Buch lesen: «Flashover»
Her own screams echoed in her ears.
Help me, somebody help me get my sister. The flames rose around them in angry tongues, unforgiving, unrelenting.
Jerking back to the present, Ivy tried again to roll over. A collage of dark smoke and gray shadows danced in her vision. She had to reach the radio in her pocket, but she couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. The space grew hotter with every passing second. She knew it, she could feel it, the junk all around her inching closer and closer to ignition.
It would be simultaneous.
And deadly.
Flashover.
Again, Ivy struggled to wriggle loose, to free herself from the enormous weight that smothered her. Pain coursed through her head and shoulder. Somewhere from the vicinity of her pocket, she heard a shrill alarm sound on her radio. Then there was nothing but heat as the blackness enveloped her.
DANA MENTINK
Dana Mentink lives in California with her family. Dana and her husband met doing a dinner theater production of The Velveteen Rabbit. In college, she competed in national speech and debate tournaments. Besides writing novels, Dana taste tests for the National Food Lab and freelances for a local newspaper. Dana loves feedback from her readers. Contact her at www.danamentink.com.
Flashover
Dana Mentink
MILLS & BOON
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Therefore as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. Bear with each other and forgive whatever grievances you may have against one another. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity.
—Colossians 3:12–14
To the everyday heroes who silently strive to lift
others up, not for their own glory, but for His.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION
ONE
Black smoke swelled in graceful scallops as it climbed in a thick column against the midday sun, mirroring the excitement that rose in her gut. Two-story structure fire, flames showing. Perfect.
Ivy could see the thrill in Jeff’s face, too, accentuated by the strobing lights of the fire truck. “Finally, some action. My wife says I’ve been moping around because things have been so quiet. She offered to go out and set something on fire for me.”
She laughed, tucking her razor-cut bob of sandy hair behind her ears as they both hopped down from the truck and jogged with their captain to meet Battalion Chief Adrienne Strong, who was already barking orders to the guys on the first engine. She looked small under her helmet and turnouts, but her brown eyes shone fiercely beneath a fringe of hair.
“Got a report of a victim trapped inside.” She stabbed a finger at a member of the crowd that was massing on the sidewalk. “A witness says he saw the owner enter the building an hour ago. He’s short, a little nuts, goes by the name of Cyril. Nobody saw him come out.”
Why did the name Cyril ring a bell? Ivy looked closely at the structure, which now had flames flickering through the upstairs windows. She could see outlines of boxes and furniture, stacked floor to ceiling. If the view was any indication, there would be only a small trail of usable space weaving throughout all the garbage. She sighed. “Oh, man. It looks like a Habitrail. He’s got enough junk to start his own flea market.”
She buckled on the ax belt, waiting for the captain to turn off the utilities. Her muscles tensed in anticipation, fingers itching to put on the mask and get inside. Instinctively she looked around for Antonio, larger than life in his turnouts. Then she remembered. Antonio moved on, Ivy. You better do the same.
When the captain gave the thumbs-up, Ivy started toward the structure.
“Wait, Beria.” Strong talked again into the radio. “This is going to be ugly with all that garbage in there. Let’s get it ventilated first. Help them work the front door. Jeff, see if you can get any of those witnesses to confirm we have a victim in there.”
Ivy joined the two firefighters who were attacking the front door with a pry tool. The door was heavy oak, and though they heaved with all their strength, the wood gave up only reluctantly. They alternately pushed the bar and kicked at the wood with their booted feet until the wood gave with a final groan. Clouds of blackness surged out, forcing them back.
She returned to the chief in time to hear Jeff’s report.
“No one can corroborate the story. The owner is apparently some kind of eccentric.”
“No kidding,” Ivy muttered.
Jeff raised his voice to be heard over the hum of the pumper and the whoosh of water thundering through the hose. “His schedule is erratic. No one saw him come out, but they weren’t looking, either.”
They watched as a firefighter, barely visible except for the flash of the fluorescent tape on his turnouts, moved past them at the nozzle end of the two-hundred-foot hose, his captain behind, sweat already coating their faces under the breathing apparatus. Ducking as low as they could manage, the two made entry.
