Then she began avoiding the damaged property.
The smell of smoke remained in some belongings.
A photograph rescued from the house had darkened around the edges.
And every time she saw it, she felt sick.
She hadn't been eating properly.
Her sleep was broken.
She kept a small hospital bracelet beside her phone, although she couldn't remember exactly when she'd taken it off.
Her sister worried constantly.
The sister was thirty-nine, practical, and more outspoken than the mother.
She worked as a school secretary and had two teenage daughters.
She loved her nephew.
And she was growing increasingly frightened by the mother's refusal to visit him.
They had argued about it the previous evening.
The sister wanted to drive her to the hospital.
The mother refused.
She said the boy was recovering and didn't need her crying beside his bed.
The sister asked whether the boy had said that.
The mother shook her head.
"Then you're making the decision for him."
The mother became angry.
She accused her sister of not understanding.
The sister replied that she didn't need to understand every feeling to know a child was waiting for his mother.
They both cried.
Then apologized.
But nothing changed.
The following afternoon, the mother was sitting alone when her phone rang.
She recognized the hospital number.
For one moment, panic overwhelmed her.
She answered immediately.
"Is he all right?"
The social worker's voice was calm.
"He's stable. I'm calling because something important came up during a visit."
The mother gripped the phone.
"What happened?"
The social worker explained that the elderly biker had disclosed information concerning the fire's possible cause and his own knowledge of problems with the motorcycle's charging equipment.
The mother went completely still.
For a moment, she couldn't understand.
The garage.
The motorcycle.
The old biker.
The man who had helped carry her son out.
She swallowed.
"What are you saying?"
The social worker spoke carefully.
The final technical findings would need to come from the appropriate investigators.
But the biker had acknowledged a previously known issue with equipment connected to his motorcycle.
The mother stared toward the wall.
Her heart was pounding.
For nineteen days, she had blamed herself.
She'd been certain the fire resulted from something she did or failed to do.
Now someone was telling her that the old biker knew about a problem in the garage.