It is the calm in the aftermath of chaos that brings the tears. That and a child’s toy car, a Hot Wheels car. It’s color completely gone. It could have been red or blue, maybe even purple with orange fire trails along its sides, but now it is charred and blackened like everything else in the neighborhood. The smell of smoke lingers in the air. Perhaps, even more so, the smell is still thick in her nostrils. Three days have passed since the flames were snuffed from the mountainside, smothered by the pink, fire-retardant chemicals that firefighters dumped from above in their helicopters. Sky Jell-O is what they called the special chemical. She calls it a miracle.