Before the Storm (4 page)

sense out of the chaos of a fire and its aftermath. Simply

moving the lock-in from the youth building to the church had

probably been more than he could handle.

“Why did you say they moved the lock-in to the church?” I

asked when we were halfway there.

“The electricity went out in the youth building.” Her voice

broke. “I heard some kids
died,
” she said.

“Maybe just rumors.”

“I’m so sorry I talked you into letting Andy—”

“Shh.” I reached for her hand. “It’s not your fault, all right?

Don’t even think that.” But inside I was angry at her, at how

cavalierly she’d told me,
Oh, Mother, he’ll be fine!

I tried to pull my hand from hers to make a turn, but she

held it tightly, with a need that was rare for Maggie, and I let

our hands stay locked together for the rest of the trip.

The crammed waiting area of the emergency room smelled

of soot and antiseptic and was nearly as chaotic as the scene at

the church. The throng of people in front of the glass reception window was four deep. I tried to push through, carving

a space for Maggie and myself with my arms.

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33

“Y’all have to wait your turn,” said a large, wide woman as

she blocked my progress.

“I need to find out how my son is.” I kept pushing.

“We all need to know how our children are,” said the

woman.

A man in the waiting area let out sudden gut-wrenching

sobs. I didn’t turn to look. I wanted to plug my ears with my

fingers. Maggie leaned against me a little.

“Maybe it was the electrical,” she said.

“What?”

“You know, how the electricity was out in the youth

building? Maybe that’s connected to the fire somehow.”

The woman ahead of us left the window and it was finally

our turn. “They told me my son was brought here,” I said.

“Andrew Lockwood.”

“All right, ma’am. Have a seat.”

“No!”
I wailed, the sound escaping my mouth like a surprise.

“Please!” I started to cry, as though I’d been holding the tears

in by force until that moment. “Tell me how he is! Let me go

to him. He’s…he has special needs.”

“Mom…” Maggie tried to pull me away from the window.

The receptionist softened. “I know, honey,” she said. “Your

boy’s okay.You take a seat and someone will come get you right

quick.”

I nodded, trying to pull myself together, but I felt like fabric

frayed too much to be mended. Maggie led me to one of the

seats in the waiting area and when I looked at her I realized

that she, too, had dissolved in tears once more. I hugged her,

unable to tell whether it was her shoulders quaking or my own.

“Laurel?”

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I saw a woman heading toward us from the other side of the

room. Her face and T-shirt were smeared with soot, her hair

coated with so much ash I couldn’t have said what color it was.

Beneath her eyes, two long, clean trails ran down her cheeks.

She’d had a good cry herself. She smiled now, though, as she took

both my hands in hers. I recognized the slightly lopsided curve

of the lips before I did the woman. Robin Carmichael. Emily’s

mother.

“Robin!” I said. “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” she said. “And Andy’s fine, too,” she added quickly,

knowing those were the words I needed to hear before

anything else.

“They won’t let me see—”

“What about Emily?” Maggie interrupted.

Robin nodded toward the other side of the waiting area,

where I spotted Emily curled up on a chair, hugging her knees

and holding a bloodstained cloth to her forehead.

“She’s gonna be okay,” Robin said, “but we’re waiting to get

her seen. She cracked her glasses right in two and got a little

cut over her eyebrow.” Robin still held my hands and now she

looked hard into my eyes. “Andy saved Emily’s life.” Her voice

broke and I felt her grip tighten on my fingers.“He saved a load

of people tonight, Laurel.”

“Andy?”
Maggie and I said at the same time.

“Yeah, I know.” Robin clearly shared our amazement. “But

I swear, it’s the truth.”

“Mrs. Lockwood?” A woman in blue scrubs stood at the

entrance to the waiting area.

“Yes!” I stood up quickly.

“Come with me.”

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35

We were ushered into one of the treatment areas I remembered from three years earlier when Andy broke his arm at the

skating rink. The room had several beds separated by curtains.

Someone was screaming behind one of the curtains; someone

else cried. But the curtain was not drawn around Andy’s bed.

He was bare chested and barefooted, but wearing his now-

filthy pants. A woman in blue scrubs was bandaging his left

forearm, and he wore an oxygen cannula below his nose. Andy

spotted us and leaped off the bed, the gauzy dressing dangling

from his arm, the cannula snapping off his face.

“Mom!” he shouted. “There was a big fire and I’m a hero!”

“Andy!” the nurse called sharply.“I need to finish your arm.”

Maggie and I pulled Andy into a three-way hug,and I breathed

in that horrible acrid scent from the fire in great gulps.“Are you

okay,sweetie?”I asked,still holding him tight.He fidgeted beneath

my arms,and I knew they’d given him something for the asthma.

I could tell by the spring-loaded tension in the muscles of his back,

that’s how well I knew my son. Still, I wouldn’t let go of him.

Maggie came to her senses first, pulling away from us. “The

nurse still needs you,Panda Bear,” she said.She lifted his arm and

I saw the angry red swath that ran from his wrist to the bend of

his elbow. First degree, I thought with relief. I led him back into

the cubicle and looked at the nurse as Andy climbed onto the bed.

“Is that the worst of it?” I asked, pointing to his arm.

She nodded as she fit the cannula to his nostrils again.

“Check it tomorrow for blisters. We’ll give you a prescription

for pain. He’ll be okay, though. He’s a lucky fella.”

“I made a new friend,” Andy said. “Layla. I saved her.”

“I’m glad, sweetie.” I dusted ashes from his hair until its

nutmeg color showed through.

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The nurse carefully taped the gauze to his arm again. “He

doesn’t seem to feel pain,” she said, looking at me.

“Not when he’s wired like this.” Maggie boosted herself

onto the end of the bed.

