I was startled awake at 1 a.m. when the cordless phone in our bedroom rang.
“Mom. I’m sorry to call in the middle of the night.” It was my son, Max.
“No worries, Sweetie,” I replied, slightly rattled. “Everything alright?”
“Andrew said there’s a big fire near you guys. Are you okay?”
“We’re fine,” I said confidently.
I recalled there was a hint of smoke in the air when my husband and I drove home from San Francisco around 11 p.m., but it was a blustery evening and we’d smelled smoke carried on the wind from distant fires before. We thought little of it.