Ivy looked past them as she and Jeff pulled on their own masks and picked their way to the door to peer inside. As she did so, she thought she saw movement from the trees next to the house. It was a glimpse really, a split-second look, but she could have sworn she saw Moe, her neighbor at the apartment complex. But what would he be doing here?
She jogged over. It was Moe, and he was shivering. “What’s wrong?”
“Cyril,” he said, pointing to the house then bounding away. Who was Cyril?
She refocused her attention on the house. The place was indeed a maze of junk, piled against all the walls and in towering columns in the foyer and front rooms. She strained her eyes to get a glimpse of a human form but blackness obscured everything.
Strong’s radio crackled to life and she called to them. “Engine Twenty-Five is en route from a spill in Pine Grove. Their ETA is five minutes. Beria and Jones, you wait. I’m going to pull the other crew in another minute.”
Ivy huffed as they trotted back. Wait? What if this Cyril guy was inside? What if he was trapped, shouting for help, and she was out here, useless? A horrifying memory fought through her control. She swallowed hard and shoved it down. “Let us go in, Chief. The victim could be in there.” Ivy looked at the flames licking at the windows and her stomach clenched. “We can do a quick assessment and get out.”
She shook her head. “Wait until we can get it ventilated. Twenty-Five is less than four minutes out.” Frustration was painted on the chief’s face, probably the consequence of being a small fire department with older equipment and only two stations to provide personnel. Her struggle was clear in the lines on her forehead and around her mouth. Potential victim versus potential injury to her people.
Antonio would have made his case by now. Ivy pressed her advantage. “In four more minutes he could be dead.” She couldn’t let that happen, especially if the man inside was possibly a friend of Moe.
The chief clenched her jaw muscles. “No, Beria.”
Ivy knew Strong had seen many fatalities in her career from traffic accidents to drownings, but being unable to save a victim from burning to death was unthinkable, for both of them. “It would just be a quick sweep, then we’re out of there.”
Strong looked from Ivy to Jeff and exhaled. “Okay. One sweep and you’re out.” She grabbed the sleeve of Jeff’s turnout coat as he pulled on his breathing apparatus. “If anything feels bad, you pull the plug. You got it?”
He nodded. They ran toward the acrid swirl of black.
Ivy could feel the chief’s anxious eyes following them. Strong would be confirming the crew outside who would stand ready to pull them out if they’d need it. The thought comforted her as they pushed their way onto the ground floor. The carpet was spongy underfoot, already saturated with water. They both instinctively bent over, staying closer to the clean air. Heat pushed through their heavy protective layers.
It took only a moment to weave their way around the junk piles on the ground floor. No victims. Jeff jerked a thumb upward. Ivy nodded. The upper floor was where they were most likely to find anyone, alive or dead.
They followed the hose line up the stairs and found the two firefighters struggling to keep up with the flames. Cardboard boxes and rolls of carpet provided an ample supply of fuel for the hungry fire. The man at the nozzle end was trying to aim for the base of the fire, which thundered from an open bedroom doorway.
She prayed for the boom of a ladder hitting the side of the house that would announce the guys on Engine Twenty-Five had made it to the roof to ventilate. The hole they cut would suck all the black smoke out like a vacuum and restore visibility in minutes. But there wasn’t time to sit around hoping. She and Jeff headed through a maze of debris toward the back bedrooms.
The heat was intense. Sweat poured down her face under the mask and soaked through the Nomex hood. She could feel the molten temperature through the thick gloves as she pushed her way by stacks of piled furniture.
Jeff was a few yards ahead. He’d found a locked door, and though the handle turned, it wouldn’t open. He tried to force it with the pry bar.
“It’s unlocked,” he yelled above the noise. “But I can’t budge it.”
Both of them threw their combined weight at the door and it finally opened.
Flames erupted through the opening, driving them back. The room was fully engulfed.
Jeff did a cutting motion across his throat. “We’re out of here, Ivy. It’s gonna go up any minute.” He grabbed the radio from his pocket and the battalion chief officially ordered them all to pull out. Ahead in the hallway she could see the two hosemen inching back down the stairs.
