Winter Sky (8 page)

They raced for the bus to the mall. Once in their seats, Izzy pulled out a pad. “Let’s make a list.”

“A knitting bag for Mimi,” Siria said. “And shaving stuff for Pop.”

Izzy laughed. “How original.”

“I wish I could think of something wonderful.”

“We’ll look high and low,” Izzy said.

“There’s Danny, and Willie, and Jesse.”

“Christmas candy,” Izzy said.

Laila was harder. But wait. Hadn’t Laila mentioned fish in a tank? Siria closed her eyes. Yes. She’d give her a Siamese fighting fish, blue or purple, with a gently waving tail.

What would Christmas morning be like this year? Pop always made French toast and bacon that sizzled in the pan before they opened the presents under the tree. Would he be all right for that?

“Anyone else?”

“There’s you.”

“I’d put a new apartment down for myself,” Izzy said. “Mine is cold and damp, and there isn’t a kid in the whole building.”

“You have me.”

Izzy squeezed her hand. “Oh, I know that. I do.”

They were quiet for a moment. Then Siria began. “I was looking at Pop’s book about arson.”

“So many stories!” Izzy said.

Siria leaned forward. “Tell one.”

Izzy smiled. “One summer there was a kitchen fire, a steaming hot day. It was so hot that it was hard to move in our turnout gear.” She shook her
head. “Neighbors blamed the man who lived in the house. They believed he set it.”

“He set fire to his own kitchen?”

“He’d left a row of glasses on the windowsill. The sun’s rays sent the heat up so high that the glasses exploded, one by one. It was your father who saw the char on the glasses, and the fire marks near them. So it wasn’t arson at all. Sometimes people jump to conclusions.”

Siria sat back. And sometimes people were right.

The bus slowed down. Almost as if she knew what Siria was thinking, Izzy tapped her on the shoulder. “Don’t forget Douglas.”

Siria answered carefully. “I’ll think about that.”

That Christmas long ago. Were they five that year? They might have been six. Douglas had made her a necklace out of strips of colored paper. She’d worn it every day until it had fallen apart. And even then she’d kept it in her dresser drawer.

She followed Izzy off the bus. She hoped Izzy wouldn’t notice the tears in her eyes.

It was getting dark; silver-gray clouds covered the sky. Siria shrugged into her jacket. She’d meant what she’d said to Laila about Douglas. She’d follow him, watching.

But first, the dog. Had he made it back to the basement, or was he still out somewhere? Caught, or wandering around? Hungry?

“I’ll be back,” she called to Mimi, and went down to the third floor. Douglas’s brother Kevin was coming out, and she stood at the open elevator door. “Where’s Douglas?”

Kevin shrugged. “Watching TV.”

She tried to think of how to ask … what to say.

But Kevin didn’t get into the elevator with her. He took the stairs. “Ruined the kitchen,” she thought she heard him say.

The elevator door closed and she pressed the button for the basement, her mouth dry.

The dog wasn’t in the basement or outside in the alley.

So, Douglas.

She’d go back upstairs and sit on the fourth-floor landing, hidden, waiting for him to come out.

She sat there, halfway between Douglas’s floor and the fifth floor. Looking up, she could see that the door to the empty apartment was open. She’d take a quick look.

Someone had left a window open in the living room, and the wind had scattered swirls of snow on the floor and a piece of rug. An empty water bottle was on the sill. It reminded her of Izzy’s story about the glasses exploding on a hot summer day, and people believing the owner had set the fire.

She wandered through the rest of the apartment. The bedrooms were like hers and Pop’s. The bathroom tile was green instead of white, and there was a long crack in the mirror.

She was staring at her two half faces when she heard the outside door close. She tried not to breathe as she crept into the corner behind the open door, her hand to her mouth.

How could she explain if she was caught?

Above her head, the cracked mirror reflected the world outside. Everything was divided in half,
the white hills, the frozen creek, someone running along the edge wearing a dark green jacket.

Had Douglas left his apartment? So quickly?

