The Empress Hotel sat in Victoria’s Inner Harbour like a castle awaiting her Queen. Famed worldwide as a “grand railway” hotel, it was originally accessed by Canadian Pacific Steamships, followed by CP Rail. The iconic hotel flourished, with changes and upgrades over the years. Catherine had read a lot about its history, from the “chateauesque” design of the hotel, built in the Edwardian era, including stone and brick work, steeply pitched copper roofs, and ornate gables and turrets. Cat dreamed about the fabled hotel, and was thrilled when she learned her prom night was to be at The Empress. There was an enormous entrance hall, French Renaissance and Tudor architecture, and oh how Cat loved to read about the design –  “oriel windows” protruding from the top floor like Rapunzel towers, the Crystal Ballroom, the main roof  a “Second Empire” style structure with a flat top, iron railings, and a glass roof palmed garden. Last year she’d been to have “high tea” with her mother in the posh, high ceiling lobby lounge  – an elegant affair of dainty sandwiches, scones and pastries as well as tea from an exquisite teapot with matching teacups and saucers. It made her think of her Grandmother’s fine china, where drawers in the cabinet smelled faintly of perfume from a foreign locale.

Catherine was over-the-moon that her prom lived up to its fairy-tale expectations. Bellamy High had very strict criteria for its students conduct, but five years ago things had become a little wild at the “after-prom ” party and the school had almost lost their long-standing annual booking. She’d anticipated prom since grade 10, and when the grand occasion was six months away she’d come close to losing it when her supposed-to-be friend Phoebe spread nasty rumors about her online and then pretended like she knew nothing about it. Some friend she turned out to be. Cat hadn’t seen Phoebe since that day they spoke in the hallway at school, and she hoped she never would. Her mother frowned at her daughter’ unwillingness to forgive, but Cat was relieved she could enjoy prom night knowing Phoebe wouldn’t be there. Phoebe’s date ditched her a few weeks back. How surprising.

Cat loved, loved, loved her dress. Considering it was a last minute purchase, she had lucked out thanks mostly to her mother, who had spent days driving them all over Victoria – and hours listening to her friends giggle, fret, gasp and whisper as Cat paraded dress after dress for them to view. At the last possible shop, she found the right one. As soon as she saw it her heart beat faster and when she tried it on, well, she got goose bumps. Then her audience oohed and aahed the second Cat walked in the room and when she twirled in front of her mom, Mary nodded and clapped. Finally! They shared the cost, as they had agreed upon.

The special day finally arrived. Jon had been teasing her for weeks about her obsession with prom details, but when he saw his sister walk into their living room, he let out a long catcall.

“Wow. You look beautiful, Cat. If I wasn’t your brother, I’d wanna be your date tonight.” Catherine twirled around Jon’s wheelchair, and stopped in front of him with a curtsy.

“Why thank-you, kind sir. But I’m already taken.” As if on cue, the doorbell rang and Zac stepped in. Jon met his buddy at the door and gave a long, slow whistle.

“A prince for the princess. Nice tux, Zac.” Zac followed Jon in the hall to the living room. He carried a small box.
“Gorgeous. You look uh-mazing Catherine. I have your corsage.” Cat stared at Zac.

“You too Zac. You look, you look, um, fantastic.” She had just about said hot. Yikes. Time to smarten up. How could she have not noticed until now what a cute guy he was?

“Hey people, what about me? I’m the big brother in this equation.” Jon smiled and winked at Zac.

“You look good in a suit, man, and you know it. Now behave yourself and let your sister have a little fun.” Zac winked back at his friend.

Mrs. McDonnell helped pin the corsages, and soon the young people were mingling with the graduating class in the Inner Harbour. The Empress boasted wonderful gardens, and ocean views were close by across the street, making a fabulous backdrop for family and friend photos. The weather was perfect, not too hot or breezy, and Catherine revelled in the attention, scenery and beauty of the moment. She noticed her brother was able to join in with ease of accessibility almost everywhere, and this made her even happier. Her mom and dad were glowing, smiling and holding hands. That hadn’t happened for a while. Her dad caught her eye, waved and bowed. They had a little surprise planned for later and Catherine could barely wait for the action. She loved any kind of dance.

There were plenty of smiles, hugs and posing for photos. Just when she’d had enough, it was time to make their way to dinner, and Zac led the way and held her arm proudly. Everything was over-the-top lovely – the place settings, décor, dance floor and outer windows swathed generously with poofy curtain upon curtain.

