Nora smelled charred wood and the acrid scent of burning plastic. Even after the fire was doused, she felt its heat pulsating out of the blackened walls and perforated roof of her tiny house. Her sweet little red caboose. She wanted to wrap her home in a wet blanket. She wanted to put salve on its wounds and rock it like a child in her arms. But all she could do was stand there while a curtain of rain dropped over the valley.