All was quiet now, no footsteps, not a sound. She pushed the bathroom door with one finger, waited, then ran through the apartment. Someone must have closed the door from the outside.

She’d go after Douglas. Now.

She opened the door again, not quite closing it, and skittered down the stairs and outside.

By the time she reached the creek, huge flakes were falling and it was almost dark. Was someone crying? She stood entirely still, listening, but the wind was strong and it was impossible to be sure.

The sound stopped. She walked along the edge of the creek, climbing over the slippery rocks, and heard a soft whine on the other side of the creek, close to the pipe. It was the dog. She put one boot out, touching the ice, tapping to see if it would hold her weight. But even if she went through, the water would only reach her knees.

Possible. But so cold. She took another step and her foot broke through the ice. Water seeped into her boots, freezing against her toes.

She took a few more steps. And there he was, lying with his feet and legs in the water. “What are you doing here?”

Was he caught somehow?

The chain ran along inside the pipe, and even though she pulled hard, she couldn’t get it loose. She yanked off her mittens, dropping them on the ice, and bent down to run her hands along the chain. To one side, through the snow, she caught a glimpse of someone under an evergreen.

A flash of color. Green? A green jacket?

Douglas?

She called out to him. “I see you.”

There was a shower of snow from the branches as the person moved.

“Douglas?”

The dog trembled beside her.

It wasn’t Douglas. She could see that. Someone taller than Douglas, bigger. But wearing his green jacket.

Who?

She tried to free the dog, almost in a panic to get away from there and whoever was watching.

It was too dark to see the chain as it snaked inside the pipe, which was covered with frozen reeds. She pushed herself in, sleeves soaking, shoulders tight against the rusted sides, with just enough room to run her hands around the surface.

She reached out, stretching, searching, until she felt the end of the chain. Her fingers were numb; it was so hard to get it loose.

And someone was watching. Someone who wasn’t Douglas.

The chain gave, and she backed out of the pipe, shivering, wet. The dog, shivering too, didn’t even realize he was free.

Siria threw her arms around him, glancing over her shoulder. “We’re going home.”

It was almost as if he couldn’t move. How long had he been standing in the water? Somehow, she dragged him out of the creek.

Another shower of snow cascaded through the branches.

Hurry!

She pulled at the dog’s chain and began to run. The dog loped after her, and she almost tripped, looking back, righting herself, reaching the avenue, the dog so close she could feel his wet fur against her jeans.

She slapped at her pockets with frosty fingers. No key. But going around to the back of the building was just too much.

Almo sat near the front door, his chair tipped back against the wall, asleep.

Siria knocked at the door until he jumped. The chair banged down as he stood up to let her in. “What’s the matter with you?” he asked. “Where have you been? Out in the storm with that dog?”

He kept talking as Siria walked across the lobby, the dog’s claws clicking against the muddy tile floor. She rang for the elevator.

What would Mimi say when she saw them?

The doors opened and the dog followed her inside.

She glanced back. Almo was still staring at her and the puddles they’d left on the floor.

A note was propped up next to a tuna fish sandwich and a glass of juice on the kitchen table.

Siria dropped half the sandwich on the floor for the dog and wolfed down the other half, still shivering.

Someone was wearing Douglas’s jacket
.

The dog looked up at her, waiting for more.

She filled a bowl with water and fed him a can of Viennese frankfurters from the back of the cabinet.

He sank down then and closed his eyes.

She thought of Izzy’s story again.
People jumping to conclusions
.

Not Douglas
.

Maybe not
.

Tomorrow, after the snow had stopped, she’d get to the bottom of all this. At least she’d try.

She looked down at the dog, the red sore the rope had rubbed into the dog’s neck, the curved ribs under his fur, and the chain wrapped around one paw. How terrible he smelled; how matted his fur felt.

She reached for the scissors in the cabinet and began to hack at the rope. It was thick and wet and took forever before it fell away, and the chain with it.

What else could she do? Suppose she gave him a warm bath?

Why not!

