I’m not surprised by this. Michelle came out here chasing a boy, and when it didn’t work out, she floundered and has struggled ever since. “I understand. I don’t know what my insurance will pick up, but find a hotel and a place to spend the night. You can bill me.”
“Thanks.” She begins to cry again. “I booked a flight home from my cell phone for tomorrow morning. I don’t think I’ll be back, but I’ll keep in touch.”
I can’t help but panic a moment. Michelle was in this with me, and now she’s heading home fifteen hundred miles away. I’m not prepared for this and everything it means. “What will I do with your things?”
Smearing the ash from her face, she pulls the blanket tighter around her. “I don’t think there’s anything left.”
I count eight fire trucks, and dozens of firefighters working to put the fire out. It’s controlled chaos. Fire hoses line the black streets like giant beige veins pumping water from the ground and the trucks. I cry quietly from behind the yellow tape street. I watch the news trucks filming and all the people watching as the block burns, and because of the proximity, the entire block of homes seem to be burning, too. but when I lift the tape to walk closer, a police officer stops me. “Ma’am, you can’t cross the line.”
Crying, I sniff out, “I received a call, and I’ve been told my house is burning. What do I do?”
“What’s your address?”
It rolls off my tongue without a second thought. I’m hoping it really is just a dream, and everything I own isn’t gone.
He lifts the yellow tape and ushers me inside. “Please, right this way.”
My heart breaks as he motions over an official-looking person who walks me behind a firetruck. “Hello, I’m Captain Whalley. I understand your house is one of these on the street?”
The snapping of wood surrounds me as fire flickers, flares, leaps, and spits, showering sparks like a fountain. Plumes of black smoke wind around the homes like great hungry snakes, devouring everything in its path. Choking clouds of noxious smoke, inferno, blazing, out of control, ash floating to the ground like great dirty flakes of snow, showering onto everything, sprinkling onto the ground. “Yes,” I whisper, trying to take in all the activity. “What happened?”
“It seems your next-door neighbor had an electrical short. Unfortunately, the fire spread to your home and four others. Theirs is completely destroyed, but we’re trying to save yours and the rest of the block.”
“What do I do?”
He puts his arm around me. “Do you have a boyfriend or a good friend you can call?”
I nod, standing frozen watching the fire, unable to do anything or make any calls.
Before I can figure it out, I hear my name being called by a familiar voice. “Hadlee!”
I break into tears when my eyes meet CeCe’s.
She talks to the officer on duty, who allows her to pass, and she runs over. “Maria got my number from your computer and told me what was happening. Are you okay?”
I nod at her numbly, and she stands with me as the fire moves to two more homes and four more firetrucks arrive. We stand for a what seems like forever. I’m paralyzed by watching all the activity. I have the urge to run in and grab anything that may not have burned, but it’s too late. My house is black smoke and orange flames.
CeCe stands with me valiantly, and we watch the choreographed dance the firemen do, holding the fire to only a few homes. I don’t realize she’s left my side until she places a blanket around my shoulders to keep me warm.
In the dark smoke, orange flames have blown out the windows, sending horizontal jets of flame out ten feet or more. I can feel the radiating heat on my face from across the street. The firefighters can only watch it burn and try their best protect my house, spraying foam on the sides and roof.
I’m exhausted and ready to collapse. “Miss Ford?”
I look up but don’t really see the man standing in front of me.
When I can’t string two words together, CeCe answers, “She’s Dr. Ford. Is there any news?”
He puts his hand on my arm. “I’m sorry about your home. You won’t be able to get into the house today. Is there a number you can leave with us? We’ll want to speak with you, probably tomorrow.”
CeCe leaves her number with someone and explains she’s taking me to her house if they have any questions.
When she ushers me to her car, I notice the parking ticket. “Damn those parking enforcement asses,” CeCe rages.
Reaching for the ticket, I say, “I’ll take care of it.”
“Oh no, you won’t. I chose to park here to get to you quickly. I knew I was partially in the crosswalk.”
