Wind swept across the fire escape outside the kitchen windows and rattled the panes.
“It’s cozy in here, though.” Mimi slid a warm platter of curly pasta twists onto the table, and then hot rolls and butter. She raised one shoulder. “But I don’t know about the dessert. A chocolate ice cream sundae? On a night like this?”
“Love it,” Siria said.
“Now, Christmas,” Mimi said. “I wish I knew what to knit for your father. Socks? A quick scarf, maybe?”
Siria bent her head, hiding a smile. Pop had dozens of Mimi’s socks in his drawer, and four or five scarves hanging from hooks in his closet. “He’ll be happy with anything.”
“Slippers for Izzy,” Mimi said. “I know that.”
Izzy was always part of their Christmas. She’d take Siria shopping on her next day off and help trim their tree.
Mimi waved Siria away when it was time for dishes. Siria blew her a kiss. “You’re the best,” she called as she went into her bedroom.
The wind blew against her window, moving the curtains. It was bitterly cold out, a night to read her mother’s star book under her quilt. The sky was dark, with only a pale moon over the sledding hills, and the creek was a strange color. It didn’t glimmer with that blue-white ice as it had before dinner.
It was red.
How could that be?
Siria pulled the quilt around her, opened the window, and stuck out her head.
It was hard to see with the wind in her face. She pushed her hair out of her eyes.
It was a reflection. Glowing. Shimmering against the frozen creek. She could see it clearly now, marked by two willows that leaned out over the water.
She pulled her head inside, shivering, and closed the window. She sank down on the floor, trying to think. What did it mean?
A fire, close to the creek. But what was there to burn? Only the small room that sheltered the picnic tables in the winter. And the snow there was so deep.
She swallowed. Mimi would be busy in the kitchen for another ten minutes; then she’d sit in the living room, feet up, knitting, her needles clicking. There was no way to get past her.
It would have to be the fire escape, covered with snow, slippery.…
And what about that wind? There was no help for it. She tugged on an extra set of jeans, two sweaters, and her leopard boots, which lay under her bed.
“I’m going to shower, Mimi.” She crossed her fingers and went into the bathroom to turn on the water just a bit. Then she climbed out her window, sliding along as quickly as she could, holding the icy railing.
She tried to duck as she reached the sixth-floor landing. Laila would only slow her down. But there she was, doing ballet steps near the window. She stopped on one foot when she saw Siria. “Wait for me.” She looked back over her shoulder, then grabbed her jacket off the chair. “It’s freezing out. Where are we going?” she asked, her head out the window.
“The creek,” Siria said a little reluctantly.
“Ice-skating? I have to get my skates.”
Siria shook her head. “No skates. Just hurry.”
They stopped at Douglas’s floor. Ashton and Aydin were wrestling on the rug. “Hey,” Siria yelled in.
“He’s not here.” They rolled away, pounding each other.
“If I had a brother,” Laila called, “I’d know where he was.”
They circled the last landings and jumped to the ground. It was a long walk; snow crunched under their boots and coated their shoulders. No engine lights flashed in the distance; no sirens wailed. No one else had called in the fire.
Laila stopped. “Why are we rushing down to the creek if we’re not skating?”
“No time.” Siria took her arm. “Just wait till we get there.”
At last they reached the creek and stood on the rocks at the edge. “Poor fish under all that ice. They can’t even see the sky.” Laila’s teeth chattered. “What are we doing here, anyway?”
Siria brushed snow off her face with her glove. She leaned forward. “Someone is setting fires.”
“Here?” Laila’s eyes widened behind her glasses. “Call your father!”
If only she could. But she’d have to tell him about going out at night. What would he say? What would he think? “Let him know I’m wandering around? I can’t do that.”
“You could call the fire department without giving your name,” Laila said slowly. “No one would have to know it was you.”
Siria tapped the cell phone in her pocket. “What about caller ID? They’d know. Everyone knows me.” She shrugged, feeling a little sick over it.
Laila tilted her head. “Maybe I could call.”
“Don’t do that. Let’s wait and see.”
Laila nodded. “But let’s get out of here.”
“In a minute. We’re okay, really.” She wondered if that was true. She walked around the willows, their thin limbs swaying. What could have caused that reflection?
In front of the picnic house, she found a plank of wood like the ones Almo had dragged up to the roof, but this one was charred.
“You’re right,” Laila said. “There was a fire.”
Siria pulled off her gloves and reached out. It was hot, still smoldering.
Someone had wedged paper bags underneath, although most of the paper was gone now.
“Who …” Laila stood behind her, touching her shoulder.
Siria glanced around. There was only the sound of the wind, the cracking of ice, and branches rustling. The creek was half hidden by rocks. Anyone could be hiding, watching them. They’d never hear him. He could come right up to them and …
Laila pulled her sleeve. “Let’s go back. Please.”
Still, Siria looked down at the board. Why would anyone set a fire here?
“Siria?”
“I’m coming.”
They turned and went back to the apartment. Siria looked over her shoulder once or twice. But singing came from the church on the avenue, the choir practicing “Silent Night.” Not like tonight, with the whoosh of the wind and car horns blaring.
The traffic light changed; Jason and Mike crossed from the other side of the street. Mike wasn’t wearing a hat. In this weather! But then she saw that cool tattoo on the back of his neck. Of course, he was showing it off. The dog, looking meaner and scruffier than ever, followed, a half block away.
“Siria,” Laila said slowly, “I think I know who set that fire.”