He followed her down the hall to the bathroom and watched, head tilted, as she filled the tub with a couple of inches of warm water. How good it felt to her stiff, cold hands.

She peeled off her wet socks; her feet were red and even colder than her fingers. She turned to see the dog chewing on the towel she’d dropped on the floor.

She leaned forward. “Just jump in. Nothing to it.”

He sat back.

She tried to put his paws on the edge of the tub. “Nice in there. Warm and cozy.”

It didn’t work.

She tried to lift him, but he pushed against her with his large paws, the pads rough and scarred. She slid backward into the tub with him, splashing the tile walls and the floor.

He was ready to scramble out, but she held him and talked softly as she reached for the soap. In one minute, the water was filthy. She was filthy, too, soaked again, and she hadn’t even begun to wash him.

She pulled the plug to get rid of the water and turned on the faucet for another couple of inches. She knelt there, scrubbing him with Pop’s clean-smelling soap, working at the knots in his fur with her fingers, his fur lighter and curlier as she scrubbed.

Douglas isn’t the arsonist. Never mind what Kevin said. Never mind that Douglas loves fires
.

I should trust him
.

She rinsed the dog, watching the muddy water swirl down the drain until it turned lighter and, finally, clear.

They were both dripping wet as they came out of the tub. The dog shook himself until the whole
bathroom was a mess, lines of water running down the walls, the mirror cloudy, puddles all over the floor.

Siria dried him with a towel and reached for a brush in the cabinet under the sink. She kept working at the knots until his fur was smooth. Then she sat back. He seemed like a different dog. His fur was thick and almost a caramel color; his ears felt like velvet. He looked as if he belonged to someone.

If only he belonged to her.

Something kept nudging at her mind. Something about him. He’d been in the movie theater. At the creek. Maybe even the shed. What did that have to do with the fires?

She wrapped a towel around her shoulders and leaned back against the wall. The dog curled up next to her on the mat. For the first time since she’d gone to the creek, she thought about what had happened. She’d rescued him. Siria the shrimp, able to get halfway into that pipe! She’d saved that dog!

If she could do that, maybe she could solve the fire starting.

She put her hand on his head. What would Pop say to a dog?

He’d say no. He’d remind her of guppies in a bowl, or hermit crabs. No fleas, no dog walking in the snow.

But for the first time she knew what Pop meant when he said “The rescue is everything.”

She bent over the dog, resting her head on his broad back.

She didn’t know how long they slept on the tile floor, but a noise woke her. She stood up and opened the bathroom door.

Mimi’s hand was up, ready to knock. Her mouth fell open when she saw the dog asleep on the mat. “Siria!”

He slept on, almost as if he belonged there, in that warm, steamy bathroom.

If only he did.

“The dog can’t stay,” Mimi said.

“It’s late,” Siria said. “Just tonight.”

Mimi sighed. “Just this night, and that’s it! We’ll have to take him to the animal shelter, where someone will give him a home.”

Siria blinked back tears. The only home she wanted for him was right there with her.

Early Thursday morning, Siria’s fingers flew, texting Pop.
Come home, hurry. It’s Christmas Eve. We’ll have Mimi’s cookies and you can work on a new ship
.

Home before you know it
, he answered.
Feeling good. Miss you
.

But before he came home, Siria was determined to find out who had set those fires. She bit her lip. She’d have to talk to Douglas, too.

She remembered thinking there was a connection between the dog and the places that had been on fire. What about the movie theater? Maybe she could find a clue there that would tell her what had happened. She threw on her clothes.

The dog watched her from the bed. As soon as she opened the door, he was right behind her. She
stopped in the kitchen for a plate of cookies for her teacher, Mrs. Hall. She’d go there first.

She tiptoed past Mimi, asleep on the couch. Outside the sky was almost light. One star still glowed. “Morning star,” she breathed. Fresh snow covered the sidewalks, and the sound of shovels scraping it away was everywhere. She waved at Mr. Trencher and the dry cleaner and kept going, block after block. She rang the teacher’s bell, left the cookies, and kept going …