Free She Only Speaks to Butterflies by Sandy Appleyard

set a plate down for her daughter and started preparing one for herself. Breakfast was suddenly interrupted by a hail of sirens. Sherry rose, padding to the front door.
    “Sounds like they’re headed over there.” Kenny pointed to the large brush area next to Kate and Ned’s farm.
    Sherry pursed her lips. “Grogan Street.”
     
    …
     
    Three fire trucks lined the street; the pumper truck dousing the blaze at ground level and the aerial truck aiming water into the trees. The rescue truck was on standby while Alan and his crew worked at putting out the fire.
    Ned’s truck was next to the rescuer. He spotted Sherry and Kenny and walked toward them, shaking his head.
    “Alan says this one was set deliberately, just like the last one.”
    Kenny’s eyes darted to Sherry. “The last one?”
    “A garbage dumpster,” she explained. “The other day.”
    “Where was that one?”
    Sherry hesitated. “At…um…Denise’s school.”
    Kenny’s face fell, like someone slapped him. “Why didn’t you say anything, sugarplum?”
    “I didn’t want y’all to worry. I knew you’d be drivin’ out here and I didn’t want to have to worry about ya, too.”
    Kenny was silenced, wondering what else his daughter had kept from him. “Anyone hurt?”
    Sherry shook her head. Sarah and Mark approached from behind.
    “Alan have any idea who set this one?” Sarah was holding her belly like it was a cumbersome grocery bag.
    “Not yet,” Ned said. “But it was set on purpose for sure.”
    Doug pulled up a second later. “What’s goin’ on?” he asked, noticing that practically the whole town had appeared. “Anyone spoken to Alan?”
    Sherry glanced down by the tree where Chris’s car accident occurred. She watched the trees sway in the wind, waiting to catch a burning ember and be set ablaze. Selfishly, she hoped the fire went the other way, toward the farm, instead of here. Then she chided herself for even thinking it.
    Alan was supervising two of his men at ground level. She could read their surnames printed lengthways in yellow at the bottom of their fire coats. Spotting the name ‘Givens’, she watched the new fireman as he held the hose as though it was a newborn baby, pointing it at a parcel of trees next to the blaze.
    “Why is he wettin’ where there’s no fire?” Sarah asked, like the new guy didn’t know what he was doing.
    “Protectin’ ‘em,” Ned explained. “We had a pretty dry spring. If he don’t keep ‘em wet, they’ll catch faster.”
    Sarah smacked her gum. “So who ya think started this one?”
    “Anyone’s guess,” Ned said solemnly. “We’re gettin’ more and more hateful people in this town. Nobody seems to be happy with change anymore.”
    Kenny patted Ned on the shoulder. “Nobody ever is, my friend. It’s the way the world works.”
    “How ya doin’, Kenny? Sorry we had to get re-acquainted under these circumstances.”
    “I’m doin’ good, Ned. Looks like yer well.”
    “I am,” Ned smiled.
    Sarah nodded toward the blaze. “What have ya heard about the new guy?”
    “Not much,” Ned answered. “He seems to keep to himself so far.”
    “It’s always the quiet ones causin’ the most trouble,” Sarah scoffed. “Best keep an eye on him ‘til we know his story.”
    Mark looked at her indignantly. “He’s a fireman, what kind of trouble maker ya think he could be?”
    Sarah was smug. “Reggie Maxwell used to be a cop, remember? Look at him now. Causin’ fights, drinkin’, stealin’. Him and Ruben sure keep Sheriff Douglas busy.”
    Kate pulled up at the end of the embankment and exited the car, carrying two trays of goodies. Doug ran to her, collecting a bag full of plastic glasses, plates and napkins from the back seat. Ned was pleased.
    “That’s my girl.”
    “Figured there’d be lots of people here,” Kate said breathlessly. “How’s it comin’?”
    “Looks like they’ve got it contained to a small parcel of trees. It won’t spread,