Page 536 of One More Kiss
We were halfway down the sidewalk when a crackling sound drew my attention. A small orange blaze captured the newspapers where I’d been sitting only moments earlier and had begun to lick up the old wood siding of the house.
“Fuck!” My curse drew the others’ attention, and soft murmurs rose around me as the fire began to devour the porch. I started to turn back to try to put it out, but Tito stopped me with one hand on my arm.
“Let's go,” he urged. “We’ll never get it out in time.”
“Run!” called one of the others.
I watched helplessly as the flames crawled higher, spreading faster and faster as it consumed the stacks of newspapers and debris on the porch. I fell back a step when Tito tugged on my arm. “Come on, man, we’re gonna get caught!”
I forced my feet to move and tossed one last look over my shoulder, guilt eating my insides as the fire engulfed the old house. Less than a minute later the wail of sirens filled the air, and I forced down the anxiety filling my stomach as the fire trucks headed toward the engulfed house.
Following Ramon and his friends, we headed to a party across town. Ramon stood next to the keg, regaling some of the other kids with the story. “You should've seen it.” He laughed. “The fucker went up like that.” He snapped his fingers.
An upper-classman I recognized tipped his head in question. “You talking about Mrs. Winters’s house?”
“Dunno.” Ramon shrugged. “Looked abandoned to me.”
“Sounds like it,” said another kid. “I mowed her grass over the summer.”
Tito and I shared a look as ice settled in my veins. “But there was no car in the driveway, no lights...”
The kid shook his head. “She can't drive anymore.”
Oh, shit. What if she'd been inside when the fire started? I had to get out of there. We took off, and I snuck into the house and crawled into bed. I hoped the kid was wrong, that the house was as empty as it looked. I fell into a fitful sleep and was awakened by the chime of the doorbell sometime in the middle of the night. A combination of dread and fear curdled in my stomach as I stumbled down the stairs. My heart nearly stopped when I saw the two police officers outlined in the doorway.
My mother was dressed in her ragged pink bathrobe, and she threw a worried look over her shoulder at me. She looked like she’d aged twenty years overnight as she stared at me, her face contorted in dismay. “Oh, Miguel… What did you do?”
