“Is it still running?” he asked, folding his paper neatly. Next he would get up, put on his suit jacket and tuck the paper in the inside pocket, then head for the office.

She made a little grimace of doubt. “Well, yes, it is, but—”

“Is it making any noises?” he continued, standing up, his own face reflecting his impatience.

Again she hesitated. “Well, no, but—last night, I thought I smelled—”

“You didn’t smell anything,” he said, interrupting impatiently. “You imagined it. I was right here last night, and I didn’t smell anything. If I didn’t smell anything, then neither did you. Or if you did, it was probably just some lint overheating. Clean the lint-catcher once in a while. I’ll look at it later.”

“Yes, Rod,” she sighed, as he shrugged on his coat and headed out the door. A moment later, he pulled his car out of the garage, down the driveway, and was gone. She began picking up the breakfast dishes and setting them into the dishwasher. School had only been out for about a week, but already the kids had established their summer routines. Jill wandered back down the hall to her room; Rod Junior went out to ride his bike. Ryan stayed with her to help. She smiled at him, and hugged him comfortingly. He still looked disturbed and unhappy, and not just from his father’s unkind words.

But her mind was on other things now. It’s a good thing I turned off the dryer last night when I thought I smelled something burning, and remembered to unplug it first thing this morning, she thought, closing the dishwasher and starting it. With an electric dryer, you can’t always be sure it’s off unless you unplug it. I guess I’ll just have to dry clothes on the line outside until he gets around to looking at it. I wish he’d let me call a repairman. …

Actually, she wished he’d let her buy a new dryer. One with some of those special settings for delicate things like Rod’s silk shirts, and a door rack for the kids’ sneakers. There was always enough money for new suits, but never anything for a new dryer. Probably because he didn’t have anything to do with the dryer—

“Mommy!”

She jumped, as if shocked. The shriek was Jill’s and it was full of terror. “Mommy! Fire!”

Her heart bounded into her throat; she came out of her trance of shock, dropped the butter-dish she’d been holding, and ran for the utility room. But Ryan streaked past her and into the hall, something large and red in his hands.

The fire extinguisher from the kitchen, under the sink—he’d been closest to it—

The smoke alarm went off, shrilling in her ears, galvanizing her with fear, as Jill broke into a wail of her own.

“Mom-EEEEEEEEEEEE!”