Blue Smoke

ferocious circus.
    Something exploded, and there were more screams in response. Firemen in helmets, faces blackened by the smoke and ash, moved like ghosts in the haze of smoke. Like soldiers, she thought. It sounded like a war movie.
    And yet even the water sparkled as it flew through the air.

    She wondered what was happening inside. What were the men doing? What was the fire doing? If it was a war, did it hide, then leap out to attack, bright and gold?
    Ash floated down like dirty snow. Mesmerized, Reena stepped forward. Her mother caught her wrist, drawing her back, hooking an arm around her to bring Reena close against her.
    “Stay here,” Bianca murmured. “We have to stay together.”
    She just wanted to see. Her mother’s heart was an excited drumbeat against her ear. She started to turn her head, to look up, to ask if they could get closer. Just a little closer.
    But it wasn’t excitement on her mother’s face. It wasn’t wonder that shone in her eyes, but tears.
    She was beautiful; everyone said so. But now her face looked like it had been carved out of something very hard, leaving sharp lines dug deep. The tears and the smoke had reddened her eyes. There was gray ash in her hair.
    Beside her, Dad stood with his hand on her shoulder. And to Reena’s horror, she saw there were tears in his eyes, too. She could see the fire reflected in the shine of them, as if it had somehow crept inside him.
    It wasn’t a movie, it was real. Something of theirs, something that had been theirs all of her life, was burning away right in front of her. She could look beyond the hypnotic light and movement of the fire now, she could see the black smears on the walls of Sirico’s, the grime and wet soot staining the white marble steps, the jagged shards of glass.
    Neighbors stood on the street, the sidewalk, most in their nightclothes. Some held children or babies. Some were crying.
    She remembered all at once that Pete Tolino and his wife and baby lived in the little apartment above the shop. Something squeezed her heart when she looked up, saw the smoke pouring out of the upper windows.
    “Daddy! Daddy! Pete and Theresa.”
    “They’re all right.” He lifted her when she pulled away from her mother. Lifted her as he used to when she’d been little. And he pressed his face against her neck. “Everyone’s all right.”

    She hid her face against his shoulder, in shame. She hadn’t thought of the people, she hadn’t even thought of all the things—the pictures and the stools, the tablecloths and the big ovens.
    She’d only thought of the fire, its brilliance and its roar.
    “I’m sorry.” She wept now, with her face buried against her father’s bare shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
    “Ssh. We’ll fix it.” But his voice was raw, as if he’d drunk the smoke. “I can fix it.”
    Comforted, she rested her head on his shoulder, scanned the faces and the fire. She saw her sisters holding each other, and her mother holding Xander.
    Old Mr. Falco sat on his steps, his gnarled fingers working a rosary. Mrs. DiSalvo from next door came over to put an arm around her mother’s shoulders. With some relief she saw Pete now, sitting on the curb with his head in his hands, his wife huddled beside him clutching the baby.
    Then she saw Joey. He stood, his thumbs hooked in his front pockets, his hip cocked as he stared at the fire. His face was full of something like joy, the kind in the faces of the martyrs on her holy cards.
    A something that made Reena hold on tighter to her father.
    Then Joey turned his head, looked at her. Grinned.
    She whispered, “Daddy,” but a man with a microphone strode up and began asking questions.
    She tried to cling when he set her down. Joey was still staring, still grinning, and it was more frightening than the fire. But her father nudged her toward her sisters.
    “Fran, take your brother and sisters home now.”
    “I want to stay with you.” Reena grabbed at his hands. “I have to stay with you.”
    “You need to go home.” He crouched until his red-rimmed eyes were level with hers. “It’s almost out now. It’s almost done. I said I’d fix it, and I will.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Go on home. We’ll be there soon.”
    “Catarina.” Her mother drew her back. “Help your sisters make coffee, and some food. For the people who’re helping us. It’s what we can do.”

    F ood was always something they could do. Pots of coffee, pitchers of cold tea, thick