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  Mari gets to her feet. She can’t scream, her throat hurts too bad for that, so she claps her hands. Over and over. No dog comes. She runs into the hallway, where the smoke has now started billowing up the stairs.

  Andrew appears at the top. “You have to get out of here!”

  Not without the dog.

  He doesn’t see her or doesn’t understand. Or doesn’t care. Andrew lunges for her, but Mari ducks his grip and leaps through the doorway into Ethan’s room. No dog under that bed, either.

  The dog, she signs. The overhead light is still on in here. Andrew can see her. Now he gets it.

  “Dog! Here, dog!”

  “Chompsky!” Mari calls.

  No dog in Kendra’s room, either.

  A long, low creaking groan rips up the stairs, followed immediately after by the roar of them collapsing. More smoke. More heat. Coughing, eyes stinging, Mari covers her mouth and nose though it doesn’t help.

  “We have to get out, Mari. Listen to me!”

  And there, at the end of the hall, Mari glimpses a hint of something furry in the shadows of the bathroom. Six running steps get her there. She skids on the tiles—Chompsky in his fear has peed on the floor. Her knees connect with the toilet. Arms pinwheeling, Mari grabs the shower curtain, which tears off its hooks and sends her tumbling into the tub. Right on top of the terrified dog, as it turns out. He snaps, teeth bared and flashing white in the dimness, but Mari was long used to biting dogs and deflects him with her arm. He doesn’t mean it, anyway. She grabs him by the collar and pulls him and herself out of the tub.

  Chompsky will not move. She lifts him, staggering. She will not die here.

  She will not.

  The window in the master bedroom opens directly onto the flat roof over the front porch. There’s a small railing around it, like it was meant as some poor excuse for a balcony, but that just means when Andrew opens the window for her, the dog doesn’t slide off when she throws him out. Mari follows him, but Chompsky runs to the edge of the roof, decides jumping is not for him, and leaps over her and back through the window, into the house, past Andrew who’s got one leg over the sill.

  Mari sees her husband’s car. She sees Ryan and the kids. Rosie is there, too. The four of them stare up at her with wide eyes and wider mouths. It’s a short enough drop from here to the ground that she knows she can risk it—better a broken leg than being burned alive.

  Yet even as she sees herself rolling herself over the edge, holding on with her hands to lower herself at least a few feet closer, Mari moves instead toward the window. She shouldn’t—she knows she shouldn’t. Her kids are below and she needs to think of them. But something about that dog, his helplessness in a situation far beyond his ability to cope with, drives her need to save him.

  Andrew blocks her way. “I’ll get him.”

  “No,” Mari rasps.

  It’s too dangerous for Andrew to go back inside, just as it would be for her, and as conflicted as she feels about him right now, she can’t allow her brother to put himself in that position. He’s already sacrificed so much for her—she can’t ask him to make the ultimate sacrifice, too. But he’s already pushing her back and closing the window behind him.

  “Mari! Jump down!” Ryan’s voice calls her.

  Mari looks over the edge to the ground, then over her shoulder to the house. She hears breaking glass and more creaking wood, along with the growing roar of the flames. She sees her kids staring up at her in fear and horror. She knows what she has to do.

  She climbs over the railing and grips the rotted wood tight as she rolls off the edge, her belly digging into the edge.

  The wood gives way.

  She’s braced for a fall, but the ground is still hard. Her ankles twist, both of them, maybe not broken but definitely sprained. Mari rolls into the gravel on her hands and knees, then onto her back with the breath knocked out of her.

  Ryan leans over her. “Babe, are you okay? Holy shit.”

  She’s still not sure what to think about Ryan, but everything that happened seems diminished with the sight of the house burning down in front of them. They reach for each other at the same time. Then her children are there, too, and while there will always be many things about this whole summer Mari regrets, the fact her children had to see her escaping a burning house and falling off a roof is one of the worst.

  She clutches them all to her. Ethan’s soft, sweet cheek. Kendra’s long hair. Even Ryan’s strong arms, holding her. It’s a dream mingled with a nightmare.

  The front door opens. Andrew, Chompsky in his arms, staggers out in clouds of smoke. Through the door Mari sees the front staircase, shimmering with fire but not collapsed. The dog writhes free and, yelping, runs toward the barn. Ethan shouts after him and twists from her grasp to follow.

  Andrew collapses in the gravel, facedown.

  Mari struggles free of her husband’s embrace, her daughter’s clutching fingers. Pain flares in her ankles when she moves. Her hands, too, are stung and scraped raw. So are her knees, her pants shredded.

  “Who the hell is that?” Ryan shouts.

  Above them, the windows blow out. Glass scatters. Mari has covered Kendra with her arm, but splinters of glass sparkle in her daughter’s hair and some has cut her cheek. Ryan looks unscathed, but he’s dragging both of them away from the house, leaving Andrew behind.

  “You have to help him,” Mari says as her husband dumps her and their daughter onto the bit of grass where someone long ago unsuccessfully tried to plant flowers.

  “Help him,” Mari insists, pointing toward the still-not-moving Andrew.

  She hears Rosie screaming, but the noise is vague and in the background. She ignores it. She would get up and run to Andrew if she could do it herself, but her legs are in so much pain she can’t move. Worse, she must’ve inhaled too much smoke because the world is tipping toward gray. She’s going to pass out.

  “You have to,” she manages to say. “He’s my brother.”

  AFTER

  MARI STOOD IN her kitchen surveying the mountains of potato salad, the platters of deviled eggs, the baskets overflowing with rolls. Desserts lined the counter—brownies, cookies, cakes, Jell-O layered with whipped cream and fruit. She looked out the window over the sink to the yard outside.

  There her boy ran with Chompsky chasing him. Some neighbor kids followed. The screams were shrill and plentiful. The sounds of summer.

  The murmur of Kendra’s voice passed by in the hall. Instead of texting or even talking on her phone, she had a flock of girlfriends with her today. Mari thought she caught the name of the new boy Kiki liked, but the giggles overtook any other bits of the conversation. They crossed through the dining room and through the French doors to the deck outside.

  There was music out there, muffled by the windows and doors, but as the girls went out, the music came in. Some boys from the high school, including the one who has her daughter pink-cheeked and flustered, are playing in their rockabilly band. It was supposed to be a block party, but most of the action centered at Mari’s house because of the long, sloping yard that made the best set-up for the boys’ band.

  There was so much food nobody could possibly eat it all. Everyone had brought dishes to share. Mari snagged a deviled egg and ate it without a plate, licked her fingers, pulled more lemonade from the fridge to set on the table.

  “Hey, Mari, where’s your powder room?” Evelyn asked. “Great party, by the way.”

  “Thanks.” Mari pointed. “Down the hall. You’ll have to jiggle the handle.”

  “Got it.”

  Evelyn had hired Mari to work in her coffee shop three months ago. Mari had never had a job before, but now she worked. And she liked it—the sense of independence it gave her.

  Left alone again, Mari made sure nothing else needed to be set out. The sliding glass door onto the deck slid open, allowing Ethan, the dog and the gang of kids to spill inside. They attacked the food, swarming it. Her son paused with a plateful of brownies in one