Zac sat to her left, and Jon tucked in nicely on the right in his new custom-made titanium wheelchair. The five course meal with a choice of salmon or chicken entrée was mouth watering, and as dessert was served, speeches began from teachers and students that were received with gusto. There was a small live band that started quietly in the background, and as they picked up the tempo following the speeches, current pop tunes drew people to the dance floor. There was a pause as the musicians scrambled for more music, and would-be dancers hovered at the edge of the hardwood floor. Catherine looked at her father and he nodded. They almost ran onto the dance floor and waved at the band, who had added a saxophone and trumpet player to their group. The upbeat tempo of “Diamonds on the Soles of her Shoes” from American singer-songwriter Paul Simon began with Cat and her father incorporating every kind of dance style they knew in the almost 6 minutes of song. The audience loved it, clapping and cheering as the duo performed rap to ballroom dance moves. At the end Cat’s dad swept her up and swung her around for all to see the sparkling “diamonds” on the soles of her shoes (sparkling “diamond” stickers she had glued the night before). It was a good workout, and the father/daughter pair collapsed at their table amidst whistling and cheers of “bravo”. Zac had a wide smile and put his arm around Cat.

“That was so original! ” Jon nodded his approval. He turned to his friend. “So this was your idea? I loved it!” Zac nodded.

“And Dad, you sure busted the moves out there. I didn’t know you were so good at dancing.”

“Well son, there’s a lot you don’t know about me. Your mother does, though. Shall we get on the dance floor, honey?” Mr. McDonnell smiled at his wife as they got up. Jon, Catherine and Zac looked on in amazement as Mr. McDonnell continued to wow them. And Mrs. McDonnell was almost as good as her husband. They were clearly seasoned dancers.

“Where do you think I learned my love of dance from, Jon? Aren’t our parents amazing!?” Cat sighed as she watched.

An hour later the students were on their own as families discreetly wandered off. The band was replaced with an itunes lineup of more current music with a DJ, and alcohol was permitted for those of drinking age. Vehicles weren’t allowed, as a shuttle van had been set up to drive them home. She and Zac had a glass of champagne from several bottles that were passed around, and Cat was secretly comforted when noticing a number of “chaperones” in the shadows. Things had a way of getting crazy in no time. Hopefully the heavier drinkers that tended to cause problems would have their fun at the campout in Sooke.

She and Zac eventually rode home on the shuttle. Zac walked her to the front door, gave her a brotherly kiss on the cheek, and was gone. That was her only disappointment of the entire night. Catherine had a future filled with possibilities to look forward to and freedom from the limitations of high school. It had been a beautiful prom after all.

 

Sergeant Thomas McDonnell didn’t understand the presenting evidence. It didn’t fit the facts or any of the information collected thus far. He’d watch the investigators closely as the team combed the gym, entryway, side doors and surrounding property to determine if  arson was indeed the cause. Jeffrey Barden, the school counsellor, had called him early in the morning with a new lead, but more information was needed. It was puzzling, and he pulled out his cell phone with a frown.

“Jeffrey Barden, please. Thanks.” The line went to voicemail and he left a curt message. “ This is Sergeant McDonnell. I need more information from you Jeffrey. Call me!”

An unlikely pair speculating on what was an unlikely case. Tom had been sniffing around, collecting his own evidence, drawing his own conclusions. Which was wrong. He needed to step back, let the special investigation team do their job, and concentrate on his own role as compiler of evidence, and then, and only then, draw some conclusions based on the facts in the case. By looking a little closer at the crime scene on his own, he’d biased his own judgement. He needed to forget what he’d seen. The team would do measurements and come up with a profile.

After struggling with forms for 30 minutes, Tom closed the blinds, locked his office door and put his phone on mute. He needed to think without interruption, let his mind wander, tally up everything he knew thus far. Starting with Jeffrey Barden. He thought about their similarities –  both family men, career men, serious about their profession and dedicated. In particular, they both had a connection to teens – one a father of teenagers, the other a counsellor to teenagers. A familiarity with that age group didn’t mean they were experts, but it was a commonality.