“He’ll feel it later.” I remembered the swim meet last year

when he hit his head on the side of the pool. He swam lap after

lap, blood trailing behind him, not even aware he was hurt until

the adrenaline had worn off.

“Did you
hear
me, Mom?” Andy said. “I saved Layla.”

“Emily’s mother told us you saved several people.” I smoothed

the elastic strap of the cannula flat behind his ear. My need to

touch him, to feel the life in him, was overpowering. “What

happened?”

“Not several,” he corrected me.
“Everybody.”

“You need to talk to him?” The nurse was looking over our

heads, and I turned to see a man in a police uniform standing

a few feet behind us. He looked at Andy.

“You Andy Lockwood?” he asked.

“Yes,” I answered for him.

The man took a few steps closer. “You’re his mother?”

I nodded. “Laurel Lockwood. And this is my daughter,

Maggie.”

The nurse patted Andy’s bare shoulder. “Give a holler, you

need anything,” she said, pulling the curtain closed around us

as she left.

“I’m ATF Agent Frank Foley,” the man said.“How about you

tell me what happened tonight, Andy?”

“I was the hero.” Andy grinned.

The agent looked uncertain for a moment, then smiled.

“Glad to hear it,” he said. “We can always use more heroes.

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37

Where were you when the fire began?” He flipped open a small

notebook.

“With Emily.”

“That’s his friend,” I said. “Emily Carmichael.”

“Inside the church?” Agent Foley asked, writing.

“Yes, but she’s my friend everywhere.”

Maggie laughed. I knew she couldn’t help herself.

“He’s asking if you and Emily were inside the church when

the fire broke out,” I translated.

“Yes.”

“Where in the church were you? Were you standing or

sitting or…”

“One question at a time.” I held up a hand to stop him.“Trust

me,” I said. “It’ll be easier that way.” I looked at Andy. “Where

were you in the church when the fire broke out?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Try to think,” I prodded. “Were you by the front door or

closer to the altar?”

“By the baptism pool thing.”

“Ah, good.” The agent wrote something on his notepad.

“Sitting or standing?”

“I stood next to Emily. Her shirt was inside out.” He looked

at me. “She used to do that all the time, remember?”

I nodded. “So you were standing with Emily near the

baptism pool thing,” I said, trying to keep him focused. “And

then what happened?”

“People yelled fire fire fire!” Andy’s dark eyes grew big, his

face animated with the memory. “Then they started running

past us. Then some boys grabbed a…the long thing and said

one two three and broke the window with the bald man.”

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It was my turn to laugh as the words tumbled out of his

mouth. An hour ago, I’d been afraid I’d never hear my precious

son speak again.

Agent Foley, though, eyed him with suspicion. “Were there

drugs there, Andy?” he asked. “Did you drink or take any substances tonight?”

“No, sir,” Andy said. “I’m not allowed.”

The agent stopped writing and gnawed his lip. “Do you get

it?” he asked me. “The long thing? The bald man?”

I shook my head.

“Are you still talking about being inside the church, Panda?”

Maggie asked.

“Yes and the boys caught on fire, but there were no ladders,

so I told them to Stop! Drop! Roll! and some of them did.

Keith was there.” He looked at me. “He was mean to me.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. Sara was my best friend and I was worried

sick about her son, but Keith could be a little shit sometimes.

“You mean there were no ladders to escape the fire, like the

ladder we have in your room at home?”

“Right. There weren’t any,” Andy said.

“Okay,” Agent Foley said. “So while this was happening,

where were you?”

“I
told
you, at the baptism thing.” Andy furrowed his

forehead at the man’s denseness.

The agent flipped a few pages of his notepad. “People told

me you got out of the church and—”

“Right,” Andy said.“Me and Emily went out the boys’ room

window, and there was a big metal box on the ground, and we

climbed onto it.”

“And then what happened?”

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39

“We were outside.”

“And what did you see outside? Did you see any person

out—”

“One question at a time,” I reminded him.

“What did you see outside, Andy?” Agent Foley asked.

“Fire. Everywhere except by the metal box. And Emily was

screaming that nobody could get out the front door because

fire was there. I saw somebody
did
get out the door and they

were on fire. I don’t know who it was, though.”

“Oh God.” Maggie buried her face in her hands, her long

dark hair spilling in waves over her arms. I knew she was picturing the scene as I was. Sitting there with Andy, it was easy

to forget how devastating the fire had been for so many people.

I thought again of Keith. Where was he?

“Did you see anyone else outside beside the person on fire?”

the agent asked.

“Emily.”

“Okay. So you went back in.”

“You went back
in,
Andy?” I repeated, wondering whatever

possessed him to reenter the burning church.

Andy nodded. “I climbed on the metal box and got into the

boys’ room and then called for everyone to follow me.”

“And they did?” the agent asked.

“Did they what?”

“Follow you?”

“Not exactly. I let some of them, like my friend Layla, go

first.” He pulled the cannula from his nostrils and looked at me.

“Do I still have to wear this?”

“A little longer,” I said.“Until the nurse comes back and says

you can take it off.”

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“So you let Layla go out the window first?” Agent Foley

nudged.

“And some other kids. Then
I
followed
them.
But some were

still following me, too.” He wrinkled his nose. “It’s hard to

explain.”

“You’re doing fine, sweetie,” I said.

“How did you know the…metal box was there?” the agent

asked.

“I don’t remember.”

“Try to remember,” I said.

“I saw it when I went to the bathroom.”

“When was that?” the agent asked.

“When I had to pee.”

Agent Foley gave up, closing his notepad with the flick of

a wrist.

“Sounds like you
are
a hero, Andy,” he said.

“I know.”

The agent motioned me to follow him. We walked outside

the curtained cubicle. He looked at me curiously.