63. Elliott
SIXTY-THREE
Elliott
I didn’t want to leave, but I had no choice. I had half a mind of staying in the waiting area, but that wouldn’t have helped anyone. I drove to her place instead. I had to see for myself.
And now I’m here, standing in front of what used to be the flower shop and their home.
Yellow tape closes off the immediate area around the corner building. Blue and red lights reflect on the walls in a bizarre dance. The rumble of the fire engine vibrates under my feet. Curious onlookers gather around with their cell phones out, taking pictures and videos. A TV crew is filming and interviewing firefighters and anyone else they can find with information.
“The fire is contained,” someone says.
Black smoke and steam billow in the night breeze, carrying the scent of ash and burned wood. Sludge runs in rivulets down the sidewalk and along the curb like a dark river carrying away Jillian’s future and dreams .
The front door is ripped off the hinges. The inside no longer looks like a jungle. It’s a black cave of nothingness.
I don’t think my father had anything to do with this. I don’t believe he’s capable of setting a building on fire with people inside of it. He’s ambitious and greedy and not opposed to using his contacts and going down a road that’s not ethical. But this? It can’t be.
The way Jillian looked at me. The pain and doubt in her eyes. It broke me.
I don’t know what I can do, but I know I have to do something.
Taking my phone out of my pocket, I turn away from the building and walk to my car. This can’t wait. I have two people to call tonight. I dial, not caring it’s so late.
The phone rings three times before she answers.
“Elliott? What happened?”
As soon as I hear her voice, peace comes over me. Along with an idea. “Grandma? Sorry for calling so late. This can’t wait. We need to talk.”