The differences were plenty. For starters; one a white man, law officer and raised in privilege. The other a black man, a francophone educator, and raised in near poverty. One man from a militant-like, strict household where the word love was never used, the other from an affectionate, fun loving family who laughed easily and prayed often. One had an atheist father, the other a gospel singing Christian. On skin color alone, jurors were unconsciously biased, and this would disadvantage Barden from the beginning in any court of law. Add an accent and it was game over. It wouldn’t be admitted or spoken aloud, but Tom knew from past outcomes this was the reality.  He was certain Barden’s testimony would be taken lightly, and without strong evidence his words wouldn’t hold up.

Barden’s account of graffiti sprayed on the school walls 3 months prior was interesting. As was his description of a mentally unstable grade 12 student who’d been pranking and disruptive in school. The kid had been monitored closely by Barden and others. He was a likely suspect, but they had to see where the evidence led first.

Barden was kind and had helped many teens at Bellamy since he’d started in the fall. He was Jon’s hero following the accident, and he knew as a parent, Mary had also found him trustworthy and reliable, and a fellow Christian at the church she attended. His prior employment record was untarnished, and Barden clearly had a passion for working with teens. He’d also helped shake Jon out of his depression and for that Tom was forever indebted. But it had nothing to do with the case. Tom reminded himself he needed to stay objective and put personal feelings aside. He’d had no problem with this in the past, and until Jon’s accident had been brutally objective. What was going on with him?

But it had always been hard for him to ignore a hunch. Most of his gut instincts had proven correct, and he felt like the kid Barden had brought forward was the likely arsonist. So what if the miniscule opening they’d found that led under the stage could barely let a child through, let alone a 180 pound male. There must be another opening somewhere else. A barely recognizable box of wooden matches had been found beside the narrow opening, and a fire set just beyond it under the stage. Conflicting evidence. Tom would have to wait for more facts to come in before he could even consider Barden’s idea.

Tom sighed, unmuted his phone, pulled up the blinds and unlocked his office door. In no time his landline rang. “Mrs.  McDonnell here to see you, Sergeant. Shall I bring her in?” Thomas couldn’t have been more surprised. His wife at the police station?

“Yes, of course, show her in.” He closed his file folder and dropped it on top of the pile. Even technology couldn’t save him from paperwork.

“Well this is a surprise.” Thomas exclaimed as his receptionist closed the door, leaving them in privacy. He moved forward and kissed his wife lightly on the lips, surprising himself as much as her. “Sit down Mary”, Thomas said gruffly. Mary smiled faintly.

“That’s more like the man I know.” She sat down cautiously, looking in every direction. Thomas laughed.

“You’re safe here. No bugs, no guns, no sirens, I promise.”

“Stop teasing me Tom. This is serious.” She paused and wrung her hands. “ Your son thinks he knows who tried to burn down the school! It seems to me it’s a conflict of interest, since you’re the police officer in charge and Jon is your son. There must be a protocol.” His wife’s hands stilled in her lap.

“Jon can give a written statement to one of the constables. That would be the best way.”

“Would he have to go to court?” Mary examined her fingernails as she spoke.

“Only in certain circumstances. I doubt that will happen. Did he tell you the person’s name?” Thomas asked curiously.

“No, thank God. I just don’t want him to have added stress, that’s all Tom. Jon’s doing so well after all the difficulties of the past two years.”

“I’ll talk to him briefly tonight when I get in.”

“Thank-you Tom. I knew you’d have answers. I’ll pray about it as well.” She glanced at the door. “See you tonight, I hope.” The door closed with a click.

Thomas couldn’t remember the last time his wife had come to the station. Had she grown bolder, or had he become less intimidating? Perhaps a little of both. And as far as Jon was concerned, his son never failed to amaze him. It would be interesting to learn what he knew. This case had been different from the start.

Basketball from a wheelchair was a completely new perspective on the game.  Not that Zac had been much of a player in the past, but he did know there was no “double dribble” rule when using a wheelchair. His friend just happened to have a second wheelchair that Zac would use to make things equal between them. Jon had challenged Zac the other day.

Jon pulled and pushed his old clunker wheelchair down the ramp and shoved it under the basketball net attached to his parents double garage, brushing off the dust and patting the seat.

“You thought I was kidding, didn’t you dude? Now you see I’m serious. You’ll get your workout, believe me!” Jon grinned wickedly.

“I can’t wait to kick your butt. Bring it on, buddy. Show me the ropes. ” Zac knew Jon was enjoying himself, but figured he didn’t have much to lose. Basketball had been a favorite of his a few years back, and a bit of a workout wouldn’t hurt. His job at Starbucks and playing guitar didn’t exactly keep him fit like Jon . Maybe he’d get inspired by his friend. How ironic, considering Jon was the person with major setbacks to his health.

