He put Eli into his car seat and strapped him in. Sarah climbed in back next to the boy. Things were not going to be easy for any of them, not for a long time, perhaps ever again. There would be sleepless nights, bad dreams, and long silences. But in his mind he was already driving them north, away from Pennsylvania, toward the broad expanse of New England, an area whose history and durability might give some context to what had happened to them tonight, or at least allow them to live with it.

“What time is it?” Sarah asked.

He started the car. “Just after two.”

“It feels later.”

“Four hours till daylight.”

He pulled out of the parking spot. From behind he felt Sarah’s hand reaching up between the seats to touch his shoulder. Her fingers were tentative but her voice was as strong as he remembered it ever being.

“It’s all right,” she said. “We’ll be all right, Mike.”

“Sarah,” and suddenly there were tears in his eyes, as the awfulness of what had happened began settling inside him with all its unbearable weight. “I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.”

“No,” she said, and he heard that she was crying, too, softly. “I love you. Do you love me?”

“Yes. God, yes.”

“You know what I was thinking as Eli and I were lost in the smoke upstairs, right before you came back? I was thinking how lucky I was, how blessed, because I knew it was going to be okay. Do you see that?”

Mike nodded. He did see that, but she had it turned around. He was the fortunate one, and he knew it. For whatever reason he had been worried about saving his wife and child, when in reality, of course, his wife and child had saved him. By the time the sun rose they’d be at another hospital, and things would be better.

He drove across the employee lot to where he’d parked his own car, hours before.

“Mike, what…?”

“It’s all right.” He got out, Sarah watching as he stepped from the Outback and walked to his car, reached into the glove compartment, and brought out a black velvet box he’d left there. Without a word he got back into the driver’s seat, turned around, and put the box in her hand.

Sarah opened it. The bracelet shone in the half-light, reflected in her eyes. Its inscription: SARAH—FOREVER—MIKE.

“It’s beautiful.” She looked at him. “Why?”

“No reason.”

She looked back up at him, tears in her eyes.

Mike Hughes put their car in gear and drove his family home.

EPILOGUE

EPILOGUE

Dave Kellogg thought: It’s dead.