Jeff turned and followed them, his sturdy form disappearing after a few steps in the dark haze.
Ivy made to follow him when she noticed the door at the end of the hall. It had to open onto a bedroom. After a moment’s hesitation she got on her hands and knees and crawled toward it. The man might be inside, calling out, his voice too weak to be heard over the cacophony. The heat intensified with each foot of floor she crossed. Her helmet felt like a vise, pressing in around her face, squeezing the breath out of her. She should follow Jeff, get out before the place went up.
But what if there was a life on the other side of that door?
A life that she was meant to save?
She moved as fast as she could toward the threshold, following the narrow strip of space that wound through the junk. Inches away, she reached out a hand to push the door open. The fingers of her gloves barely grazed the painted wood when the towering pile shuddered crazily and collapsed on top of her.
Metal pipes and crates filled with something heavy crashed down. Mountains of boxes and furniture continued to rain on top of her. The crash was deafening as she was buried in the avalanche. Something struck her head, and a knifing pain shot through her temple.
She lay on her back struggling to turn over, but the heavy debris and the weight of her air tanks immobilized her. Her face shield was fogged with moisture and soot. A collage of dark smoke and gray shadows danced in her vision. She had to reach the radio in her pocket, but she couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.
The room closed in around her as she fought against the panic. Her mind spun into the past. Glimmers of memory shot through her and she could see, painted in perfect detail, her sister’s face, trapped behind the glass.
She strained every muscle, every sinew to reach out and free her. Sadie, Sadie. Her own screams from long ago echoed in her ears. Help me, somebody help me get my sister. The flames rose around them in angry tongues, unforgiving, unrelenting.
Jerked back into the present, Ivy tried again to roll over. The space grew hotter with every passing second. She knew it, she could feel it, the junk all around her inching closer and closer to ignition.
It would be simultaneous.
And deadly.
Flashover.
Again she struggled to wriggle loose, to free herself from the enormous weight that smothered her. Pain coursed through her head and shoulder. Every minuscule movement caused the pile to shudder and close in around her, filling in the spaces like sand poured into a jar. It was no use. She didn’t have the strength. The burden was too much to bear.
Somewhere from the vicinity of her pocket, she heard a shrill alarm sound. The shriek cut through everything else, filling the space, making her ears pulse with pain. Then there was nothing but heat as she gave herself up to the blackness that enveloped her body and soul.
Nick nestled himself into the crowd. All eyes were turned to the brilliant orange flames. He didn’t mind the acrid tang of smoke. It reminded him of back home, burning leaves in the fall. A photographer jostled his way to the front, camera pointed at the blaze. Nick was careful to step out of the way, admiring the camera as he did so. The irony was not lost on him. The paper would feature the fire in glorious detail while the artist would remain invisible just behind the photographer’s left elbow.
He itched to take a picture, too, with the elite camera he’d seen in a magazine. A Horseman, two lenses sharing a single shutter at lightning speed. It was not digital, of course, but he preferred it that way, relishing the anticipation that came as he waited for the film to develop. Waiting was a skill, a talent so many people lacked.
Nick pondered the conversation he’d observed between the woman firefighter and the strange guy he knew to be Cyril’s friend. He’d heard that the fellow’s name was Moe. Did Moe know anything incriminating? Anything he might have passed along to the firefighter? It bore consideration, but for now, Nick allowed himself to enjoy the fiery spectacle unfolding before him.
“Did you hear that?” a cadaverous old woman next to him hissed. “They said there’s a firefighter trapped inside.”
She clutched his arm as a pane of glass shattered on the upper floor. He patted her bony fingers. “It’s incredible, all right.”
He watched a spark, brilliant as a comet, explode from the roof and paint a luminous arc across the smoky sky. Definitely front-page material, he thought with satisfaction.
TWO
Tim Carnelli fought to keep the truck’s speed under control.
Ivy.
Her name echoed in his mind and danced circles around his brain.
He knew before he heard the name. He knew when the battalion chief’s voice came over the radio, pitched high against adrenaline and the sound of a working fire. Firefighter down.
