CHAPTER FOUR C: ADA’S SHOP

The bicycle shop smelled of rubber, chain oil, and wet concrete.
A row of children’s bicycles stood beside a workbench covered with tools.
Ada Fletcher was adjusting the brakes on a blue bicycle when Nora entered.
She looked up and recognized the photograph before Nora had introduced herself.
“Where did you get that?” Ada asked.
“Walter Mercer kept it.”
Ada set down the wrench.
“He kept it all these years?”
“Yes.”
Ada looked toward the open shop door.
“Is he all right?”
“He hurt his shoulder.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Nora put the photograph away.
“He’s having a hard time remembering the fire.”
Ada wiped her hands on a rag.
“I remember it every time somebody closes a metal door.”
Nora did not reach for her notebook.


“My mother was Ruth Bennett.”
Ada stared at her.
“Ruth with the blue scarf?”
“Yes.”
Ada pulled out a stool.
“Sit down.”
Nora sat beside a stack of inner tubes.
Ada leaned against the workbench and stared at the floor.
“Your mother didn’t tell us everything would be fine.”
“What did she say?”
“She told us to count the tiles while we waited.”
Nora pictured the green corridor.
“Why the tiles?”
“Because counting gave us something to do besides scream.”
Ada closed her eyes.
“She counted with us until the smoke got thicker.”
“Do you remember Walter?”
“He kept asking whether I had my mitten.”
“He thinks he let go of you.”
Ada looked up sharply.
“He did.”
Nora held her breath.
“He let go because Ruth told him to crawl ahead.”


“Then how did you get out?”
“Ruth came back for me.”
Ada pointed to a scar on her wrist.
“She caught my sleeve on the edge of the hatch and tore it getting me free.”
“Did you tell the investigators?”
“My father did.”
“What happened?”
“They said I was too upset to remember accurately.”
Ada gave a short, humorless laugh.
“I was upset because people kept asking why I hadn’t used the main doors.”
Nora looked at the blue bicycle on the stand.
“Would you speak to Walter?”
Ada considered the question.
“I would speak to him privately.”
“He might need to hear your voice.”
Ada nodded.
“Then give him my number.”
Nora rose to leave.
Ada stopped her at the door.
“Tell him I never blamed him.”
“I will.”
“And tell him Ruth didn’t leave anybody behind.”
Nora stepped into the street with tears gathering unexpectedly in her eyes.
For the first time, the story had become more than an argument about a plaque.
It had become the memory of children who had carried the wrong fears into adulthood.

CHAPTER SEVEN A: THE CALL