But my father was looking only at my mother, waiting for her response.
My mother reached for my father, the way she had done a thousand times before, the way I’d taken for granted that she would do a thousand times more. My mother reached for my father and held him to her, everyone applauding. It took just a minute to realize what they were doing, which at first looked like huddling. My father’s tapping foot giving it away, my mother’s shoulders swaying. They were dancing. Terribly and wonderfully. And together.
Then Henry screamed from his place on the edge of the tent. Henry screamed loudly.
“Fire,” he said.
Over the applause, it sounded like liar. So we didn’t see it for a second, what was happening, where Henry was pointing.
He pointed toward a blast of smoke. It was coming from the winemaker’s cottage, smoke and rising flames. A fire.
“Oh, shit,” Bobby said.
We all started moving as fast as we could down the hill, toward the cottage. I was up front with Finn and Bobby and my parents, sheer terror driving us. Ben and Jacob were close behind, Jacob dialing 911 as he ran. The rest of the party—all two hundred of them—making their way down the hill to try and help. Lee and Henry, Margaret carrying the twins, Michelle holding Maddie.
“The fire department is on its way!” Jacob called out just as we reached the wine cottage, the smoke and heat from the fire hitting us, pushing us all back.
Ben put his arm in front of me, put his body in front.
“Jesus!” my mother called out, my father holding her back. She turned and saw Margaret and the twins, Michelle and Maddie, higher on the hill. It wasn’t high enough for her.
“Get the kids out of here!” she said.
There was no arguing with that voice. They didn’t want to argue. Margaret and Michelle were already steering the children away.
“Stand back,” Finn said.
Bobby and Finn each triggered a fire extinguisher. Ben ran forward to stand by their sides.
My heart threatened to pound right out of my chest. In weather this dry, the cottage was like kindling—the wind blowing strong, the fire threatening to spread to the vineyard around it, if we didn’t do something. Fast.
Finn aimed the fire extinguisher, high, getting as close to the porch as possible. But the fire extinguisher looked like it wasn’t going to be able to take the fire down. It looked like it was flaming it.
Finn started coughing, still pushing forward.
My father moved forward. “It’s enough.”
I could hear the sirens, still far away.
Bobby stepped forward. “Get back, Dad,” he said.
Then he aimed the fire extinguisher even higher, the wind catching the fire, pulling it toward the vineyard.
The wine cottage porch started to collapse.
“Let it go,” my father called out.
Ben turned and looked at me, deep sorrow in his eyes.
I looked straight ahead at the wine cottage, the smoke wafting over it, moving toward the vineyard. I started to move forward, toward the fire, as if I could do what no one else had been able to do. As if I could stop it before it got to the vineyard.
I could feel a hand on my arm, stopping me. Jacob. I met his eyes.
“No,” he said.
Then a bolt of thunder exploded in the sky. It came quickly: the rain following, splashing down, a waterfall. The thunder crashing onto the edge of the vineyard.
I looked up at the pouring rain, hard, deep pellets hitting my skin.