They spent an hour shooting baskets, dribbling the ball, and discussing basic rules. The net was set at the same height as standard basketball, which challenged his shoulders and arms. In no time Zac’s shirt was soaked and his thick, dark hair plastered to his head – worse, he was out of breath. Apparently he wasn’t fit at all. The heavy old wheelchair was a huge drain on his energy, as he had to work twice as hard compared to being on his feet. Jon made it look easy, but Zac discovered it was just the opposite.

Jon laughed at his friend. “You can use my shower if you want, and I’ll even loan you a clean shirt!”

Zac threw the ball at his friend, “Thanks, you trickster. Easy, huh? Next time I call the shots.”

They ran into Catherine in the entryway. Looking at the young men, she pinched her nose and rolled her eyes. Zac attempted to avoid her gaze, but it was impossible in the small space. She smiled at him, and he shrugged off his embarrassment. “It’s your brother’s fault. He made me play wheelchair basketball in this heat.”

Zac shielded his lips with one hand and whispered to her, “He whipped my butt. Don’t tell him I admitted that!”

Catherine skipped out the door with her dance bag, flipping her long blond ponytail over her shoulder. She smiled sweetly and was gone. Zac helped Jon wrestle the second wheelchair into the house and headed for the shower. With the cool refreshing water pouring down his lean body, he thought about how Cat had seen him at his best, at prom in a suit, and at his worst – tonight – sweaty and stinky. Prom had been good, great in fact, and he’d not noticed how attractive Cat was until that moment. Before, she’d been Jon’s little sister. After prom, Zac thought of her differently. Smart, fun, special, and someone he’d like to date. But not yet. His life was too crazy with his mother.

Zac had finally admitted to Jon that he’d not be going to UBC after all. His mom had been sober since the New Year, but she’d only been able to work part-time and barely made enough money to cover monthly expenses. Jon couldn’t leave her in that predicament when he was perfectly capable of working part-time and could contribute to their cost of living.

Sadly, his dream of a journalism program would have to wait. In the meantime though, he had enough scholarship money to enroll part-time into UVic’s writing program, taking as many courses as he could while working part-time. He’d see how it went. If the course summaries and reviews were any indication, it was a suitable second choice. No travelling, investigation, or report writing, but there was plenty to learn about writing styles and a huge list of required reading. Good thing he had an iPad and could download many of the books through iTunes or borrow them electronically through the library. Then Zac discovered he could work towards a minor degree in journalism, which in his mind, changed everything. For the better. Small classes, workshops and mentoring sounded great, and the slogan “Find Your Edge in UVic’s Department of Writing” further spurred him on. Poetry, screenwriting, playwriting, travel writing and graphic novel writing sounded fascinating. A bonus was that he’d get to hang out with Jon sometimes, and continue the development of his band. Plus help his mom. Blessings in disguise? God working his plan? He’d heard Mrs. McDonnell say that many times in the past. Maybe that’s what this was.

There was heavy rapping on the bathroom door. “Hey, save some hot water for me, Zac. What are you doing in there?” Zac shook himself and finished up in the shower. Enough daydreaming. He wrapped a towel around his waist and stepped into Jon’s bedroom, where his friend threw him a clean shirt and disappeared inside the bathroom. They spent a bit of time playing video games afterwards, and Zac headed for home.

Summer days passed quickly as green grass turned brown, ocean water sparkled, and cool evening air made hot days tolerable. The west coast grew increasingly dry and for almost a month forest fire smoke settled thickly in the hills. Climate change was indisputable.

Zac met with his band members on a particularly warm evening. He was the only singer of the three, with Jon on electric guitar and Charlie on drums. Zac played an acoustic guitar and added his voice to the mix. They were discussing style.

“I like how we’ve evolved into our own particular sound. A kind of pop sound with a rock-and-roll twist. I’d love to add another element, maybe with a new member. A female voice perhaps. You guys know of any girls who sing well?” Zac put his guitar down.

Charlie spoke up. “I’ve heard through the grapevine that Phoebe Lemay can sing. Apparently she has a knock-out voice. Mind you, I’ve not heard for myself.”

Zac felt the hair rise on his forearms. She was the one who’d bullied Catherine in grade 12, and was still at high school trying again for her grade 12. Who did that, anyhow? It was strange.

