When I got back to our hotel room at the Days Inn, Eric was poring over a huge directory. “What is that?” I asked him as I put down the six-pack I had bought across the street. “It’s a directory of real estate companies nationwide,” he said. At first I didn’t understand and I inquired what he needed it for. “I borrowed it from my friend at the Highland Agency. We’re going to have to shop eventually for relocation services,” he reminded me. Oh, that’s right! They could help us find a new house. Let me explain. Our house caught on fire and burned down a couple of weeks ago. We suspect that it was arson—that is, an arsonist we don’t even know, who just wanted to do it, like some kind of weird pyromaniac. He just happened to pick our place, out of only twelve other homes on our block. Neither of us was home, although it was during the evening on a Friday night. We were both out having dinner with friends. When we got back there was hardly anything left besides the skeletal structure. All of the walls and floors had burned through. A neighbor had called the fire department, but there had been only so much they could do. So we collected the insurance from Dave, and now here we are staying at a motel until we can find another place to live. Eric was determined to find an office that would be able to place us not far away from the other location, since he’s self-employed and I work close by at a computer repair store.