No, not my house.
Sasha burst into the house with the news that a black column of smoke was rising up from somewhere close by. I went out to look. He was right. Thick and black and tall, and clearly close by. I also heard flames crackling and people shouting. Then a multitude of sirens started up. Maksim and Aran were nervous. I ran over to see what was going on. Mackie and Aran followed.
At first I thought someone had set the pool house on fire for fun, but then I saw it was indeed someone's townhouse in our subdivision. The smoke got thick and heavy and choking as we got closer, and finally Maksim and Aran turned around. I kept going. At the townhouse in question, there were two fire trucks, two ambulances, and a herd of police cars. Smoke poured out of the house. Small groups of people clumped here and there at safe distances. Two teenaged girls ran across the street toward parked cars, cell phones plastered to their ears.
"It started in our laundry room," one of them was shouting. "I can't go home right now."
Firefighters were dashing in and out of the affected house with hoses. I talked to a few of the neighbors who had been evacuated from their houses just in case and they said they'd also heard it was the laundry and that most of the fire was confined to the garage, fortunately.
I headed back home to let the boys know it was okay. This was an hour ago, though, and everything still smells like smoke.
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