“Ya, I know who she is. Not interested. As far as I can tell, she’s trouble.”

Jon frowned. “Yep, she did create some trouble for Cat. At least it died down. I’ve heard her sing and she’s pretty amazing.”

Zac was quiet, thinking about the idea. “Well, we could invite her over to sing for us. It doesn’t mean we’re inviting her to join the band. What do you think?” The band members nodded in agreement. Zac picked up his guitar.

“A little Beatles sound okay?” He started strumming a few chords and humming. Jon and Charlie picked up the tune and joined in.

“What would you do if I sang out of tune, would you stand up and walk out on me?” Before Zac could continue Jon added his voice.

“Lend me your ears and I’ll sing you a song, and I’ll try not to sing out of key.” Not bad! All three joined in for the chorus, even though only Zac had a microphone. He’d never heard his friends before. They could actually sing. Cool.

“Oh I get by with a little help from my friends
Mm, I get high with a little help from my friends
Mm, gonna try with a little help from my friends”

They finished the song with the same voice pattern, grinning and pleased with themselves. Zac spoke up.
“That was great. So who’s going to ask Phoebe? And when?” Charlie offered since he was still at Bellamy High. Zac guessed she’d say no, but so what. He would put the word out there. Things were definitely improving in his short term plans for the future. As long as his mom kept on track, they’d be fine.

He hoped. Maybe he’d ask Mrs. McDonnell to pray about that.

A Change of Heart-part 10

Jon Thomas McDonnell had 3 months before classes started at the University of Victoria in his chosen computer science program. He could work part-time like his buddy Zac or sister Catherine, but his mother encouraged him to start another round of physiotherapy before study took a large part of his time. His dad the cop said it was practically an order! Jon agreed with his parents on this one. He’d felt some disconcerting changes in his ability to perform day-to-day tasks and doing an update/current assessment on his condition would hopefully give him a new baseline. Thank God the depression and anger he felt had lifted.

He knew the basics of his injury, how to manage it, and what to do in most situations. BUT, spinal cord injuries (SCI) could be highly debilitating and required regular monitoring. Jon learned the intricacies of the spine, and that his injury was classified “L-2 and L-3 incomplete”. Which meant the spinal cord and associated nerves in his lumbar region, the second lowest part of the spine, had been damaged in the horrific car accident that killed his friend, and he’d been lucky to be left with full upper body function – after being “extricated” with the jaws-of-life. Below his waist there was intermittent damage (incomplete) which had initially left him minus leg function, but worse, bladder and bowel function had been interrupted. He despised the external bags – and then just as he’d accepted his circumstances – some function returned; allowing him to try self-catheterization (it wasn’t near as scary as it sounded) to empty his bladder. Slowly, with medical monitoring, Jon was able to retrain his bowel to work efficiently.  What he ate and drank was much more important that he’d ever known. And then the most exciting event since his accident happened! Jon discovered standing and holding his own weight was possible. Not ambulatory (YET!) but weight bearing. What a milestone!

His first physiotherapy visit was encouraging. The place was huge and packed with busy staff and a wide range of disability/injury “clients”. A tall, lean man with dark hair approached him.

“You must be Jon. Welcome to Neuromotion. Is this your first time here?”

“Yes it is. I went to the Royal Alexandra Hospital following my accident. We did a bit of physiotherapy work there.”

“Great. I’m Luca, and we’ll work together for the next few months. Let’s head down to a private room and we can go over your history and discuss some goals. Sound okay?” I picked up on an interesting hint of an accent.

“Absolutely. Right behind you.”

I followed Luca in my wheelchair with ease. There was a surprising amount of equipment tucked in corners and alcoves. Fantastic. There were a dozen physio-beds with curtained-off partitions, and at the end of the hall Luca disappeared inside a small room that contained a couple of chairs, single physio-bed, an assortment of bolsters, wedges, strapping, and pillows stacked in front of a window where sunlight spilled through. I stayed in my chair while Luca and I talked.

“I’m wondering if you have a specific goal in mind that we can work towards as we meet each week? Then I can design a program unique to your needs.” Luca tapped his pencil rhythmically.

“Well, after my accident, I started out unable to walk or feel my legs, or move my feet, and my bladder and bowel didn’t work. After the first year, I regained some feeling and eventually was able to manage my bowel and bladder on my own. Recently some strength returned to my legs and I discovered I could stand up while holding on to something supportive like my wheelchair or a counter or the back of the couch.” I paused.