I’m still stunned by everything I’ve seen. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Do you have your insurance broker’s number?”
“No, and I don’t know my policy number, either.”
“Don’t worry. We have Google and we’ll find them. Your insurance broker should have your policy number and will take care of you. That’s why we have insurance. Now let’s get you to my place. We’ll get you a bath and something to eat.”
“Okay.” I stare out the passenger side window, not listening to what CeCe is saying into her phone as we return to her house. All the things I can’t replace that were in my house come to me in bits and pieces: pictures of my parents, my mother’s engagement ring, my grandmother’s pearls, my original diplomas, my passport, and essentially all my clothes. I’m so overwhelmed by everything that I can’t move.
CeCe parks her car and walks me to her condo, heading directly to the master bathroom and her Jacuzzi tub. Running me a hot bath, she helps me get undressed. I’m so overcome with grief, I can’t even remember the simplest things. The last time I felt this way was when my dad told me my mother had died.
I sit in the bathtub until the water is cold and my fingers are turning blue. CeCe’s called in reinforcements and helps me dress before they arrive. Sara, Trey, and Greer all appear before I know it, bearing flowers, dinner, wine, and lots of encouragement. We’re all sitting around the living room. They’re eating and trying to bring me into the conversations, but I’m numb.
I don’t hear the doorbell ring, but CeCe gets up and opens the door, and a woman walks in with six giant bags from Nordstrom’s. “Jennifer. Thank you so much for coming to help my friend out.”
Turning to me, Jennifer says, “Come join me in the bedroom. Let’s see what I’ve brought and make sure it fits.”
My medical school loans are close to $300,000. What was left of my trust fund, I put into the down payment on the house. I could only make my mortgage payment with a tenant in the downstairs flat. Now with the fire, I won’t be able to do that. I whisper to her, “I can’t afford this.”
Patting me on the arm, she says, “Please don’t worry about it. You’re all covered.”
I cry at the generosity of my good friend CeCe. We’ve been friends since we started kindergarten together. After my mother died, each of my father’s subsequent seven wives took more and more of his money, the last leaving me with barely $200,000. My financial planner suggested the house, and now I have nothing. Not to mention, everything my mother left me was in the house. I cry deep and heavy sobs.
CeCe slips into the room. “Honey, let me help you. I gave her the sizes we talked about at the wedding. Some may be too big, and if so, it’s all my fault.”
Jennifer reaches out and says, “Let’s start with undergarments.” Standing, she opens a bag with an assortment of beautiful panties and matching bras. CeCe pats me on the arm. “Honey, let this be my treat.”
Between the sobs, I cry, “I can’t. This is far too generous.”
“If you insist, you can pay me back later once you get your insurance check and replace your more important things.” She pulls me in close and gives me a comforting hug. “You have insurance. We’ll get this all figured out. Meanwhile, you need clothes. The jeans you were wearing are filthy and smell like smoke. We may have to throw th
em out.”
“I’ll pay you back. You’re not my bank,” I tell her as Jennifer begins pulling items out of a bag.
“Here, put these beautiful panties on.” Searching through several bags, she says, “Here’s a nice pair of pajamas. I think these are modest enough that you can wear them with everyone outside.”
Jeans, shirts, clothes for work, clothes for going out—plenty for me to wear. I’m stunned at how quickly Jennifer pulled everything together so accurately to my size and needs.
The cloud begins to lift. My friends have been helpful and nurturing. Bad news spreads quickly, but I’m incredibly grateful that my cell phone is full of messages from friends and my office. I return the most pressing calls before I collapse and fall asleep in CeCe’s guest room. CeCe gets me a small sleeping pill, but my sleep is not restful. I dream of the fire. I dream of my last stepmother, who laughs at as she tells me how she’s spent all my dad’s money, leaving me without any inheritance. I keep thinking about my house and everything I’ve lost. I go through a list of what I’ll need to replace. Some things were insured, but the pictures of my mom are gone, along with everything I have of her. The loss of the connection to my mom sends me into a downward spiral. I cry while holding the pillow, wishing for someone to hold me and comfort me.
