Mi Casa, Su Casa (the sequel to "Where There's Smoke There's Fire")

SUNNY: I wake up in an unfamiliar bed. My youngest daughter is lying next to me, still asleep. At first, I wonder how in the world we'd ended up here, and then I remember what happened yesterday. We're in Quentin and Cat's house. They're letting my children and I live here until our house is repaired and we can move back into it.

Lying on my side, I look out the bedroom window. A tall leafless tree stands in the yard outside. Through its branches, I watch the sky slowly change colors. From black to light grey to pink, yellow, and orange, and finally to light blue. A new day is beginning. The first day the four of us would live here.

It won't be like the Brady Bunch. They had three children each, three girls and three boys. They also had a maid named Alice. What would it be like instead? A little rough and bumpy at first, no doubt, but after a while hopefully things would smooth out and everything would be okay.

I wonder if Quentin was awake yet. Probably. His work schedule begins at least an hour or two earlier than mine. Which reminds me, the school bus driver is probably going to be wondering where my children are and why they won't be waiting at the usual stop near my house. I need to call the school office and let them know what happened and how to reach us for the time being. I also need to go to the firehouse and fill out forms and give an eyewitness report about the fire. Sol probably should, too, but maybe he can do that after school is out for the day.

Ruth seems to be waking up. She turns over, yawns, and looks at me. She smiles, puts her arms around me, and gives me a kiss on the tip of my nose. “Good morning, Mommy. Did you sleep well?”

I nod. “It's the first time I've ever slept in a house that wasn't ours or my parents'.”

She pauses. “We aren't at home?”

I shake my head.

“But why not?” she asks.

“Our house caught on fire yesterday,” I say. “Don't you remember?”

She thinks and then nods. “I remember now. Is it going to be okay?”

“It needs to be repaired first,” I say. “That could take a while. We'll be here at Quentin and Cat's house until then.” I pause. “Are you hungry?”

She nods. “I wonder what they have for breakfast here.”

“Maybe we should go downstairs and find out,” I suggest.

“Let's,” Ruth says. “Do you want to wake up Esther and Sol or should I?”

“Why don't we both wake them up?” I suggest.

QUENTIN: I stand at the kitchen door, cup of hot coffee in my hands, looking out at the small back porch, watching the sky changing colors as a new day begins. Yesterday didn't seem quite real. Had Sunny's house really caught fire and been damaged enough that she and her children had to live somewhere else for a while? And had I really agreed to let them live here until their house was repaired and they could move back into it?

Have I lost my mind? No. My mind is still in its usual place, inside my skull.

I take a sip of my coffee, enjoying the warmth as well as the mixed taste of bitter coffee, cream, and sugar. In another month or two, I would probably switch to hot chocolate in the morning as I had for the last dozen or so winters.

I hear bare feet coming down the stairs and crossing the living room.

Turning around, I see Sunny and her children, followed by Cat.

Cat looks tired. She hasn't brushed her hair yet. “You're all up way too early.” She glances through the kitchen doorway and checks the wall clock above the counter near the sink. “Good grief. It's not even seven-thirty yet.”

“It's morning,” Ruth tells her. “Time to wake up. Time for breakfast.”

“Time for coffee, you mean,” Cat says.

“There's plenty left,” I say, pointing at the coffeepot under the wall clock. “Still hot, too.”

“Oh, good,” Cat says.

As she mixes her coffee with cream (no sugar), I look at Sunny. “I'll need to leave for work soon. You're welcome to make anything you want for breakfast.”

Ruth looks sad. “You aren't having it with us?”

I smile at her. “If you ask me really, really nicely, I might stay.”

“If you do, you're going to be late for work, Pa,” Cat reminds me.

“When I tell Judge Haynes why, I think he'll understand,” I say. “Besides, he probably already knows about the fire at Sunny's house.” I hand her today's Dandridge Post. “It isn't front-page news, but you'll find a little blurb about it on page 2.”

“You know you live in a small town when a house fire makes it to page 2 in the local newspaper,” Cat says and reads the short article. “There's even a photo of the firetruck and the hoses pouring water on Sunny's house.” She hands it to Sunny. “Not a pretty picture, though.”

Sunny reads the article. “But it'll be pretty again one day. If the home insurance company doesn't make a big fuss over it.”

“Speaking of which,” Cat says, “if anyone needs a ride, I can drive you.”

Esther looks at Sol. “Sure beats riding on the school bus.” They both nod.

“Can I go with you, Mommy?” Ruth asks Sunny.

“It won't be that interesting or fun,” Sunny says.

“Yes, it will,” Ruth says. “You and Cat will be there.”

“All right,” Sunny says. “If you get tired, you can take a nap.”

