Chapter 16
Rachel
Riverside Diner is busy for a Sunday lunch rush.
I spot Dorothy at a corner booth, already working on a cup of tea and a slice of pie. Her cane leans against the wall beside her.
“Rachel!” She waves me over with the enthusiasm of someone half her age. “I ordered you coffee. Hope that’s okay.”
“That’s perfect.” I slide into the booth across from her. “How are you feeling?”
“Old and creaky, but alive. Can’t complain.” She pushes a plate toward me. “I got you a pie too. The waitress insisted I needed two slices, and I’m not about to eat both.”
“Dorothy, you didn’t have to—”
“Hush. You look like you need pie.” She studies me with those sharp blue eyes that miss nothing. “How’s the job search going?”
“Slowly. Very slowly.” I take a bite of pie—apple, still warm. “I’ve applied everywhere. Retail, admin positions, even the front desk at the dentist’s office. Nobody’s calling back.”
“They will. Takes time.” She pats my hand. “You’re a smart girl. Someone will see that.”
“I hope so. Derek’s breathing down my neck about custody and being unemployed isn’t helping my case.”
Dorothy’s expression hardens. “That man. I’ve never met him, but from what you’ve told me, he’s got a lot of nerve. Abandons you and Tommy, then turns around and threatens to take the boy away. Shameful.”
“That’s Derek. Master of shameful behavior.” I drink my coffee. “But enough about my disasters. What’s new with you?”
“Oh, not much. Same old routine. Church on Sundays, bingo on Wednesdays, doctor appointments that take up half my week.” She brightens. “But I did start volunteering at the library. Children’s section. Reading to kids.”
“That’s wonderful! Tommy would love that. He’s obsessed with books.”
“You should bring him by sometime. I’m actually reading to the kids tomorrow afternoon, Tuesday. That series about the boy wizard. The children go absolutely crazy for it.” She takes a sip of tea. “Keeps me busy. Gives me something to do besides worry about Ryan.”
“How is Ryan?”
Her smile fades. “Still refusing to get a proper job. He’s nearly thirty, Rachel. Thirty years old, and he can’t hold down steady work for more than a few months at a time.”
“What’s he doing for money?”
“Asking me for it, mostly.” She sets her cup down with more force than necessary. “He comes by every week with some excuse. His car broke down. He needs money for rent. His phone bill is overdue. I give it to him because he’s my grandson, but I know where it’s going.”
“Where?”
“Gambling. Online poker, sports betting, whatever new thing he’s found on his phone.” Her voice drops. “I caught him once, sitting in my living room on one of those betting websites. Tried to hide it when I walked in, but I saw. He’s got a problem, and he won’t admit it.”
I don’t know what to say. Dorothy’s always been so positive, so cheerful. Seeing her like this—worried and defeated—feels wrong.
“Have you talked to him about it?”
“Tried. He gets defensive. Says I’m being dramatic, that he’s got it under control.” She shakes her head. “But I see the signs. The constant money requests. The way he can’t look me in the eye anymore. He’s in trouble, and I don’t know how to help him.”
“I’m sorry, Dorothy. That’s awful.”
“What’s awful is watching your grandson throw his life away and being powerless to stop it.” She dabs at her eyes with a napkin. “I raised him after his parents died. Did the best I could. And now he’s almost thirty with nothing to show for it except debt and bad decisions.”
I reach across the table and squeeze her hand. “You did your best. That’s all anyone can do. Ryan’s choices aren’t your fault.”
“I know. Doesn’t make it hurt less.” She squeezes back, then pulls her hand away to fix her hair. “Listen to me, dumping all this on you when you’ve got your own problems.”
“That’s what friends are for.”
“You’re a good girl, Rachel. Tommy’s lucky to have you.” She cuts into her pie. “And you’ll find work soon. I feel it in my bones. Things are going to turn around for you.”
We finish lunch talking about lighter things—the church bake sale, the new family that moved in across from Dorothy’s home, and Tommy’s latest obsession with dinosaurs.
When we hug goodbye in the parking lot, Dorothy holds on a little longer than usual.
“You take care of yourself,” she says. “And bring that boy of yours to the library sometime. I’d love to read to him.”
“I will. Promise.”
I watch her drive away in her old sedan, and I can’t shake the sadness that settles in my chest.
Ryan’s gambling. Dorothy’s worried. Everyone’s struggling with something.
At least I’m not alone in the mess.
Two days later, I’m standing in Tommy’s room watching him tear through his toy chest.
“It’s not here!” He tosses a stuffed elephant over his shoulder. “I looked everywhere!”
“Tommy, calm down. We’ll find it.”
“But I need it for show and tell! Mrs. Cott said we have to bring our favorite book, and the dragon book is my favorite.” His voice cracks the way it does when he’s about to cry.
I crouch down beside him. “Hey. Look at me.”
He turns, eyes already watering.
“What dragon book are we talking about?”
“The one with the red dragon that saves the village. The really big one with the shiny cover.” He wipes his nose. “I can’t find it anywhere.”
I think back. When did I last see that book?
“Did you check your bookshelf?”
“Three times!”
“Under your bed?”
“Yes!”
“The living room? Sometimes you leave books on the couch.”
