Lisa Scottoline - Save Me

Rose took a final slug of soda. The story was getting bigger, spreading like the fire itself, and she didn’t know how long it would burn. She switched off the TV, troubled. Her gaze fell on her black laptop, which she kept on the kitchen table, off to the side. She pulled up a stool, sat down, and hit a key. A screensaver came on of Leo, Melly, John, and her, grinning in a cottony mass of matching sweatshirts on the beach. She went online, plugged in the website of the TV station, and its website popped onto the screen. PHILADELPHIA’S BIGGEST NEWS, read the top of the page, and underneath were headlines, among them, SCHOOL FIRE IGNITES CONTROVERSY, above the banner, Share, Print Email, Buzz up, Twitter, Facebook.

She skimmed the story, which said nothing that hadn’t been reported on TV, but at the bottom was a bright red banner, SEND US YOUR VIEWER VIDEOS! There were a bunch of thumbnails: scenes of the burning school, frozen in time, with the title on top. The Most Watched was Hero Mom. Rose clicked Hero Mom and watched. The video showed kids and teachers milling around the teachers’ parking lot, with the sound of head counts and other snippets caught on audio-“it’s only in the cafeteria,” “the fourth grade got out first,” “because it’s a new school, so they didn’t have the drill down yet.”

Suddenly the camera turned, jittery, to the building, where students streamed from the double doors by the library, and Rose recognized the older kids she had seen in the stairwell. Their flow stopped abruptly, and she saw herself running out of the building, her expression stricken, with Melly limp in her arms, her legs swinging. “Help!” she heard herself scream, on the video. Her cry was barely picked up by the audio, but Princess Google woke up, blinking and cocking her head.

Rose watched herself run and lay Melly down on the grass, then the view was obstructed by heads and feet as the crowds surged forward, until there was the ambulance siren and the tape ended. The video left her heart pounding. The sights, the sounds, the very picture took her back to the fire. She sat there a moment, staring at the titles of the other clips: Hero Mom Carries Daughter to Ambulance. Mom Gives CPR to Daughter. Cafeteria Fire. She moved the cursor over Cafeteria Fire, and hit PLAY, and the first frame of the video wasn’t a sunny parking lot, but a nightmare.

Rose swallowed hard at the sight. The view was from the playground, and the screen showed the front of the school, with the cafeteria front and center. Smoke billowed from the playground exit and from holes in the cafeteria walls and roof, where windows and skylights used to be. The air grew increasingly gray and hazy, and frantic children popped from the fog, being shepherded by teachers, janitors, and staff. The audio picked up a cacophony of screams, shouts, tears, yelling, and people shouting “oh my God,” “look at that,” “this way, this way,” and “help!”

Rose watched, galvanized, and suddenly she saw a terrified Danielle running out of the smoke, and after her, Emily, running in tears. Teachers surged forward to meet them, and the older students kept coming out of the smoke, hustled out in lines, until the video ended.

Rose remained motionless at the laptop, her hand still on the mouse. She wished she could play it again and have it end with Amanda fleeing the building, her blond hair flying behind her, her tanned legs churning, her arms open as she ran into the waiting embrace of Mrs. Nuru.

Mommy!

Rose didn’t move for the longest time. Princess Google fell back asleep on the floor, and the kitchen went completely silent. A light rain began to fall outside, and the leaves of the trees rustled with the drops, making the softest of sounds, an undercurrent of hush.

Tears came to Rose’s eyes. She’d been holding them back for so long, but this time, she let them flow.

Rose woke up, hearing her name called softly, then feeling a gentle touch on her back and a soft kiss on her cheek. She had fallen asleep in front of the laptop, on her folded arms. She lifted her head, blinking. “Leo?” she said, muzzy from sleep.

“Hi, honey.” Leo knelt beside her, so that they were eye level, and he put his arm around her. “I was worried about my best girl, so I snuck out.”

“Aw.” Rose let herself be hugged, their heads touching. Princess Google pressed between them, pawing for attention with moppet feet, her tail flopping back and forth. “That’s so sweet of you.”

“I can sleep here if you want to go back to the hospital. I’ll work from home tomorrow morning, then come by the hospital at noon and pick up you and Melly. Sound like a plan?” Leo kissed her again, and Rose felt the delicious scratchiness of a late-day beard.

“Yes, thanks. I’m sorry I was a jerk.”

“I’m sorry you were, too.” Leo smiled, and Rose smiled back.

“I don’t like when we fight.”

“Me, neither.” Leo kissed her again, more deeply. His mouth was warm, soft, and familiar. A best friend, and a best lover.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, which brings up an option I didn’t mention. We forget the kids and go upstairs and make love like people who have orange crates for furniture and read the liner notes on CDs.”

Rose smiled, then felt it disappear. “Amanda’s doing better, but still in a coma. Melly heard about her on TV.”

“Oh no.” Leo frowned, and Princess Google jumped up on his leg again. He scratched behind the ear, burying his knuckles in her fluffy coat. “You’d better get to the hospital. Unless you want me to.”

“Thanks, but I will.” Rose stretched, feeling stiff. “The Gigots have a lawyer in the family, and they’re suing to stop the school from opening and cleaning up the site. Think they’ll sue us, too?”

“Here we go.” Leo stood up, then steadied her to her feet, his lips pursed. He looked tired, his tie gone and his shirt unbuttoned, showing the collar of his undershirt. “The state and the school district have deeper pockets than we do, but as I said, I’d name us, too.”

“So what can we do? What does it mean, exactly? Can we really lose the house? Do they just take it, and sell it?” Rose couldn’t wrap her mind around it. “What about the mortgage? Do we owe the bank then, too?”

“Relax.” Leo held up a hand. “I have to look at the insurance policy and see if we’re covered. I refuse to worry about it now. It’s late, and we’re both beat.”

“Would you represent us?”

“Not now. Please.” Leo held up his hand, his expression tense. “I can’t deal. One thing at a time.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I said for better or worse, and I meant it.”

“Then I’m a lucky woman.” Rose hugged him tight, and Leo held her close for a second.

“Is this sex?” he asked.

Rose laughed.

Leo gave her a final squeeze, with his trademark grunt, like a punctuation mark. “Want some coffee before you go?”

“Good idea.”

“I’ll get it.” Leo made a beeline for the coffeemaker. He was a coffee fetishist, always on a quest for the perfect cup, trying out French Presses, Cuisinart brewers, and now a single-cup Keurig. He slid a mug under the spout and hit the blue button, and Rose leaned against the counter.

“How’s trial prep going?”

“Not bad. I have a ton to do, but I’m on it.”

“Melly gets discharged at noon. Can you really be there?”

“Yes, I planned on it. I don’t want you running that gauntlet of press alone.”

“Thanks.” Rose knew it wouldn’t be easy for him. His office was an hour’s drive away. “Also, I know you can’t swing it, but the wakes are tomorrow night for Marylou, Serena, and Ellen.”