The elderly couple in 17A and their two golden retrievers seem to go everywhere together. On September 20th, the four of them were making their way down the stairs as the fire alarm kept going off in the building. But when it looked like everyone was successfully evacuated, the couple from 17A and their dogs were nowhere to be seen. 

As the building residents were gathering on the other side of the Fremont Street, with firetrucks lining up and sirens drowning thoughts and awkward chats with neighbors they normally don’t see for months at a time, David and Beatrice of 17A were divorcing each other, somewhere between the 7th and 6th floor. 

“All I said — we need to hurry. I don’t understand what’s happening,” said David, barely catching his breath as he looked up at his wife. “Bea, for god’s sake, can we please just get out of the building and continue this conversation outside?” 

“I don’t want to get out,” said Bea, standing on the top of the staircase, looking into the space, past David.

“You can’t divorce me if we don’t get out.”

“No one is holding you back, David. You’ve left before,” said Bea, as she slowly sat down on the steps, holding onto the rail. “You’ve left before.”

The dogs were shuffling up and down the steps, occasionally giving her “Are we really doing this?” look. Caught between the two masters, they moved their gaze from David to Bea and back, with their tails wiggling. 

“I’m tired,” said Bea, resting her head on the iron baluster. 

For a second, David wanted to sit next to her. She was fleeting away, and whether they’d make it downstairs or not, life as he knew it was ending. 

“Babe, you know they won’t leave without you,” said David, softening his voice.

Bea looked at the dogs, both of whom were staring at her. A minute later, she slowly rose. “You two would make a dead man rise from his grave,” she said to the dogs, without a smile. 

They had just made it to the third floor, when everyone started to rush back in. 

False alarm.

“You two wouldn’t make it out alive if it were a real fire,” said a neighbor on a suddenly crowded and loud stairway. David looked at Bea. “Yeah,” she said with a sigh, without looking at the neighbor. 

Bea and David moved out of the way, letting the incoming crowd rush up the stairs, back to their interrupted lives. They rode the elevator in silence. 

“Should I heat up the soup for lunch?” asked David after they finally got home. 

“Sounds good,” said Bea. “And maybe those rolls from that place?”