Chapter 8

"Miss Sheila? Is that really you?"

Sheila turned, catching Henry's gaze.

For a moment, Henry forgot all about looking for his mother. Beaming, he scurried over to Sheila's side.

Sheila's brows knit together, her voice soft and apologetic. "Henry, last night over dinner, you mentioned not liking the school lunches. I wanted to make you something myself to take today, but... I think I messed up."

No sooner had she finished speaking than the acrid smell of burning filled the air then flames leapt up from the pan on the stove.

With a frightened gasp, Sheila dropped to the floor, curling into a tight ball.

Henry, alarmed, wrapped his arms around her and shouted, "Dad! There's a fire in the kitchen! Dad!"

As he tried to soothe her, he gently patted Sheila's back. "Miss Sheila, it's okay. Don't be scared."

Timothy hurried in, drawn by the commotion. Without missing a beat, he turned off the gas and clamped the lid onto the flaming pan. The fire sputtered out almost immediately.

But Sheila was still trembling, unable to move.

Concern shadowed Timothy's usually composed features.

knelt down beside her and called, more gently

head, her eyes

am I

across Timothy's mind-a fire, seven years

had

fault. You shouldn't

Henry. "Miss Sheila went through a fire once. She's

not Henry's

Sheila, you're so afraid of fire, but you

didn't want you eating

tightly, his voice trembling. "Miss Sheila, you're

feet, but her legs buckled. Without hesitation, he scooped her up in

your backpack. We're eating out this

up leaves. When she saw Timothy carrying Sheila outside,

she was simply Timothy's sister-in-law. Now, she didn't seem the least bit concerned

What would people think?

Mrs. Carter found out, it would break

come open the car

over reluctantly, opening the door with

"Mrs. Carter isn't home. Why didn't you make

about to explain, but Sheila spoke up first. "Timothy, you

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