Simona
Amber’s delicate hand felt good in mine. Of course, I felt bizarre thinking that while driving to my burning restaurant, but it was seriously competing for space between my ears. Why did everything always happen at once? Change had a way of happening in multiples. First, Amber came into my life, then Dad died, and now one of my restaurants was on fire.
“I hope everyone’s okay. She would have said something otherwise, don’t you think?” I asked, turning on to the I-40 ramp.
“Who knows, I mean, a lot has to be happening right now. I can hear the fire trucks from here.” Amber lowered her window, the sound of the sirens getting louder as we approached our exit. I smelled smoke. She squeezed my hand and then let go to fish the phone out of her purse. She checked it again for messages.