CeCe knocks on my door. “Hadlee?”
I roll over and notice it’s after nine. It may not have been restful, but I did get some sleep. “Come in.”
Opening the door, she has a fragrant cup of coffee that she hands to me. “Hey, sleepyhead. How did you sleep?”
“Not great.”
“I’m sorry I woke you. The fire department called, and they’d like to meet you at the house this morning. Should I call them and let them know you aren’t able to make it?”
“No. I can hop in the shower, get dressed, and grab a Lyft. My car is still at my office.”
“I’ll take you. I’ve taken the day off and will help however I can.”
Dressed in a new pair of jeans and a white designer T-shirt, I climb in CeCe’s car and we head over to the house. My distinctive Victorian seems fine from the front if you look very closely and notice the gray hue or the hole in the roof and the sky that can be seen through the front windows. The charred remains of my house break my heart. It was so alive, so vibrant prior to the fire. Inside had been a place of love and security, a place with memories and warmth. Now the wind whistles through, the steady rain falling right into the twisted plastic and metal that had been furniture and electronics. In those ashes lie my photographs, my art, all my personal possessions.
The fire marshal meets me with a large box. “I think your bedroom is relatively okay. There’ll be some smoke damage, but it’s dry. The wall at the back of your closet protected much of your bedroom, and the bedroom door was closed before the smoke and fire could ruin too much. The fire started in the back corner, and your bedroom was street facing. That helped a lot. We put what we could in the box. I’m sorry it isn’t more.”
My hand goes to my mouth, and I begin to cry again. That’s where I kept many of the things I have from my mother. I peek in the box and spot the photos I treasure most, plus my jewelry box. “Thank you. Thank you so very much.”
CeCe wraps her arms around my shoulders. “When can we have access so we can move some things into storage?”
“We’re watching for hot spots right now, but I would think by tomorrow it should be okay. For now, there’s a police officer 24/7 to make sure there are no looters. But I must warn you, there are things in the bathroom and the bedrooms, though much of it isn’t worth saving with all the smoke damage.”
“We understand. We can come back,” CeCe assures him.
The sun shows me the six homes affected; my home in the middle sustained quite a bit of damage. “I was told they think it was an electrical fire in my next-door neighbor’s home?”
“That’s what the fire investigator believes. A lot of these pre-war homes have tube and knob wires hidden in the walls.”
I nod. “When I bought the house three years ago, I ripped all the tube and knob out and had it rewired. It was costly but worth it. I guess it didn’t matter in the end.”
“I wouldn’t say that. She was lucky her house didn’t go up years ago, and you won’t have to completely tear down to rebuild. The city doesn’t make it easy with homes of your age.”
As we walk to CeCe’s car, she says, “It seems we have a full day today, but we can’t do it on an empty stomach. Let’s go find some breakfast.”
I nod and run through my mental checklist of everything I have to do, trying not to hyperventilate the longer it gets. I can’t stay at CeCe’s. I love her, and her friendship means so much to me, but we don’t live well together. I’m too much of a slob, and my work schedule is hard on her. Though my initial conversation with the insurance broker didn’t seem to indicate I had any rental coverage, which leaves me few options.
Over breakfast, CeCe gets out a pad of paper and pen from her purse, and together we work on my list. I need to call my lender and make them aware of what happened. Essentially the bank owns the bulk of the house since I still have over twenty-five years on the mortgage. Plus calling the gas and electric company, water company, and cable company. Not to mention I have to figure out what to do with my car. It can’t stay parked at the office. CeCe takes half the list and promises she’s going to take care of it, including getting packing materials and a storage unit for what we can salvage and any replacements we buy.
I spend the afternoon talking to insurance, my lender, and my office. The insurance company is expecting my neighbor's coverage to cover it. I explained that she says she doesn’t have coverage, but until they get that from official channels, they aren’t going to do anything. The good news is the lender is only asking for interest payments—which isn’t necessarily a huge break, but I can make that without my rental income. I feel bad that I’ve left my teammates at work hanging, but they understand.