“I checked there too!” His lower lip trembles. “It’s gone, Mama. Someone stole it.”
“Nobody stole it, baby. We need to think about where you last had it.” I stand up and scan his room. Books everywhere, on shelves, in bins, stacked on his desk. But no dragon book. “When did you last read it?”
“I don’t know. Maybe… at the library?”
The library. Right. Last week, we spent an afternoon there while I filled out job applications on my laptop. Tommy had been curled up in one of the beanbag chairs in the children’s section, reading for hours.
“You might’ve left it there.” I check the time. Two-thirty. “Let’s go check. If it’s there, we’ll get it. If not, we’ll figure out a backup plan for show and tell.”
“What if someone else took it home?”
“Then the librarians will help us find another copy. But I bet it’s sitting right where you left it, waiting for you.” I offer my hand. “Come on. Let’s go be detectives.”
He takes my hand, wiping his face with his other sleeve. “Can we get ice cream after?”
“If we find the book, yes.”
“Deal.”
The library is quiet when we arrive. Tuesday afternoon, school still in session, most people at work. Just the way I like it—peaceful, no crowds, easy to navigate.
The main entrance opens into a large lobby with the circulation desk straight ahead. A few people browse the new releases near the windows. The children’s section is toward the back, past the biography shelves.
Tommy makes a beeline for it. I follow at a slower pace, nodding at the librarian behind the desk.
“Hi, Mrs. Chen,” Tommy calls out when he spots the children’s librarian organizing books near the reading corner.
“Tommy! Good to see you.” She smiles at me. “And Rachel. What brings you in today?”
“Tommy thinks he left a book here last week. Big one with a red dragon on the cover?”
“Oh, I know that one. Let me check the return cart.” She heads toward a rolling cart near her desk. “We shelve returns twice a day, so if it was turned in, it should be here.”
Tommy and I wait while she sorts through the cart: picture books, chapter books, and a few board books for toddlers.
“Here we go!” She pulls out the dragon book. “This one?”
“That’s it!” Tommy grabs it and hugs it to his chest like it’s made of gold. “Thank you, Mrs. Chen!”
“You’re welcome, sweetheart. Just try to remember it next time, okay?” She winks at me. “He really loves that book.”
“He’s read it about a hundred times.” I ruffle Tommy’s hair. “What do we say?”
“Thank you!”
We’re walking back through the biography section when I smell it.
Smoke.
Not strong. Not obvious. Just a faint acrid smell that doesn’t belong.
I stop walking. Tommy bumps into my leg.
“Mama?”
“Hold on.” I look around. The smell’s getting stronger and coming from somewhere near the back of the building.
Then I see it. Gray wisps curling out from under a door marked Staff Only.
The fire alarm screams to life.
People appear from behind bookshelves—startled, confused, already moving toward the exits. Mrs. Chen is waving people toward the front entrance, her voice calm but urgent.
“Everyone outside, please. Orderly exit.”
My heart pounds. Not again. This can’t be happening again.
“Tommy.” I grab his hand tight. “We need to leave. Right now.”
“But—”
“Now.”
I pull him toward the front entrance. Other patrons are doing the same—orderly but fast, nobody panicking yet, but everyone aware that fire alarms mean danger.
The smoke’s thicker now. Visible. Spreading across the ceiling in dark clouds that make my chest tight and my eyes water.
We’re ten feet from the front door when someone rushes past me, shoulder catching mine hard enough that I stumble sideways.
My grip on Tommy’s hand loosens.
Then it’s gone.
“Tommy!” I spin around, searching the crowd.
“Mama!” His voice, small and scared, somewhere ahead, mixed with other voices and the shriek of the alarm.
I push forward, trying to see through the crowd moving toward the exit. My heart’s racing. My hands are shaking.
“Tommy! Where are you?”
“I’m here!”
I spot him near the entrance, pressed against the wall by the crowd, clutching his dragon book with both hands. Tears stream down his face.
I shove through the last few people and grab him, pulling him against my chest.
“I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
We push through the doors into the cool afternoon air.
The sidewalk is chaos—people clustering on the lawn, some on their phones, others just standing and staring at the building. Smoke pours from the back windows now, dark and thick.
Fire trucks are screaming in the distance, getting closer.
Tommy’s crying against my shoulder. I hold him tight, my own hands shaking so badly I can barely keep my grip.
“We’re okay,” I whisper. “We’re okay, baby.”
But I’m staring at the smoke, at the building that was fine five minutes ago and is now burning.
The library.
Dorothy was supposed to be here. Was supposed to be reading to kids this afternoon.
My stomach drops.
Was she inside? Is she still inside?
I scan the crowd, looking for her white hair, her purple cardigan, the cane she always carries.
I don’t see her.
The fire trucks pull up, and firefighters jump out and unroll hoses. I recognize the truck—station 47.
Cole’s.
And then I see him—pulling on his gear, shouting orders to his crew, moving with the same controlled urgency he had at the café.
Theo’s there too, already heading toward the building with the hose line.
I can’t move. Can’t breathe. Can only stand here holding Tommy while the library burns and the sirens wail and my brain screams the same thought repeatedly:
Not again.
Not again.
Not again.