I nodded, coughing into the cloth.

“I’ve got her, don’t worry.” A new, female voice and new arms took hold of me, and I forced my eyes open. “What’s your name, sweetie?”

“Reagan,” I breathed. My savior was a step away from me now, covered head to toe in dust, and I looked in his direction. “Thank you.”

He turned his head and nodded at me. There was a flash of green in his eyes before he turned and headed back into the still smoldering building.

My gaze was glued to him. He’d just saved my life.

A firefighter came out of the smoky doorway with the familiar figure of Arthur over his shoulder. I made toward him, but my legs went again.

“That’s my neighbor! I was with him! Is he okay?”

Another medic came to the other side to steady me. “He’ll be looked after by our colleagues, don’t you worry. We need to get you in the back of the ambulance and get you checked out.”

“I’m fine.”

I was not fine. My teeth were chattering and my entire body was shaking. I knew I was going into shock, but I refused to give in.

“Reagan!”

I looked up in time to see Preston burst through the police line.

“That’s my sister!”

“Get out of my way!” was Aunt Bethel’s shout.

My body was too busy shutting down to do anything. Before I could think, everything was blurry. I was bundled onto something where I could lie down and something was put over me, and then—

***

“What do you mean, there’s no wine here?”

Miss Louella was fifty-three-years-old and had the unfortunate assignment as my nurse. “It’s midday, Reagan. Even if I could, I wouldn’t serve you it.”

I blew out a long breath and dropped my head back as she secured the blood pressure cuff around my upper arm. “I’m fine. It was shock. I didn’t inhale enough smoke for it to be damaging. The doctor said so. Why won’t they let me go home?”

“Sugar, I’ve told you three times this mornin’. Smoke inhalation symptoms don’t show up immediately.” She checked the machine next to me. “Dr. Wilson wants to make sure you’re really all right before he sends you on home.”

“I’m asking for wine, aren’t I? If I was sick, I wouldn’t ask for wine.”

“Reagan.” She removed the cuff and sat on the edge of my bed, looking at me with her kindly blue eyes. “You’ve had a traumatic experience. You’ve lost everything you own except the clothes you were wearing and your cell phone that you somehow managed to drag to the ambulance. I’d say it’s the optimum time for wine.”

She had me there.

“So why won’t you bring me any?”

“It’s not on the menu for patients. And before you ask—no, your friends cannot bring you some with the Subway sandwich you insisted on having.”

“Miss Louella, I’ve had a traumatizing time. Can’t I have the sandwich my heart desires?”