“God help her,” he whispered as he tore down the main road through a thickening haze of smoke. “Help her to hang on.”
If he had more time to process, the irony would be palpable. Was it just last night he’d decided to move on? Even looking up Marcie’s number to give her a call? Forget about Ivy, he’d told himself. You were a fool to think she’d open her heart to you after Antonio. She might never trust anyone again, especially God.
He clenched the steering wheel so hard his fingers cramped up. Not now. It wasn’t time to dredge up past history.
Even so, an image rose in his mind. Ivy’s short hair blowing in the breeze, green eyes alight with laughter as they rode mountain bikes together in the pre-Antonio days.
Ivy.
His heart thundered in his chest as the radio crackled to life again.
Life flight.
The dispatcher calmly repeated the message and confirmed.
They were calling for the helicopter.
He wasn’t a firefighter, but everyone connected to the business knew what it meant when they called for a helicopter.
And it wasn’t good.
Strange sensations flooded Ivy’s senses. She felt the bump of the gurney as she was rolled along, the shouted commands of firefighters amped on adrenaline, and then inexplicably, Tim was there. When had he arrived at the fire scene? He must have heard the call go out on the radio.
She wanted to tell him she was okay, to ease the terror written on his usually smiling face, but her mouth would not cooperate. He squeezed her arm with his strong fingers.
“It’s okay, Ivy. You’re going to make it through this.”
She felt her own fear ease slightly. She tried to hold his hand, but he was abruptly pulled away. He mouthed something she couldn’t hear as she was loaded onto a helicopter. The chopper blades cut through the air with rhythmic whopping sounds.
A familiar voice spoke up over the noise. Ivy’s eyes were closed, but she knew it was her cousin, Mitch. She could smell his cologne through the oxygen mask, over the odor of antiseptic and bandages the medics had applied. She was comforted knowing Mitch was the on-duty flight nurse. He was the best.
“Come on, V. Open up those green eyes. You can do it. Imagine we’re back in the country and I’m about to whip you at hide-and-seek. You never won once in our entire childhood, remember? And then there’s pinball. I can beat you with one hand tied behind my back. What do you say to that?”
Mitch Luzan’s face swam into view. Curly black hair, thick eyebrows, sardonic smile on his chubby face. Even though she was immobilized except for her arms, strapped from head to toe to a backboard, the sight of him brought her comfort.
“That’s ’cuz you cheat.” Her voice came out as a croak, muffled by the mask.
“Well, that’s better.” He used a small light to check her pupils. “Imagine getting a call to come and transport a victim and finding out it’s you. And to think I tried to get out of this shift.” He shook his head and checked her IV. “That was pretty dumb, letting yourself get buried. I thought they trained you hotshots how to prevent stuff like that. What happened to the big bad invincible Beria?”
She tried to answer but succumbed instead to a coughing fit. Pulling off the mask, she waved away his hands. “What’s broken?” she finally managed.
“Well, if I had to make a diagnosis right now I’d say we’re looking at collarbone and shoulder damage, a concussion, possible internal stuff and a burn or two.”
She grimaced at the list. “I’m fine. Just banged up.”
He leaned over to put on his helmet for the landing and zipped the jumpsuit, which strained to cover his stomach. “Tell you what, V. How about you let me be the flight nurse, because I am an excellent one after all, and you just work on doing the patient thing for a while? That will be a challenge for you, I know, Miss I Gotta Be in Charge of Everything.” He began to radio information to the hospital.
There was an edge to his voice. She looked closer and noticed dark shadows under his eyes. She hadn’t seen him for months even though they lived only two towns apart. He was closer to her than her brother, in some ways, until recently.
Ivy closed her eyes and sighed. She was too tired to ask where he’d been the past few months, in too much pain to wonder about the haggard cast to his face.
She tried to replay the accident but could only get to the point when her personal distress indicator went off. The guys must have pulled her out before the place went up. Or maybe they’d gotten the roof ventilated and knocked down the fire. Not knowing the details was killing her.
She strained her eyes to find Mitch and pump him for info, but he was busy prepping the equipment that would follow her into the hospital. As the helicopter roared in for a landing, she let herself sink back into darkness.
