Chapter 7: The Brick

I grabbed the fire extinguisher from behind the register.

It was my mother's, red and dented, with an inspection tag from 2017.

I didn't know if it still worked.

I went out through the hole where the window had been, and the glass went into my right foot.

I felt it and kept going.

I pulled the pin and squeezed.

White powder hit the dress form and the flames went down hissing.

Then there was just smoke, and the smell of burned cloth, and the cold.

The form lay in the gutter.

Her shoulders were black.

The cloth my mother had worn smooth with her hands was gone.

Somewhere above me a window went up.

It wasn't the top floor.

The yellow curtains stayed shut.

It was the baker, across the street, in an undershirt.

"Giada! You okay? I'm calling!"

I sat down on the curb because my legs said so.

My foot was bleeding onto Passyunk.

I didn't hear the Escalade until it stopped.

Mauro got out of the back before it finished moving.

He had on gray sweatpants, a black T-shirt and untied sneakers, and he came across the glass.

"Are you hurt?"

"My foot."

He crouched down in front of me in the street.

He looked at the form first.

Then at me.

"Let me see."

"It's fine."

"Giada. Let me see your foot."

I let him.

He held my heel in his palm.

His hand was warm.

In six years it was the longest he'd ever touched me.

There was a sliver of glass in the arch, shining under the streetlight.

"Hold still," he said.

He pulled it out in one go.

I hissed through my teeth.

He pulled his T-shirt off over his head and wrapped my foot in it, and tied it at the ankle.

His chest was bare in the cold, and he didn't seem to notice.

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