“You still have a fever.”

“I feel awful.”

“It’s no wonder,” Mamaw answered, going to the closet and pulling out a patchwork quilt. She shook it out, then laid it atop Carson. “You were in that cold water for hours in the morning, then you go out swimming late last night. What were you thinking? You know that’s feeding time for the sharks. And alone! Lord help us, anything could have happened. And almost did. If it wasn’t for Dora just happening to be out there on the back porch . . .” Mamaw reached for the glass of water on the bedside stand. “Here, darling. I’ve a few aspirin to help bring the fever down. Let’s see if you can’t drink a little bit, hear?”

She helped Carson rise to her elbows. The movement brought a ricochet of pain in Carson’s head but she managed to swallow the pills. After a few sips she collapsed back down on the bed.

“That should help you feel better. Do you think you can eat something?” Mamaw asked, setting the glass down. “Lucille made a pot of chicken soup, just for you.”

“Maybe later,” Carson replied, licking her moistened lips.

Mamaw’s long fingers tucked the quilt around the bed. “You’re still so warm. I’ll get you a cool cloth for your forehead.”

Carson reached up and clutched Mamaw’s hand. “Don’t go.”

“All right, dear,” Mamaw replied, a little surprised. “I’ll stay, if you like.” Mamaw sat on the edge of the bed. She was wearing one of her tunic tops, this one in a pale coral that matched the coral earrings in her ears. “What’s the matter, child?”

“Mamaw, I . . .” Carson’s face crumpled. She closed her eyes and once again saw the nightmarish image she’d conjured of her mother burning in bed that had kept her tossing and turning all night. Her brain felt scorched, as though the memory was a brand that had burned into her every waking thought. She shuddered and turned to curl up closer to Mamaw, putting her arms around her with a soft cry.

“Carson!” Mamaw exclaimed as she smoothed away the hair from Carson’s forehead in a soothing rhythm. “You haven’t held on to me like this since you were a little girl.”

“Mamaw, last night,” she said tremulously. “I remembered the fire.”

Mamaw’s hand stilled. “Oh, child . . .”

“After all these years, I remembered. I must have blocked it out of my mind.”

“What do you remember?”

“I remembered the fire and waking up in that awful smoke. It was so hot and it burned. I heard Dad calling me. I went looking for him, but I was so afraid. But I kept going. Then when I saw him . . .” She stopped and clutched Mamaw tighter.

“Saw him? What happened?”

“He turned away. Mamaw, he left me there, in the fire. I was just a kid and he left me there. I’ll never forget the sight of his back as he ran down the stairs.” Her voice caught. “How could he have done that?”

“Oh, Carson, Carson,” Mamaw murmured. “How can I explain what happened?”

“You can’t. It’s too awful. I’ll never forgive him.”

Mamaw rose slowly and went to the window. She adjusted the blinds enough to allow a bit more light into the room. She looked for a moment out the window, at the gentle rain that pattered against the glass. The earth needed the rain, she thought. Carson’s tears were good for her, too. Cathartic. How could she help her get through this storm?

She turned and held her hands together. “Carson, your daddy came to see me after the fire. He was sick, as you are now. Sick in his body and sick in his soul. He’d just lost your mother. For all that they were not good for one another, they did love each other. He mourned her.” She paused. “And he mourned what had happened to you. He lay in my arms and cried like a baby. He was riddled with guilt that he didn’t go back into that burning house and search for you. When he saw that fireman carrying you out, all smudged with smoke and burns, he dropped to his knees and gave thanks.”

“But he saw me,” Carson cried, turning to look at Mamaw. “You can’t always defend him. I was there. He saw me. And he ran away.”

“No, child, he didn’t see you,” Mamaw told her in a resolute tone. “Parker told me how he came home and saw the fire in the upstairs windows. He went running up in a panic to fetch you and Sophie. By the time he reached their bedroom the room was in flames. The bed.” She made a small, desperate gesture. “He saw her.” Mamaw shook her head sadly. “He saw her body burning on the bed. Don’t you see? He was in shock, honey. He didn’t know what he was doing. He just turned and ran out of the house and probably would’ve kept on running if a fireman hadn’t stopped him. He was out of his mind, honey. He never saw you.”

Carson closed her eyes and brought to mind that horrid night. She remembered how she’d called out to him. How she’d seen him standing in front of his bedroom, still as a statue, before he turned and fled down the stairs.

She’d never reached him. He’d never reached out for her. What Mamaw told her was possible. Her heart wanted to believe, but her mind fought it.

“He was still a chicken shit not to come for me. I was only four years old.”

“Oh, Carson,” Mamaw said wearily. “It’s so easy for us to judge now, in hindsight. We think we know what we’d do in an emergency. But one never knows until one is tested. I couldn’t say what I’d do in that situation.”

“Nothing would stop me from going after my own child.”

Mamaw patted her shoulder in consolation. “Perhaps not. You’re stronger than him. Always have been. You’re the strongest woman I know. Child, you didn’t give up in that fire. You were only four years old but you found your way out. You’re a survivor.”

Mamaw sighed wearily; the past twenty-four hours had taken a lot out of her. She sat down in the chair beside Carson and once again gently stroked her hair with her fingertips.

“Trauma is a hard, hard burden to bear. You suffered it and endured. Perhaps now that you understand the trauma of what your father went through at that moment, you might be able to forgive him for what he did. And forgive your mother’s part in this tragedy.”

“I don’t forgive either of them. They both abandoned me,” Carson said angrily.