People moved in and out of her consciousness. Dressed in white or green scrubs, they checked every detail, cleaned every abrasion and treated her with tender care in spite of her exclamations of pain. Vaguely she was aware of a doctor peeling off his gloves and announcing that he would brief her colleagues waiting in the hallway. That brought her around.
She opened her eyes to find her shoulder strapped firmly to her body. When she tried to sit up, a lancing pain drove her back to the pillow. A shower of sparks danced across her vision. Gingerly she felt the bandage stuck to her forehead and another taped over the burn on her neck.
Battalion Chief Strong appeared, Jeff next to her. They were both sooty, tired, their faces lined with worry, turnouts streaked with black.
Jeff’s smile was huge as he grabbed her hand. “Man, Ivy. You scared me. I thought you were done for. That place was cooking.”
She tried to return the smile. “Did you pull me out?”
He nodded. “Eventually. I didn’t know you were gone until your alarm sounded as I headed out the front door. I went back in and the rescue crew followed me. We found you under a pile of junk. Took all three of us to get the stuff off you, and I was nearly out of air by that time.” His expression changed. “What happened anyway? I thought you were right behind me. I told you we were leaving. Didn’t you hear me?”
She coughed. “I stopped to check the last door.”
He frowned. “Ivy…”
Chief Strong touched his arm. “Jeff, go get me some water, will you? I feel like I swallowed a sock.”
Jeff gave Ivy a nervous look and squeezed her hand before he left. “I’ll tell the rest of the guys you’re okay.”
Strong waited until he was gone before she sat heavily in a chair. Her hair was plastered against her head where her helmet had weighted it down. She smelled of smoke. “I’m glad you’re going to be okay.”
Ivy saw the warring emotions on the woman’s face and knew there was more coming. “Thanks, Chief. Was anybody else hurt?”
She pursed her lips. “No, and that’s a lucky thing, isn’t it?”
Ivy swallowed. “Sure.”
“Did it occur to you when you disobeyed my orders to evacuate that you were being reckless and stupid?”
Ivy bridled. “I was doing my job. I didn’t hang out in there to have a party or anything.”
The brown eyes flashed. “You were doing what you decided your job was at that moment. I gave you a direct order, and last I checked, I outrank you. You risked the lives of the people who dragged your behind out of there and you had absolutely no right to do that.”
Her cheeks felt hot. “There could have been someone inside. Did you find anyone?”
“No. The house was empty.”
Ivy’s stomach clenched at the thought. It had all been for nothing. They’d gone back in for her. What would she have done if one of them hadn’t made it out? Because of her, all because of her.
They both sat in silence for a minute. Strong sighed deeply. “This isn’t the time to get into it. We’ll talk when you’ve recovered. Doc says you’re out at least eight weeks before he’ll reevaluate you.”
“Eight weeks? Uh-uh. I’ll be back before then. There’s no way I’m staying out two months.”
Strong got to her feet. Her tone masked a current of fury. “Ivy, you will stay out until that doctor gives me a written note telling me you are one hundred percent mended. Then you and I will have a long debriefing session about this fire before I let you back on my crew.” She walked to the door and turned. “Thank goodness you’re okay, Ivy. I would sure hate to be the one who had to tell your mother that you weren’t. She’s outside. I’ll send her in.”
Her mother.
The thought hit her like a slap. It wasn’t the first time she wondered how her mother felt about her chosen profession, especially after what happened to Sadie. She’d never said a word to discourage Ivy’s career choice, as much as it pained her. It must have been awful for her mother to get a call that her surviving daughter was caught in a fire.
Guilt gave way to another emotion. An anger swelled up inside her and spilled out.
Two months away from the station? Maybe more than that if things didn’t heal right. She punched her good hand into the blankets. “Well, God? What are you doing up there? You are supposed to take care of your children,” she hissed at the ceiling. “Look what happened to me. And what about Sadie? Haven’t we had enough in this family? You’re nothing like a father.”
She quickly wiped the tears away at the sight of her mother barreling through the door. Juana Beria took one look at her and burst into hysterical sobs, tears running down her plump brown cheeks.
