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  “What happened?” she whispered.

  Her hands were shaking so much that I took the cup from her, and when she looked as though she was going to fall over, I leaned against the rock and drew her to me, her back to my front. “You passed out,” I said, and thought about all the doctors I was going to take her to. Diabetic coma came to mind.

  She sipped the water from the cup as I held it to her lips. “It was like I went to sleep and had a dream,” she said. “Fire. I saw a fire. It was in a kitchen. There was a pan on the stove and it caught a towel on fire, then the wall caught and everything went up in flame. There was a woman nearby, but she was on the phone and didn’t see the fire until it was too late. There were two little children asleep in the next room, and the fire burned the kitchen and the bedroom. The children were…” Jackie put her hands over her face. “The children died. It was horrible. And so very vivid. So real! I could see everything.”

  Maybe it’s because I live a good part of my life in a place of fantasy, but I knew instantly what had happened. Jackie had had another vision. Only this time she’d been awake, not asleep, and I knew she wasn’t going to like that. “This is like your dream,” I said slowly, preparing to start persuading her. “This is something that hasn’t happened yet, so I think we should try to prevent it.”

  But I underestimated her because she understood instantly. Weak as she was, Jackie made an effort to stand up. “We have to find the place. We have to go now.”

  I knew she was right. Since she wasn’t in a condition to carry anything, I grabbed it all, put her heavy pack on my back and my lighter one on my front. Jackie filled the cups with rainwater and doused the fire, then we put on our ponchos, went out into the rain, and started back to the truck. This time I led and this time our pace was at a jog. I was driven by remembering Nate and what a great kid he was and how Jackie’s vision had saved his life.

  “Tell me every detail,” I called back to her as we half ran down the slippery trail. Her face was unnaturally white, surrounded by her bright yellow poncho.

  “I saw the children screaming for their mother, but she—”

  “No!” I said. “Don’t tell me what happened, tell me the details of the place. We have to identify the place,” I said over the rain, walking backward, looking at her. “What color was the house? Did you see the street? Give me facts!”

  “A pink flamingo,” Jackie said, nearly running to keep up with me. “There was a pink flamingo in the backyard. You know, one of those plastic things. And a fence. The whole yard was fenced.”

  “Wooden? Chain-link?” I called over my shoulder.

  “Honeysuckle. It was covered with honeysuckle. I don’t know what was under the vines.”

  “The house? What did you see inside and outside?”

  “I didn’t see the outside of the house. There was a white stove in the kitchen. And green cabinets. Old cabinets.”

  “The kids!” I yelled. How far away was the truck?! “How old were the kids? What color skin? Hair?”

  “White skin, both with blond hair. About six, maybe younger.” When she paused, I knew she was thinking. “There was a baby, less than a year old. I don’t think she was walking yet.”

  “She?” I asked.

  “Yes! She was wearing pink pajamas. And the older child had on cowboy pajamas. A boy.”

  All the saints be praised, I saw the truck. I got the keys out of my pocket, pushed the button to unlock the doors, and helped Jackie tumble inside. I pulled off the packs, got out my cell phone, handed it to Jackie, then dumped the packs in the compartment behind the seat. Seconds later, I had the truck turned around and we were heading back to town.

  “Who would know this place if you described it to them?” I asked Jackie.

  “Anyone who’d lived in this town all their life,” she said, and I looked at her.

  “Yeah, but if we call them and explain, they’ll think you’re…”

  “Crazy?”

  We didn’t have time to go into that right now. “We need someone we can trust.” I was going so fast over the ruts and holes that my truck tires were hardly touching ground. I had someone in mind but I didn’t think Jackie would agree. I was sure she’d want to call Allie, but something about Allie made me think she lacked a calmness that we needed right now.

  “Dessie,” Jackie said, then began pushing buttons on my cell phone. I’d saved Dessie’s number in the directory. When Dessie answered, Jackie held the phone to my ear so I could drive.

  “Dessie,” I said, “this is Ford Newcombe. I don’t have time to go into details now but I need to find someone really fast. She’s a woman with two blond kids, a boy about six, and a girl who isn’t walking yet. The backyard of the house has a pink flamingo and a fence that’s covered in honeysuckle.”

  “And a swing set,” Jackie said.

  “And a swing set,” I said into the phone.

  Dessie didn’t bother me with questions. She hesitated a moment as she thought, then said, “Oak. At the end of Maple Street.”

  We were finally on paved roads, the rain had nearly stopped, and I looked at a sign. “We’re on the corner of Sweeten Lane and Grove Hollow right now. Which way do we go?”

  “Turn right onto Sweeten toward the Shell station,” Dessie said. “Do you see a stop sign?”

  “Yes.”

  “Take a left, go two blocks. Are you at Pinewood now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Turn right and it’s the house at the end of the street on the left.”

  “I see it!” Jackie said, her window down, her head stuck out in the drizzle. “I can see the swing set and the flamingo. And…and the honeysuckle-covered fence.”

  “Dessie,” I said, “I’ll see you tomorrow.” I didn’t say I’d explain; I just hung up. I stopped the truck in front of the house on the end. Jackie and I looked at each other and What do we do now? hung between us.

  “Maybe we should…” Jackie said.

  I got out of the truck, but I had no idea what I was going to do. I walked to the front door, Jackie close behind me, and hoped some inspiration would come to me. When I reached the door, I looked at her for courage, took a breath, then rang the bell. We heard footsteps from inside, but then we heard a phone ringing and a woman’s voice yelled, “Just a minute.”

  “The phone,” Jackie whispered.

  I turned the knob, but the door was locked.

  In the next second, Jackie started running to the back of the house and I was close on her heels. The backdoor was unlocked and we tiptoed inside. We could hear the woman laughing and as we stepped further into the kitchen, we could see the side of her through a door that led into the front room. On the stove was the pot with a tea towel beside it. And the towel was ablaze, the flames licking upward to a shelf that contained pot holders and dried flower arrangements, all highly flammable.

  I grabbed the towel, threw it in the sink, and ran water over it.

  When I turned around, there was a little boy, wearing cowboy pajamas, standing in the doorway, rubbing his eyes, and looking at Jackie and me. Jackie put her finger to her lips for the child to be quiet, then we backed out of the kitchen and ran around the house to the truck.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Jackie

  Maybe I was jealous of Dessie, but I didn’t think so. First of all, why would I be jealous? If I were madly in love with Ford Newcombe and some woman was about to take him away, I would, yes, be very jealous. Or if Dessie were the type of woman who wanted to “do” for a man, that old Southern term that meant wait on him hand and foot, and I thought my job was in jeopardy, I’d probably try to break them up.

  But Dessie Mason wasn’t like that. True, I could imagine her marrying Ford and assuming that I was to be her slave. And of course she’d move me out of the best bedroom and into the servants’ quarters at the top of the house, but I couldn’t see her firing me. No, I did too much work to be fired. I ran the house, was Ford’s social secretary, was cook and purchasing agent. I did eve