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HIS GIFT
“Mom!” I yelled, grabbing the banister and racing up the stairs. I covered my mouth and nose with my arm, but the smoke was insidious, burning my eyes, clawing at the back of my throat. By the time I got to the top landing, I was coughing and light-headed.
I found my mother alone in her bed, passed out cold, oblivious to the fire raging through the house. I don’t know what I thought would happen to her in all this, but I couldn’t leave her to die. I shook her but couldn’t rouse her. Finally I dragged her until she stumbled from the bed, leaning her full weight on me.
“What’s happening?” she muttered.
“There’s a fire!” I yelled, struggling to get to the door. “Where’s Frank?”
But she didn’t seem to hear. “Lolita,” she slurred, “let me sleep.”
I dragged her into the hall, where through the smoke I saw two figures on the staircase, one lon
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