The shrill ringing of Sam’s cell phone jolted her upright in bed a few minutes before twelve on a stormy Wednesday night in early May. Blinking his eyes open, Eli propped himself up on one elbow beside her. She snatched the phone up from her nightstand. Sam could barely hear the man’s voice over the wail of sirens in the background.
She pressed the phone closer to her ear. “You need to speak louder, sir. I can’t hear you.”
“I . . . said . . . I’m Lester James . . . from the local fire—” In spite of his attempts to enunciate, the sirens drowned out his voice.
Sam turned her back on her husband’s worried gray eyes. “Can you repeat that, please? I’m having trouble understanding you.”
This time, she heard every word when Lester James yelled into the phone, “Captain Sweeney’s Seafood Market is on fire!”
“I’m on my way.” Sam ended the call as her feet hit the ground. “The market is on fire! I need to get down there. Fast.”
Eli struggled to free himself of the tangled covers. “I’m coming with you.”
She glanced down at her nightclothes—a gray Carolina Baseball tee over an old pair of Eli’s plaid boxers. She wouldn’t take time to change. It was the middle of the night, and no one cared about her attire. “I’ll meet you in the car. But hurry.”
She stuffed her feet into the rain boots she’d left beside the front door when she’d arrived home from work earlier. She stared down at their two sets of keys on the hall table and grabbed Eli’s. His strobe lights would come in handy. She hurried out to his unmarked sedan and started the car from the passenger seat. She turned up the volume on the police radio and was listening to the dispatcher bark orders to officers about the fire when Eli emerged from the house, struggling to zip up his jeans over his pajama bottoms.
Eli slid behind the steering wheel and peeled out down their driveway. He skidded onto Creekside Drive and engaged his lights—sans siren so as not to wake the neighbors—as he raced toward the center of town. The police had cordoned off the intersection of Creekside and Main Streets in their small coastal town of Prospect. A uniformed officer signaled them into the parking lot of the Inlet View Marina across the street from the market. Eli and Sam jumped out of the car and ran to the sidewalk, staring at the small square building engulfed in flames. Smoke filled her nose and mouth and made her eyes water. Eli tugged his red bandanna free of his back pocket and handed it to her.
She wiped her eyes and then covered her mouth with the bandanna. “Do you think they can save it?”
“I don’t know, honestly. Anything that isn’t destroyed by the flames will be ruined by smoke and water damage.” He drew her in for a half hug. “I’m so sorry, babe. This is a tough break for your family.”
She rested her head on his shoulder. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
He kissed the top of her cropped blonde head. “Not that it’s any consolation, but at least you have insurance. You’ll rebuild even better than before.”
She couldn’t bring herself to think about that now.
Sam squinted at a familiar figure standing with one of the firemen next to the hook-and-ladder truck in the market parking lot. “Is that Mom over there?”
Eli followed her gaze. “It certainly looks like Lovie. I wonder how she beat us here.”
“I have no idea, unless the fire department called her first.” She ducked out from beneath his arm, and before he could stop her, she darted across the road to her mother. As she drew near, she recognized the fireman as Jared Rhodes, an old friend from high school who stopped by the market two or three times a week for lunch. A look of relief spread across his craggy face when he spotted Sam.
She placed a hand on her mother’s trembling shoulder. “Are you okay, Mom?”
Lovie tightened her grip on the blanket draped over her cotton nightgown. Her legs and feet were bare, the soles filthy dirty.
“How did you know about the fire?” Sam asked. “Did someone from the fire department call you?”
Lovie stared at Sam with a bewildered expression, the fire reflected in her glazed eyes.
Jared leaned in close to Sam’s ear. “She was already here when we arrived. She seems confused. She keeps mumbling something about a dream.”
Sam squeezed her mother’s shoulder. “Aw, Mama, did you have a bad dream?”
Lovie bit down on her lip as she bobbed her gray head up and down. “I had a dream about Oscar Sweeney. He told me to hustle on down here, that we had trouble at the market.”
Sam was at a loss for words. Oscar Sweeney? Why was her mother referring to her husband as one might an acquaintance? Never mind that Sam’s father had been dead for eight years. Lovie was prone to periods of forgetfulness and confusion, but this sounded more like a premonition than dementia.
