Trial by fire

AS BRAD AND MICHELLE MILLER WERE SETTLING INTO LIFE AS HOMEOWNERS AND PARENTS, A FIRE THREATENED THEIR CHILDREN’S LIVES AND COST THEM THEIR MATERIAL POSSESSIONS, INCLUDING THEIR HOUSE. THEN, GOOD THINGS BEGAN TO HAPPEN.

Brad and Michelle Miller are rabid fans of their respective alma maters’ sports teams, and Labor Day weekend 2014 was shaping into one epic day in sports. It was not necessarily about the games, but that the Millers — forty-somethings bound by the restrictions of parenting two small children would be there, in person, to root for their guys. Brad, donning purple and gold, flew to Houston to rally his Louisiana State University Tigers. Michelle lodged with family near University of Texas at Austin, where the Longhorns would face North Texas’ Mean Green.

Brad’s mom, JoAnn, came from Louisiana to look after Mitch and Quinn, then ages 5 and 3, the family dog, Roux, and the cozy L Streets home they all inhabited.

Because JoAnn doesn’t like traveling alone, Brad’s brother Jeff joined her.

They brought toys, including a miniature fire engine for Mitch. They shopped at Albertsons and made pizzas for dinner.

After tucking in the kids, Jeff fell asleep watching television in an upstairs room; JoAnn slept near the children’s rooms in a downstairs master bedroom.

It was only a couple hours before all hell broke loose.

The fire started in the attic, ostensibly ignited by an aging kitchen can light.

Roux was the first to notice something askew. Her paws click-clacking on hardwood alerted JoAnn, who rushed upstairs to rouse Jeff.

It took several minutes to comprehend the magnitude of the situation, says Jeff, an exmilitary officer. His mom was crying, sure, but she was known to be sensitive.

“In the Navy, we trained constantly for fires. I know what to do in a fire, but this did not look serious at first. More like a melting light.”

But then a flame licked at the fixture’s edge, and he understood. Dialing 911, he instructed the others to move outside. A frantic passerby who had noticed fire shooting out the roof pounded at the door — “You need to get out, now!”

As the sirens’ wails closed in and bedheaded neighbors congregated, Jeff dialed his brother.

At a Houston bar, Brad and his buddies were basking in pre-game hype when he received the phone call, which brought his revelry — and life as he knew it — to a screeching halt.

“You talk about the needle skidding off the record,” Brad says. “Jeff says, ‘First, the kids are OK, but you’ve had a house fire.’”

Brad, who could hear his mother weeping in the background, remained in a state resembling shock until his next-morning flight landed in Dallas.

“The minute I saw Michelle, there at the airport, I lost it.”

Michelle, who did not learn about the fire until that morning, says she stayed surprisingly composed. “Usually I am not the strong one,” she says, but this time Brad was the one bursting into tears.

“I wasn’t thinking at all about the house at that point. I was only thinking about the kids,”

Michelle says. Brad finishes, “Yeah, all I could think of was wrapping my arms around them and squeezing them.”

As he drove home, Brad remembers wondering, “Geez, can’t we catch a break?” But that self-pity was fleeting. The Millers would soon discover that — even as their children stood dreary-eyed on the front lawn waiting for firefighters to extinguish the blaze —their neighbors were launching into helpful action.

Jennifer Wilcox, a local insurance agent with several clients in the neighborhood, walked toward the smoke in her robe. The Millers weren’t clients, but she knew them, and took the displaced family to her house for the night. “They gave us a place to sleep and washed our clothes. The clothes needed to be washed several times,” Jeff recalls. “That fire smell is something that doesn’t go away. My tablet that I was using that night still smells of it.”

Friend Laura Frazure collected salvageable clothing from the house and began laundering loads. Neighbor Laura Stead organized a donation drive.

Parents and teachers from Lake Highlands Elementary, where Mitch had just started school, and members of the White Rock Running Co-op (led by neighbor Paris Sunio) started collecting cash, clothing and gift cards. Brad was training for a marathon, and his running buddies that week presented him with a pair of new Brooks athletic shoes. An impromptu charity run brought in a few thousand dollars.

“I took about two weeks off running and then started up training again,” he says. “It was therapeutic.” Brad and Michelle’s employers, American Heart Association and Southwest Airlines, extended the couple extra time off with pay. Michelle’s coworkers took her on a shopping spree for new clothes and, before the holidays, held an ornament party to replenish destroyed decorations.

They spent a few weeks with the Frazures, whose porch filled with donations.

“Gift cards, clothes, groceries, toys, a dog bowl for Roux — and these were not just from friends, but strangers too — like an anonymous $100 gift card. It was unbelievable,” Michelle says.

The response solidified their conviction that they did not want to live anywhere else.

“When we bought this house, our first house, we knew this was a good neighborhood. And if we ever had any doubts about that, they were gone,” Brad says. “The way people responded to our need completely cemented our belief in this neighborhood.”

Today the Millers’ home is a beautiful contemporary slate gray abode with wide windows and a spacious interior. The children, now 6 and 5, enjoy enviable upstairs bedrooms.

After spending weeks with their friends and then 13 months at The Haven Lake Highlands apartments, the Millers decided to turn the loss into an opportunity to rebuild.

The home, while intentionally “not a McMansion.” stands out in its size and beauty, which prompted one of Brad’s friends to jokingly imply he was lucky his house burned down. Brad did not like that joke.

“We love this new house, but we worked for it,” Brad says. “I would rather not have the experience and take back the old house.”

Same goes for his mom, who cried for three weeks, who still cries when she talks about that night and hasn’t visited since the fire.

“She blames herself,” Jeff says.

Brad adds, “She doesn’t understand that it could have happened to any of us, that she is a hero.”

The kids talk about the fire. It often shows up in their artwork. The Millers watch Mitch and Quinn for signs of fear, distress “… even pyromania,” Brad says, only halfway joking.

He believes it is “how you deal with something challenging that shapes you as a person,” and while the situation was not what he would have wanted for his family, he is proud of the way they, and the Lake Highlands neighborhood, responded.

“We are a strong family in a strong community, and that makes us really lucky.”

As the Millers built their new home, friends came by and wrote notes of love and encouragement on the bricks.

“Even though we all knew the brick would be painted over, their notes of hope, encouragement and love would forever be a tangible piece of our rebuilt home.”