A Time for Us - By Amy Knupp Page 0,80

consideration: the condo was the last tangible piece he had left of Noelle.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

THE HOUSE WAS a total loss from the blaze, no question about it.

Cale and the crew had been doing salvage and overhaul for what seemed like days, though in reality, it was only 9:30 p.m. The sun had set not too long ago, and the darkness had made the already tough job a little more difficult. The adrenaline from fighting the fire had long ago run out and now he and the others were just plain worn-out. The homeowners, though... He shook his head sadly.

His heart went out to the elderly couple whose single-story home had burned beyond recognition. They’d been at the site for hours, sitting on the curb across the street, watching. Crying. Comforting each other. Cale was struck by the way they supported each other—his eyes were drawn to them every time he came out of the former structure carrying equipment or debris. As he loaded up some tools on the truck, he glanced over at them yet again.

They had to be in their eighties. The man was tall and slim and a little hunched over. His wife was petite with the whitest head of straight, short hair. Someone had brought them lawn chairs for their vigil, and they’d parked them only a couple of inches apart on the grass near the sidewalk. Each leaned toward the other, and both of their hands were clasped together, resting on the woman’s thighs. They’d lost damn near everything, and just looking at them from a distance, he’d bet there’d been a lot of years of memories in that house.

Once the tools were stowed, he headed back through what had been the front door to see what else needed to be done before they could return to the station. He’d give his left arm to be able to sleep before they got another alarm.

“Check this out,” Derek said from the rubble to Cale’s left.

Unsure whether Derek was addressing him, Cale walked toward him.

“Look at this thing.” He shined a flashlight on what appeared to be an intricate, hand-carved cuckoo clock. “Still ticking.”

Cale bent down to look at it. “Unbelievable. Where’d you find it?”

Derek pointed his light on the ground. “Right there. I think this was the dining room. It’s the only place I’ve found anything intact. There are a couple pieces of pottery over there, maybe part of a collection, but if so, the only pieces left. A few pieces of broken china, as well, but none salvageable.”

“I bet they’d like to see that,” Cale said, gesturing to the clock. “They’re still out there.”

“Those poor people,” Derek said, frowning sympathetically. “Take it out to them. Wish there was more we could give them but...” Derek shook his head, surveying the charred, wet remains of a lifetime.

Cale took the clock from Derek and shined his own flashlight on the pottery shards, discovering the two pieces that hadn’t broken—one looked like a glass candy dish, and the other appeared to be a Native American piece. Both were charred in places, but Cale grabbed them anyway. The pottery had some kind of freaky ceramic figure extending from the top of it. Ugly. But possibly precious to these people at least for the fact that it hadn’t been destroyed. Rummaging through the immediate area for any other pieces that had survived turned up nothing, so he took the three pieces and walked across the yard and the street to the man and the woman.

They looked expectantly at him when it became obvious he was heading toward them and not one of the rigs.

“I’m sorry to say we haven’t found much so far that made it,” he said gently. “Hopefully, a search in the daylight will turn up more, but we thought this might be important to you.” He held out the clock for them to see by the light of the streetlamp.

“The clock Bernie gave us,” the man said, his voice wavering with fatigue.

“Bernie’s our son—” The woman broke off in a gasp. “Oh, my word, Harold. Look.” She pointed at the ugly pottery Cale had in his left hand. “May I?”

“Of course,” Cale said, holding both pieces out to her.

“Oh, Harold, there’s not a crack in it. Not a new crack, at least.” She took the creature-topped pot and held it reverently between her and her husband.

“Unbelievable,” the old man said in a hushed voice. “Would you look at that, Bess.” He nodded slowly, and Cale did a double take