The Worse Day Cont.

To read the first part of The Worse Day, go here.

I might have freaked out a little. 

My freak out might have consisted of sitting on the floor in the bar of the restaurant and sobbing.  There might have been some, "What the crap?!"  A friend insisted on driving me home, and I'm so glad she did because I might have kinda collapsed in the parking lot on the way to my car when I called my mom and told her what happened.

It was bad.

I made the phone calls/texts I needed to make.  But it was the same thing over and over again.  "Our house caught on fire.  We're fine.  Justin found it.  We don't know how it started.  I don't know any more details."  I don't know.  I don't know.  I don't know. . .

The ride to my house was interspersed with me staring out the window, more "What the crap?!"s, and trying to downplay it in my head.  It's probably nothing.  The firefighters will probably already be gone and we can sleep there tonight.  If not tonight, we'll be back in tomorrow night.  No biggie.

My friend makes the left turn onto my road.  She says, "You'll have to remind me which house is your's."

Every house on my street had people standing in their yard.  This is never good. 

We rounded the curve.

"Ummm. . . it's the one with the 8 firetrucks parked in the yard."