!)
She’d gotten a block down the street. A friend of my son, we’ll call him D, lives down there. He’s kind of one of my adopted children. D was home alone, and his house had caught fire. I grabbed both house extinguishers and started to run down the street, hoping it was maybe a pot on the stove or something.
No. When she said “on fire”, she meant “on fire”. D was out and unhurt, spraying the garden hose in one of the front bedroom windows, but it was a battle he had no chance of winning. At the very most he might have slowed the fire a little until the fire companies got there – except it was already in the ceiling and attic. It was brave, if hopeless.
(More after the fold)
At least three volunteer fire departments were there within minutes, but even that was too long. The flames were shooting out the window by the time they got there, heavy smoke was rolling out the vents in the soffits. D’s dog Charlie is OK, too, and he’s in our back yard playing with Shakespeare as we speak.
D will be staying with us for a while, and Kay just took him and James out to go get something to eat and get D some clothes. The boy owns nothing in the world but for the clothes on his back, and his dog.
Fortunately, I just got word that the house had great insurance on it, and everything that can be replaced, will be. Parents and siblings and grandparents are all home (or what’s left of home) now, and we’ve invited them to our Independence Day cookout tomorrow. I hope they come, and we’ve made it clear that we will help in any way we can.
It’s scary, y’know? What if D had been sleeping and had not heard the strange bang from his sister’s room? The thought sends a chill down my spine. I’m just glad they’re all OK.