Matt & Zoe - Charles Sheehan-Miles Page 0,23

my head back with a full-throated laugh. I am so glad I didn’t consider applying for a job as a cop.

“So what happened next?” I ask. I walk to the bare pantry trailing the phone cord behind me. Nicole goes on telling her story, elaborating with more and more outlandish facts.

What the hell?

I kneel. There’s a hole in the baseboard of the pantry, and it looks like something’s been chewing near there. Then I see the tiny black dots.

Mouse droppings. I shudder.

Then I hear Jasmine scream.

Instantly I jump to my feet, dropping the phone. The phone’s on the end of a long wound-up cord, which retracts suddenly, yanking the handset across the floor until it crashes into a cabinet.

Jasmine is at the kitchen door, eyes wide, staring at the pan of frying chicken, which is now burning with foot high flames. She screams again, and I launch myself across the kitchen to the sink, searching for the fire extinguisher. It’s not where it belongs. I shove cleaning fluids and various unnamed items around until I yank the extinguisher out from the very back of the cabinet. Without hesitating, I pull the pin and aim the extinguisher.

It’s empty. Nothing at all. Damn it!

I search, my mind first turning to the sink, but water will just make an oil fire worse. Then my eyes fall on the five-pound bag of flour.

I tear it open wide and pour it on the flames. With a loud whomp! the flames are smothered and the kitchen is enveloped in silence and smoke.

I gasp for air and stare at Jasmine, who stares back at me. In the background, I can hear Nicole shouting into the phone. “Zoe? Zoe? Is everything okay?”

I hesitate, then lean down and reach for the phone. “Everything’s okay,” I rush out. “Pan caught fire, but it’s out now.”

“Are you shitting me?” Nicole screams.

“Nicole, I gotta go.”

“Zoe, wait —”

“I gotta go.” I hang the phone up.

Jasmine is still staring at me.

“What?”

She says, “I’ve never seen a fire in here. Mom never did that.”

Mom never caught the kitchen on fire? I don’t know what to say, but my chest tightens and I want to say something unkind. I can’t even imagine what to say that might be appropriate. I just turn back to the pantry and look for something for dinner, because we sure aren’t having fried chicken.

I stand in the pantry. Pretty slim pickings. Some staples, like flour, but I’m no baker. Pasta is all gone (we ate it), so is the spaghetti sauce, the tortillas, the rice.

I need to go grocery shopping.

High at the top of the pantry is a box of Lucky Charms. Every once in a blue moon, Dad would buy a box. He wouldn’t let anyone else have them, which is why it’s way up there. I step on the bottom shelf to be able to reach to the very top and pull the box down.

It’s half full. “All right,” I say. “Change of plans. We’re eating Lucky Charms.”

Her response is caustic. “We’re eating what? Mom never made me eat cereal for dinner.”

“Well you know what, Jasmine? I’m not Mom.” I drop the box on the table, then walk to the fridge.

Ahh, damn it. There’s no milk. I sigh, then say, “Okay. Okay. That’s not going to work.” I look back at her. “Pizza?”

She nods. Then she says, in a very low voice, “Sorry, Zoe.”

I suck in a breath. Jasmine should not have to apologize to me. She’s going through hell, and I need to remember that.

“It’s okay, sweetie. Pizza it is. We should both go shower though. You go first.”

She runs out. I sag against the counter, exhausted.

I’ll call Nicole back later and apologize. Meanwhile, I’m looking at the disaster of the kitchen. Flour covering the stove. Oil splattered everywhere. Oily black soot coating the range hood and the wall above that.

That’ll take some cleaning.

I turn to walk upstairs, but stop in my tracks when the phone rings again. Who the hell is that?

I pick the phone up off its cradle once again. I need to get a shower and change into not-horse-and-fire-smelling clothing, and go to the bank and get some cash, then we’ll head to the pizza place up the street. Hopefully this will be a quick call.

“Hello?”

“Zoe? It’s Matt Paladino.”

My mind stops in place, and my body follows. I breathe a sigh and say, “What … what can I do for you?”

He hesitates. I’m guessing that means it is bad news. “I wanted to let you