By the end of the day, I’m exhausted, but I feel like I got a few things accomplished.
Cameron
CHAPTER TEN
It’s been one of those days, and I’m exhausted. I’m grateful Dillon and Emerson have returned from their honeymoon in Greece. They seem so refreshed. To celebrate, we’ve all agreed to meet for a nice dinner to hear about their trip. The G-rated version, I hope.
“Hey, man, it’s great to have you home,” I tell Dillon.
Emerson leans over to Sara and ask, “Okay, what’s going on with Mason and Annabel? We were surprised too when she showed up at the wedding.”
“I guess they’re getting serious.” Tears pool in Sarah’s eyes.
“Are you kidding?”
“Unfortunately I’m not. Cameron’s insisted that Jim and his team do a more thorough background check. It has Mason rather upset,” Sara tells Emerson.
“Dillon is fit to be tied. Not only does it open us up to a sexual harassment suit, but because we’re at risk with the mole, he doesn’t want anyone in the company brought into the inner circle.”
I’m relieved to hear that I’m not the only one who thinks the affair with Annabel is a train wreck waiting to happen on so many levels.
As we take our seats at the table, I sit next to Hadlee. I have her panties from Breckenridge in my pocket. I’d planned to return them and ask for a repeat, but Hadlee’s not interested in speaking to me at all right now. I guess I’m in the doghouse already. I’m not very good when it comes to relationships. My parents were never role models, and whenever I’ve been serious with a girl, I’ve found a way to not only fuck it up to where she doesn’t just leave me, she goes away mad.
Turning to me after the first course, Hadlee shares, “I’m sorry, Cameron. I’m terribly distracted and awful company. My house recently had a fire, and I spoke with the insurance company today.”
Holy crap! That’s awful. “Your house burned? Were you hurt?”
“I was at work. My first-floor tenant call
ed the fire department. It happened last week. The fire took most of the homes on the block on my side of the street.”
“Oh, I saw that in The Chronicle. It was an electrical fire, right?” She nods at me. “Did the fire start in your place?” The paper made it sound very tragic. I guess there were six homes involved, which affected over thirty people. I’m glad she’s okay.
“No, it started next door, and she doesn’t have the insurance to cover the loss of my house or the others. My insurance company is giving me a hard time, but I have the things that mean the most to me. CeCe helped me move what little was salvageable into storage, and the fire department delivered a box of what they were able to get out of my bedroom. I only care that I have pictures of my mom and a few mementos. She died when I was nine.”
I didn’t know she lost her mom at a young age, too. Something we have in common. “I lost mine at twelve. She was in a car accident with a drunk driver. I don’t know what I would do if I lost the few things I have to remember her by.”
“I’m so sorry. That must’ve been awful for you. So sudden. My mom died of breast cancer, and it was fast, but I felt like I got to say goodbye.”
Her eyes glass over, and I can tell it’s still an emotional pull for her. “I’m sure that must’ve been hard. My dad never remarried. How about yours?”
“I wish I could say the same. My father remarried seven more times. My last step-monster spent all the money my mother left me when she died.”
“That’s rough.”
Her lips curve despite the tragedy of growing up without her mother and the recent fire. “Honestly, I couldn’t care less about the money, but it upsets me that she spent it on things she’ll be giving to her own kids.”
“Can you do anything about it?”
“Probably, but every lawyer I’ve ever spoken to has said it would cost hundreds of thousands of dollars to fight it. It honestly doesn’t mean that much to me.”
I’m stunned by the revelation. I knew Hadlee had grown up with CeCe. Her grandfather founded a large high-end hotel chain, and I always assumed she was an heiress to a fortune and as monied as the Arnaults were. It’s refreshing to have someone in our circle who’s so grounded and unaffected by money.
Desire (Venture Capitalist Book 3) Page 6