“But first, breakfast,” Ruth says, takes me by the hand and leads me toward the area between the stove and the fridge. “We're new here, Quentin. You need to show us where everything is.”

“Consider it done,” I say and do so.

A kitchen that normally feels comfortable for two feels quite crowded with six in it. Especially when everyone seems to be talking, preparing, and cooking at the same time. Eventually it's too claustrophobic for me and I retreat back into the living room.

“Just let me know when it's ready to be served and eaten,” I call.

It's the best breakfast I could ever remember having, outside of at a restaurant or when I still lived with my parents. Does my mother still cook? I hope so.

Sunny and I sit on opposite sides of the table (which had to be stretched out with the extra slat laid in the middle), with Cat and Ruth on one side and Esther and Sol on the other. We help serve the food and pass around the carafes of orange juice and milk.

“When do you think you'll be done at the firehouse?” I ask Sunny.

“I don't think it'll take longer than an hour or so,” she says. “Is that a problem?”

I shake my head. “Of course not. Mi casa, su casa. Cat knows where I hide the spare key for the front door. I'm usually back from work about a quarter after five, unless I have more work than usual.”

“It's going to be rather crowded here for the next several weeks,” Sunny says.

“At least it won't be boring,” Cat says.

“Not much chance of that,” Sunny says with a laugh.

I finish my breakfast, take my things to the kitchen sink, and check my watch. “I don't think I can delay any longer. Have a wonderful day, all. See you later this afternoon.”

I catch the bus with a few minutes to spare, and it drops me off in front of the courthouse. Inside, I go upstairs to my office on the second floor. When I get there, the judge is waiting for me.

“Morning, Luther,” I say. “What can I do for you?”

He gestures that we should speak inside my office, not out in the hall or even in the doorway.

We go inside and I put my briefcase on my desk. I sit down in my desk chair, but he stays standing.

He doesn't look happy about something. I can't imagine what might be the cause. I'm not that late this morning. Maybe I should've called from home.

“I'm sorry I'm late,” I said. “I really should've –”

“Never mind that,” the judge says impatiently. “What's this I hear about you taking in Ms. Ferguson and her children?”

“It's true,” I say. “They're homeless for the time being.”

“And you decided to be a Good Samaritan,” he says.

“Nothing wrong with that,” I say. “I've helped you out before and it never raised any hackles. Not even with Widow Drummond. And she doesn't like anything that's out of the ordinary.”

He makes a face. “Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't bring this up. But there's been some loose talk. Especially since that article in the paper this morning.”

“About the fire at the Fergusons' house?” I asked.

The judge nods. “Some think that it might've been intentionally set.”

I try not to laugh. “Highly unlikely. Just an electrical fire that spread quickly. Lucky that no one got hurt. They all escaped safe and sound.”

“And you just happened to be there to help save them?” he asks.

I nodded. “I saw it from the bus as I was going home. Had I been looking another way, I would never have seen it.” I sigh. “Luther – you know that gossip is a vice and that it spreads faster than wildfire. Whether there's an ounce of truth to any bit of gossip doesn't matter. The more believable it sounds, the more likely it'll get shared again and again. Like messages on Twitter. The lies seem to be shared far more often than the truths are.”

“Quentin, you're a black man,” he says.

“Have been since I reached adulthood,” I say. “Hasn't caused any major problems that I'm aware of. The world hasn't ended, for instance.”

“And Ms. Ferguson is a white woman,” he goes on.

I pause. “Ah. I think I can guess what the concern is.”

“Then I don't need to spell it out?” the judge asks.

I shake my head. “Even in this day and age, prejudice is like a sleeping dragon. Best to not wake it or it gets flaming mad.”

“Right,” he says.

I sigh. “Luther, where else were they going to stay for the next month or so? The homeless shelter?”

“Would you have minded that solution?” he asks.

“They're friends,” I say. “Ms. Ferguson is a friend I used to know in grade school, and we've become friends again. No one in town minded that happening. And along with being friends with her, I've become friends with her children. So has my daughter. Which seems normal enough.”

He looks at me, but says nothing.

“The fire chief asked me what to do,” I go on. “It seemed the sensible – and generous – thing to offer to let them stay with us. We have enough room. It's a little crowded, but not too much so.”

He still says nothing.

“Luther – care to tell me who started this bit of gossip?” I ask. “I figure it's my business since it involves me and my daughter, as well as Ms. Ferguson and her children.”

“Jordan Pruett,” he says. “At least we've narrowed it down to him and his wife. They've never been too happy with any integration. Nor were their parents or grandparents.”

“Have you talked with him?” I ask.

