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Little did we know at that moment just how very bad.
His phone rang. The call was like a sudden, frigid draft sucking the warmth out of the room.
He gravely thanked the person for calling and then leaned all his weight on the counter, gripping it with both hands. There had been a fire. While I had been trouncing him at Scrabble, his home had been on the 11 p.m. news. It was the sort of fire that they open a newscast with arching flames and firetruck lights against the night sky.
“I’ll drive you down there. Let’s go.”