True-Life Adventure

secondary. I woke up way the hell early, a frequent occurrence when I’ve overdone. Some people say you wake up like that when the alcohol has left your bloodstream, but I don’t believe it. If it’s not there anymore, why do you feel so lousy?
    Sardis was still asleep and I didn’t want to wake her, so I didn’t even scrounge around for coffee. I just left, thinking I’d call her later at Pandorf and thank her or apologize or something.
    It was maybe 7:30 when I turned onto Chenery Street. Already light. But my house didn’t look quite right to me. It was strange because other people’s looked the same as ever.
    When I got closer and saw what was wrong, I couldn’t take it in. Bad news is like that.
    But a long time has passed since then and I have come to believe it happened, so I can now write down with perfect confidence what it was: Sometime in the night my house was gutted by fire.
    I got out of my car and the air smelled funny. That was further evidence that it was true. But I still didn’t believe it, so I walked to the front door and looked in. I wished I hadn’t. It was like looking at the body of a dead friend; nothing like the live person had been. It wasn’t a house at all anymore— just a stucco shell with black streaks all over its nice terra-cotta paint.
    Somewhere in the rubble, I supposed, there might be something that could be salvaged. I’d have to look, eventually. But Spot’s body would probably be in there, too, and that was literally the body of a dead friend. I didn’t want to find it. At least I hadn’t lost my life’s work— I’d stashed copies of all my manuscripts, including my current one, at Debbie Hofer’s, just in case.
    At the end of the front walk there was a little step, and I sat down on it, feeling about as bereft as it’s possible to feel, I guess. Maybe it hurts more to lose a wife or kid, but if your house and cat are all you have, they become more precious than they’d be to a guy with a wife and kid. Because you know how close you are to having nothing. And that’s what I currently had.
    I was going to miss Spot.
    For a long time I sat on my step feeling numb and awful. A couple of people came out to get their papers and I was afraid someone would speak to me; I didn’t want to talk to anyone, so after a while I got in my car. My throat felt tight and every muscle in my face was straining. My body wanted to cry, but it couldn’t. Crying wasn’t a skill it had learned.
    My next door neighbor came out to get her paper. Her name was Mrs. Civkulis. She saw me, waved, and started walking toward the Toyota. I pretended not to see her. I liked her, but I couldn’t face her then. She started hollering my name. I left her in a cloud of dust.
    Where to go, though?
    The Toyota answered me. It turned toward North Beach and headed there without my help. North Beach was where Sardis lived. Once again, when I thought I didn’t want to talk to someone, it turned out I did. This was getting to be a habit.
    She was just leaving for work. Already outside, turning her key in the lock.
    “Paul!” She seemed glad to see me. Can you feature that? Then she saw what I looked like and she closed up her smile. “What happened?”
    “My house burned down.”
    “Oh, no,” she said, or “Oh, shit.” Whatever people say when they hear someone else’s bad news. The thing she said wasn’t memorable. The thing she did was. She walked over to me and kissed me all over my face, saying between pecks how sorry she was.
    No one had ever done anything like that for me before. Maybe I hadn’t ever been as vulnerable as I was at 8:30 that morning.
    She led me into her apartment and put on some water for coffee. Then she called her office and said she wouldn’t be in. She was putting herself way out for a perfect stranger. I didn’t know what to make of it.
    I seemed to be slow getting the hang of anything that morning. I guess I was in shock.
    Sardis poached eggs and made toast. “Are you insured?” she asked.
    Of course I was. I hadn’t even thought of it. I was about to come into a lot of money. So why wasn’t I happy?
    A nod was all I could manage.
    She sat down and took my hand. “You’ll be okay, Paul. There are other houses.”
    I nodded again. But I was starting to feel the least bit hopeful. Something about the way she spoke— the tone of her voice or something— made me feel as if I might be okay.
    “There’s something I’m afraid to ask,” she said. Her