The judge nods. “He knows enough people to make things uncomfortable here in Dandridge. Not just for you and your daughter, but also for Ms. Ferguson and her children … and for me, my wife, and my family.”

“Is he actually threatening legal action?” I ask. “Or just making noises in that direction?”

“Let's just say that they sound like more than just idle threats, Quentin,” he says. “More than tipping over outhouses on Halloween. More than scaring cattle with outlandish noises.”

“And you were kind enough to warn me,” I say.

“We've been more than just colleagues,” he says. “We've been friends since you first started practicing law in this courthouse. We've helped each other as much and as often as we legally could.”

“Then what do you propose I do, Luther?” I ask. “Kick them out and let them fend for themselves? Because if that's your suggestion, I'm sorry but I'm turning it down.”

“Think about it,” the judge says. “Because if you won't back down, rest assured, the Pruetts aren't going to, either. This could get very messy and unpleasant.”

I shrugged. “We've been through worse.”

“Just watch yourself, Quentin,” he says. “I don't want to see a burning cross in your front yard or a noose hanging from your door-knocker. And I especially don't want to find your name or that of anyone currently at your house on the obituary page.”

“Understood,” I say.

“Jefferson's got a complicated court case this morning,” he says, changing the subject. “Feel like helping him out?”

“Definitely,” I say. “And I'll watch my back.”

“Do that.” The judge leaves my office.

SUNNY: We return to Quentin and Cat's house. It wasn't an easy hour for me at the firehouse. Thankfully I had the moral support of Ruth and Cat. They couldn't sit near me, but they sat together, watching and listening.

The fire chief explained what I needed to do. I did as he requested. Hopefully that will suffice for now. If the insurance doesn't cover the repairs to the house, it might have to be demolished. Which might mean the situation at Quentin and Cat's house will last longer than a month or so. It might be more of a permanent arrangement. And I'm not sure if they would be okay with that. They might be, but I'll have to ask them first.

The eyewitness statement was easier. I told what I saw, heard, and smelled. Ruth was asked to do the same. I asked if Esther or Sol would have to, also. The fire chief shook his head. He said thank you, and that he would get back in touch if necessary.

At Quentin and Cat's house, Cat shows me where the hidden key for the front door is. She uses her own key to unlock the front door and we go inside. It seems strange being here when Quentin isn't.

Esther and Sol will get dropped off by the school bus at a different stop, the one close to this house.

Until then, it's just Cat, Ruth, and myself. For almost five hours.

“Sometimes Pa and I go out on the back porch and sit and talk,” Cat says. “It's not a big porch, but it's big enough for two or three people.”

“Why don't we do that,” I say.

There's a small table on the back porch and two chairs. Cat finds another chair. We sit down.

“I was thinking,” she says, “about what we could do tonight after dinner. Pa and I don't do much in the evening except read. He sometimes brings work home and reads that. We talk about it some.”

“He said you were planning to go to law school,” I say.

“You mean you want to be a lawyer like Quentin?” Ruth asks Cat.

The latter nods. “I've wanted to since I was ten years old. Not just because Pa is one. It just seemed like the right thing to do. Represent people who needed honest people to speak for them. Even if those people are too poor to pay for legal help.”

“But you won't fight in court, I hope,” I say with a smile.

Cat shakes her head. “Pa warned me about that. It's one thing to do it during recess in grade school. But you don't dare do it in court.”

“Did he ever try to tell you to pick a different career?” I ask.

“Sometimes,” Cat says. “But I knew what I wanted to do. And I can be pretty stubborn sometimes.”

I try not to laugh. “Like father, like daughter.”

When Quentin gets home, he seems a bit tense and unwilling to discuss what caused it. Dinner is crowded like breakfast was. Quentin, though, is mostly quiet. Cat looks at me and we both seem to sense something is bothering him. Maybe he just needs to relax.

“Maybe we should go to the lake near the orchard,” I suggest. “It's going to be a full moon tonight.”

“Why don't you all go,” he says. “I think I'll stay here at home.”

I look at Cat. She points at her father and myself.

“Maybe it should be just two people this time,” I suggest. “Like last time.”

“We can hold down the fort here in the meantime,” Cat says. “Maybe make some hot chocolate.”

Quentin looks at me. “You're sure about this?”

I nod. “I'm sure.”

“I can't come?” Ruth asks us.

“Not this time,” Cat says. “Maybe next time.”

Across the road from the closed orchard store, we stand at the top of the slope. The lake is dark. The night sky is overcast, hiding the moon from view. A few minutes later, though, the clouds thin. A pale glowing path descends from the full moon and touches the lake's surface. Like Jacob's Ladder connecting heaven and earth.

“We need to talk, Sunny,” Quentin says.