Every fear I’ve buried deep or thought I’d conquered bubbles to the surface. My mother’s warnings that I failed to heed are now playing loud and clear in my head as I watch Trevor’s truck drive away. When I turn around, I can tell by the look on Mom’s face that she knows exactly what’s running through my brain.

This has to be some sort of sign.

My stomach rolls, followed by a thick wave of nausea, and suddenly my mouth becomes overly moist, like it does when I’m about to throw up. Closing my eyes, I take a few deep breaths, willing the feeling to go away.

I can’t believe I allowed this to happen. I fooled myself into thinking I could handle something like this, when clearly, I cannot. My heart is racing, nearly exploding out of my chest at the thought of Trevor running into another fire.

Why did I think I could ever do this day in and day out—support him and say goodbye to him, knowing he’s running toward danger? I realize now that most days, Trevor leaves for work, and I don’t know what kinds of calls he’s responding to. I just go by what he tells me at the end of his shift, which usually isn’t much more than a brief rundown of what happened. I see now that maybe he was trying to protect me.

My legs are shaky and numb as they carry me back across the yard toward the rest of the group.

Mom stands up and takes a step toward me, but I raise my hand, stopping her. Right now I need to concentrate on holding myself together and not bursting into a ball of tears and snot. If she wraps her arms around me, I’m going to lose that battle.

She takes a step back and sits in her chair, but her back is stiff, and I know she’s ready to pounce on me at a moment’s notice. I’m not so lucky with Trevor’s mom, because as soon as I sit down, she reaches for my hand, and the emotion pushes forward, flooding my eyes.

“He’s going to be fine, dear,” she says with a smile that tells me he’s been called away from family dinner before.

“She’s right,” Adley says. “This sort of thing happens all the time. We usually don’t schedule dinners when he’s on call because he inevitably ends up having to leave.”

Oh God. Can I do this? Can I handle him leaving mid-dinner every time that pager goes off? And what if it goes off during Easter mass or our kids’ Christmas concert? Will he get up and leave?

Who am I kidding? Of course he will, the same way my dad did.

I scoot my chair back and stand up again, looking at Mo. “Could you take me home?”

She glances worriedly between me and Rhett, then stands up. “Yeah, sure. Whatever you need.”

I nod. “Let me grab my purse.”

I walk away from the table with eight sets of eyes burning a hole in the back of my head, everyone no doubt wondering if I’m on the verge of some sort of breakdown. They all know my history—the history of my father—but no one but Trevor really understands the internal struggle I’ve had with my father’s death.

The back door slides open, and I step inside the house, grateful for the momentary reprieve. I grab my purse where I left it on the couch and look up to find the TV on. It’s muted, so I can’t hear what’s being said, but there’s a picture of a large building on fire, and then it fades to a reporter. I grab the remote from the coffee table and turn it up.

“Authorities in the Dayton area say a fire broke out in this abandoned warehouse earlier this evening. So far nine people are confirmed dead, twelve injured, and several more remain unaccounted for. It is unknown what caused the fire, but crews have been working to contain it for over an hour. We are live on scene and will keep you updated with any new information. Steve, back to you.”

“Claire? Are you okay?” Mo asks.

“It looks bad, doesn’t it?” I say, staring at the TV.

The reporter may have finished her piece, but the camera is still zoomed in on the fire. There are flashing lights and people running everywhere, and it makes me sick knowing Trevor is among the crowd. Even worse, I don’t know where. Is he on a hose in the building, the way he was when he found me? Or is he standing back, manning the crowd the way firefighters sometimes do?

“Come on, let’s get you home. Rhett is going to follow us. I’ve already got Milo in the truck.”

I’m on autopilot, painting on a fake smile and overly cheerful voice as I thank Vivian and Sawyer for having me over for dinner. I wave goodbye to everyone else, refusing for a second time to get too close to my mother, and I breathe a sigh of relief when I’m safe and sound inside Mo’s truck.

As soon as I’m seated, Milo crawls into my lap. She presses her head against my chest as though she knows how bad it’s hurting.

“Drive to the fire.”

“What?” Mo looks between me and the road. “No, Claire. I don’t know much about fires, but I know that’s not something you do.”

“Please, Mo. We don’t have to get close, but I need to be there if something happens.”

“Nothing is going to happen.”

“You don’t know that,” I shout. “Please, Mo. Please, just take me.”

“Rhett is going to kill me.” She looks in her rearview mirror and side mirror and then executes a perfect three-point turn. A second later we fly past Rhett’s truck going the opposite direction. Mo looks in her rearview mirror and flinches when she sees Rhett whip a U-turn in the middle of the road.

Her phone rings through the Bluetooth and she hits the answer button on the screen on her dash. “You’re on speaker,” she says.

“I don’t care if the Pope can hear me. Where are you going? Do you know how dangerous it is to turn around like that on the highway?”

“Oh, and your U-turn was so much better?” she counters.

“Mo,” Rhett warns. “What are you doing?”

“I’m taking Claire to the fire. But don’t worry, we’re not going to get close,” she adds

Rhett laughs, but it lacks any sort of humor. “Don’t worry? Are you two stupid? You know better than to do something like that.”

“Don’t be mad at her,” I tell him. “I asked her to take me.”

“And she could’ve said no.”

Mo rolls her eyes.

“Turn around,” he orders.

Mo scowls at her dash. “No.”

“Monroe Danielle Gallagher, turn your truck around.”

“Absolutely not. She needs to be there, Rhett. If the situation was reversed and you were about to run into an inferno, I’d want to be there, too, and I hope to God she’d take me if I asked.”

We listen to Rhett sigh through the phone. Mo gives me a tight smile and a thumbs up low enough that Rhett wouldn’t be able to see it through the window.

“You don’t even know where you’re going.”

“Dayton. It’s a small town. We’ll look for the plume of smoke.”

There’s a long pause filled with lots of white noise, and then Rhett gives in.

“Fine, but do not get close, and do not get out of your car. The last thing Trevor needs is to see you there. He needs his head in the game for this sort of shit, Claire.”

“I know. We promise.”

Mo disconnects the call and looks at me. “You owe me big time for this.”