The Dream House

“Careful with that cigarette, Carole.”

I was walking through the living room on my way to the front porch carrying a tray of iced tea and cookies.

“It looks like it’s ready to fall out of your hand.”

“Chill, will you? I got everything under control,” she said as she settled into a more comfortable position in the recliner. “Now, go on your way, this is the good part of the movie.”

Her comment did nothing to ease my mind. Carole, my best friend since second grade when we sat in the back of the room and passed notes, had just broken up with her boyfriend. To be more explicit, her boyfriend broke up with her.

I knew she was heartbroken. I knew she was hurting. She stopped writing. She wrote nearly constantly. She recently had a novel accepted by a publisher and was working hard to write a sequel to it.

I stopped, not intending to really, and looked at her in her state of depression and misery. My heart broke for her. But I knew she wasn’t doing herself any favors by staying in the house on a beautiful day.

It was the day of our group’s monthly get together. Once a month my roommate and I invited several friends over. We always had a good time. The day started on the front porch and inevitably we made our way out back to the small pond – one of the things that sold me on this house. My dream house.

Usually, Carole was the life of the party. She was usually the one who sent out invites on Facebook. She had some type of lunch and a delicious dessert. I was a mere spectator. Hence, the mere iced tea and store-bought cookies today. She had no involvement.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come out and play? The gang’s all here.” It was yet another attempt to get her around people who loved her.

“Thank you, but no thank you. I’m not ready for the pity party.”

Shaking my head, I walked out the front door, to a small but ravenous group. There were only three of them, but it seemed like a gathering horde attacking the cookies.

“Where’s Carole?” Bud asked through his chewing. Joyce immediately answered. “She’s anti-social today.”

“Yeah, she’s still mourning the breakup.” I took a bite of the cookie with M&Ms. Not bad, I thought, for a last-minute solution.

Lori put her hands to the picture windowpane. “She is sound asleep.”

“Probably the best thing for her,” Joyce said. “It’s not easy when you break up with someone. And they had been together and serious for a while.”

“Okay, people, just because Carole isn’t up to playing doesn’t mean we can’t have a good time. Anyone for Bananagrams?” He waved the yellow banana-shaped container in the air.

The four settled around the table and turned the tiles over. The group ended up playing three games when Joyce decided she had enough. “Let’s go down to the pond and splash our legs.”

I told you we inevitably ended at the pond.

We must have been there about forty-five minutes when we headed back to the house. As we followed the path back there was an odor in the air. “Someone has a good barbeque going,” Bud said.

But then we got a glimpse of the house. I couldn’t believe my eyes. The smell was no barbeque, but my house. My dream house. Oh my God. Carole was in there.

I raced toward the house with reckless abandon. If there were even a glimmer of hope that I could save Carole, I owed it to my best friend to try. Bud must have read the determination in my gait. He tackled me. Knocked me to the ground.

“Don’t you understand? Carole’s in there! I’ve got to get her!”

I squirmed my best to get out of his grip. But it was in vain. He held me tight and close. He whispered in my ear. I felt the vibrations of his breath close to me. “Can’t you see it’s too late. You can’t help her. It’s too dangerous.”

My body involuntarily froze when those words sunk in. Then, in an instant, my whole body gave out. I was limp as if I didn’t have a bone in my body. Had I been standing at that moment I would have collapsed.

“I can’t get through to 9-1-1.” It was Lori’s panicked voice, three octaves higher than normal.

Hearing that, I must have developed superhuman strength and got free of Bud’s grip.

Droplets of sweat slowly trailed down my brows. I didn’t know if it were from the heat of the fire or my anxiety that my best friend was trapped inside.

I whipped out my cell phone from my back jeans pocket. My hands were shaking. I did my best to punch 9-1-1. No answer. I was sure I got the numbers right. Damn. This was not the moment to make an error in dialing. I tried again. My hands shaking, I doubled my concentrating what seemed like should have been a simple task. Again, no luck.

“I can’t get through either.”

The four of us stood there transfixed by the flames enveloping the house. The heat was intolerable. I started sobbing uncontrollably. It seemed like an eternity that we stood there paralyzed, lost in our own individual thoughts.

“Kelly!”

The voice jolted me out of my thoughts.

“All of you, get away from that. Come on over here.”

Marie ran towards us, herding us to her home. My neighbor. Bless her soul.

“I tried to call 9-1-1,” she said, breathing heavily, “but a got a recording that said the number was out of order. Isn’t that strange?”

Abruptly, she stopped and scanned the group. “Where’s Carole?” she shrieked.

None of us could bring ourselves to say it out loud. “Oh, my God! No, please don’t let it be so!”

Bud was the first to speak. “Kelly wanted to go in, but I stopped her. By the time we got back from the pond . . . well, the house was engulfed. I don’t know how we didn’t know it sooner.”

“Come inside. Sit down. You have been through so much.”

We sat around the kitchen table. From where I sat, I could see the house. My dream house consumed in flames. But that agony paled in comparison to knowing my best friend ever was in that house. I could always replace the house. Carole was . . . I sobbed uncontrollably just thinking about her in there. I rested my head on the table, cradled by my arms. I could hear the others talking around me. Expressions of horror. Expressions of grief. But most of all expressions of regret.

“If only we hadn’t gone to the pond.”

“If only we had insisted Carole go with us.”

“She would be at this table with us.”

As I kept my head down and my eyes closed, the voices around the table grew quieter. The words were muffled, less distinct.

“Oh my God!”

I woke up, who knows how long later, to an empty table. No Bud. No Joyce. No Lori. I called out for each of them. “Lori!” “Bud!” “Joyce!” Why would they leave me alone at the table? Why didn’t they wake me?”

“Marie!” My words seemed to echo through an empty house. Not even the owner answered. I stretched. I could still detect the odor of the burnt wood. My mind refused to accept my situation. After the indescribable tragedy of last night, where did everyone go?

I forced myself to look out the window. I knew it would break my heart. My best friend gone. Dying in the fire that destroyed my dream home.

I drew a deep breath, closed my eyes and turned toward the window.

“One . . two . . . three . . .” I said to myself and opened my eyes, expecting to be overwhelmed by the scene.

“What the hell? That can’t be.”

The house, last night engulfed in flames, apparently, supernaturally was resurrected.

I sat there, not believing my eyes. Saying I was stunned would be an understatement. Goosebumps covered every inch of my body. I sat there shivering as the chills ran up my spine. “What the . . .?”

I let out a deep breath. I felt a smile slowly forming on my face.

“I’ll be damned!”

I felt as if the burden of the world had been lifted from me. I jumped up from the table. “Thank you, Marie, wherever you are!” I didn’t know if she heard me or not. It really didn’t matter now. Nothing mattered now.

That whole episode, I told myself, was a dream. A horrific nightmare. It seemed so real. So spine-chilling real.

I rushed to my house. As I ran across the yard, I breathlessly muttered a prayer. “Thank you, God! God, I promise not to muck up this new start.”

 I burst through the front door. Back to my best friend. Back to my dream house. I was a twenty-first-century Scrooge. Someone who was given a second chance. A second chance to be nicer, to care more, to tell people more often how much I cared for them.

I startled Carole. She was in the living room, a tray table in front of her, working on her current novel.

“There you are.” She looked up at me. But there was a look of concern on her face I couldn’t understand. “Where have you been? I was worried sick about you. You didn’t even come home last night. You could have at least called. You left so fast. Like the house was on fire or something.”