“Oh, Mama. Please don’t cry. Anything but that.”
Her mother’s tears continued, unchecked. “When I think…When I imagine…”
Ivy closed her eyes. “Please, Mama. Don’t.”
It was messy, emotional, and the whole situation left Ivy completely exhausted.
“I brought you some clothes. The doctor says you’ll be here for a few days. I’ll go to your apartment and get you some more things, a nightgown and some books to read. I’ll bring them first thing in the morning after you’ve rested,” Juana Beria said, her round face still damp with tears. She looked to her son, who had joined them. “Roddy, you’ll take me, won’t you?” Though she had a license, Juana refused to drive anywhere since her husband had passed away five years prior.
Rodrigo, Ivy’s brother, patted his mother’s hand. “Sure, Mama, sure. I’ll pick you up in the morning. We can bring her stuff over and then I’ll take you home. Let’s go.” He shot Ivy a look of aggravation that made her smile. Anything that upset Mama was something to be avoided at all costs, and Ivy had done her share. With Ivy laid up, Roddy would shoulder the emotional burden of the latest family drama for sure.
She’d owe him, and he’d definitely collect on the debt. When the room was empty, she tried to sleep. The pain in her shoulder wouldn’t let her. She wished she could take a shower and wash away the acrid smell that clung to her hair and skin.
A small tap sounded on the door. The tall, brown-haired man stood hesitantly, his wide shoulders filling the doorway. Tim poked his head in. “Hey, Ivy? Are you awake?”
She sighed, feeling like smiling for the first time since she’d entered that burning building. “Hi, Tim. Come on in. Has the Beria family train departed yet?”
He laughed softly. “Yes, I think so. It’s just me at the moment.”
“Good, someone rational to talk to. Come sit down. I think I remember seeing you at the fire scene, or did I dream that?”
“No dream, it really was me. I heard the call on the scanner so I broke some land-speed records and hightailed it over. Got there just as they were pulling you out. I don’t mind telling you I never want to see that again.”
He settled his long frame into a chair and she held out a hand for his. They’d been friends for years, since before she went into the academy. Maybe that’s why we get along so well, she thought. He wasn’t part of that intense firefighter brotherhood; he had his own perspective on things. He wasn’t your typical hero type, either. No, that was Antonio all the way. Thinking about Antonio made her cringe with humiliation.
Tim squeezed her fingers. “Are you okay? In much pain?”
The floodgates opened. She began to cry rivers of hot tears. “My shoulder hurts and I’m going to be out two months. Strong is really mad at me, too.”
His brow crinkled. “Why?”
She took the tissue he offered. “I disobeyed orders and stayed in the house.”
He was silent for a moment. “Oh, I see.”
“You’re not surprised, are you?”
“You do have a tendency to throw caution to the wind, Ivy.” Then he said what she most needed to hear. “It will be okay. You’ll heal and you’ll go back to doing what you love.”
She turned her tearstained face to his. The sunlight framed him, the asymmetrical smile and messy thatch of hair, outlining his strong chin. “Promise?”
He stroked her hand. “I promise. And I’ll even help you work on throwing ladders to get back in shape.”
She laughed. He was the most dismal failure at throwing ladders she’d ever seen. Stronger than she was, but not very coordinated. Ironic, since he was a gifted athlete. She often told him it was a good thing for public safety that he’d avoided fire suppression, instead becoming the fire district’s computer guru. He was a willing helper, though. As long as he didn’t start up his God talk, they got along great.
“Did you see Mitch? He brought me in.”
Tim nodded. “Yeah. I was supposed to help him with some software stuff tonight but he said he’s coming back here when he’s off to check on you.”
“He looked kinda funny in the chopper.”
Tim looked away. “Funny? In what way?”
They were interrupted when the nurse came in to check her bandages and inform them it was time to take her for a CAT scan.
Tim stood and bumped into a rolling cart in the process. “Well, I’ll just get moving then. Call me if you need anything, Ivy. I’m really glad you’re okay. I’ll pray for you.”
She almost told him not to bother, but he’d already gone.
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