House of Fire (Unraveled Series) by Raen Smith

numbing and stinging sensations in her feet had lessoned
since the winter, but it was still a reminder of him. She sighed and
pulled her right knee up, feeling another deep stretch.
    She swapped legs as
the next door neighbor’s SUV backed out of the garage. Greg the IT Manager .
He waved behind his shades and blue-striped collar shirt. Khaki pants
underneath. Greg was married to Regina who stayed home to raise their four
kids. Almost perpetually unshowered, Regina nearly always had a child on her
hip. It was exhausting just watching her.
    Mark’s neighborhood
was filled with variations of the same couples. Judy, an independent consultant
for a brand new wrap thing that claimed to make you skinny and, gasp, lose five
inches overnight. Frank who always left well past nine a.m. and returned before
four p.m. in his shiny black Escalade. Regina had once told Delaney that he was
a pharmaceutical rep, barely working twenty hours a week and making over six
figures. The problems with hospitals and health care today , she had told
her. She had gone on, but Delaney had been distracted by one of Regina’s crying
kids behind her. Delaney tried to stay in the house as much as she could,
leaving only for class and her runs. But inevitably, Regina would catch her,
desperate for adult interaction. Delaney couldn’t really blame her.
    Delaney put one foot
in front of the other, pounding on the sidewalk, headed left instead of right.
Her usual five mile route to the right included running past Regina’s house,
and she couldn’t bear the earful today. Mark had mentioned a set of trails last
week that were west anyway. She could use a little change.
    She made long
strides, her tight legs carrying her forward to the edge of the subdivision.
Her toes began to loosen as the warmth permeated through her socks. Most of the
houses still slept, their silence and stillness bringing a reprieve to her legs
as she pushed them forward. A sweet smell flared into her nostrils. Lilacs. Wait . Roses . Ann Jones had always tended to her flowers, the
swelling rose bushes pruned to perfection. Her mother in her oversized straw
hat and garden clippers popped into her head. Her brown waves cascaded past her
shoulders. Ann Jones was beautiful.
    The sound of a garage
door opening turned her head to the right. A tall man emerged from his garage
in a suit and tie, his brown hair spiked to a painstakingly perfect amount. He
was in good shape, his body fit and muscular beneath his jacket. He bent down
to pick up a red tricycle left from the previous night and the suspended wheels
twirled in the air as he jerked it up. He gave Delaney a half-wave before
disappearing back into the garage.
    She returned the smile,
thinking of James’s classic half-wave, which she had first remembered him by. A
small, insignificant gesture to most people, though to Delaney, it was comforting.
His infectious smile and toffee eyes always lit up when he gave the sideways
motion. The vision of James bending down to pick up a tricycle flooded through
her head. It looked natural, almost stunning. It was the first time she had
conceded to this thought, welcomed it with open arms. Maybe she could do this.
Maybe this was what love was supposed to feel like. She felt an ounce of luck
for the first time.
    The silence of her
warm-up was ending as the houses disappeared behind her. Her breath began to
quicken as she inhaled the fresh morning air. The regular exhale reassured her;
a rhythm building as she pushed forward. Step. Step. Inhale. Step. Step.
Exhale. She moved onto the shoulder of the road to the small stretch of an
uninhabited street. Anxiety began to melt from her body. Running and painting
were her only two releases from Holston.
    She plugged her
earphones into her ears, shuffling through the playlist on her iPhone before
she landed on Mumford and Sons. The rendering of Marcus Mumford’s raspy,
distinct voice belted in her ears as she neared the edge of a vacant plot with
a commercial