“Wow. Incredible progress!” Luca smiled.

“Yep. That’s what I thought too. So to answer your question, my goal is to be able to walk a bit.” I wasn’t sure if this was like asking for the moon, but Luca nodded. I cheered. “”YEEEESS!”

“It’s possible we can achieve this with some of the equipment we have here. We can start by strengthening your core, hips and legs with some of the machines and weights, and then put you at the parallel bars so you have something to hold onto as you take a step. Come-on, I’ll show you our equipment room.”  I noted Luca’s use of the word equipment with an emphasis on the “e”. It sounded more like eequipment. A little bit foreign, a little bit funny. Not the ridiculing kind of funny, but the ha-ha funny.

It was impressive. There was much adapted equipment that I could see would broaden my ability to work on specific muscle groups.

“I hope my past workouts at the gym weren’t a waste of time. My lower body still feels weak and shaky.”

Luca reassured me. “I can see you’ve developed your upper body quite well. Now we will focus on the lower. Yes?”

“Definitely.” I grinned. “That’s why I’m here.”

Back in the private room, I transferred to the bed easily from my wheelchair, and Luca raised the height. We started with basic core strengthening exercises, some of which I could do at home. I lay on my back in the “supine” position.

“Squeeze the butt muscles. Hold. Count 1-2-3-4-5. Release. Do you have any pain?”

“None. But plenty of weakness. Can I do this at home?”

Luca laughed. “You’re one step ahead of me, Jon. Yes, the more often you can do reps of 10, the better. I’ll write it down for you.” He handed me a list of 3 exercises we’d tried with simple instructions that included a stick-man in various positions.

My turn to laugh. “Perfect.” We discussed further details, the importance of diet, water and sleep. The hour was over in no time.

That night after my support group meeting, a few of us went for ice cream. Me and Cecile ending up comparing  physio-therapy experiences. I was surprised how similar they sounded. She frowned at me.

“Have you heard the expression ‘MS is getting on my nerves?’ Of course we share similar difficulties. Nerve damage, no matter what condition, results in motor skill problems.” She chuckled. “I’m pretty sure SCI people have their own set of ‘in-house’ mottos. The Disability Resource Centre downtown has a spinal cord group that might have some good ideas for you. It’s where I got a handicap designation for my car. You know, one of those blue and white wheelchair symbol cards that are hung on a rear view mirror.”

“So you drive Cecile?”

“I just got my license. It’s pretty amazing to be able to drive. Do you?”

“No I don’t, but I plan to. Maybe you could give me some pointers.” She smiled shyly and nodded.

The group chatted about music, photography, and good movies. Jon noticed Cecile was kind of quiet after they spoke, although she smiled a lot and laughed at the jokes that got tossed around in the group. Her long dark brown hair had several reddish streaks and he noticed a small butterfly tattoo on the top of her right hand. She was cute.

As they came out of “What’s the Scoop”, a large cloud of grayish-black smoke hung in the distance. That explained the sirens they’d heard earlier. Cecile wheeled off with another young woman, and Jon and two others headed in the opposite direction. He wheeled the last two blocks by himself, appreciating the street lights and quiet neighborhood, Jon thought more about Cecile. Maybe he should ask her on a date. Could two people in wheelchairs go out together? He didn’t see why not. He’d ponder it some more.

As he wheeled up the driveway, his dad pulled in behind him with the cruiser.

“Hi Dad. I thought it was your day off. Emergency?”

Tom unzipped his jacket. “You could say that son. I’m sorry to tell you there’s been a fire at Bellamy. There wasn’t enough staff, so I got called in.”

“Holy crap. Did anyone get hurt? Is there much damage?” That explained the smoke we saw.

“You know how close the fire hall is to the school, right? That was a miracle! A quick response saved the majority of the school from damage – it was mostly contained to the gym and doused before I left.”

Dad waited by the door as I wheeled up the ramp and held it open for me. “Thanks Dad! How does it feel to be one of the heroes?” I got a whiff of stinky smoke off his jacket.

“I’m hardly a hero, Jon. Just doin’ my job.” Mom came out and hugged us, leading us into the kitchen for tea (I like milk) and cookies. My parents were alright. I’d puzzle over the fire later in my room alone.  What was going on???