The fear of fire is always on my mind. Maybe it’s because I’m married to a firefighter. For me, that means that a bon voyage off-to-work-hug-and-kiss-fest is rarely complete without me sending one stupid and pleading thought out into the universe: please, please don’t let anything terrible happen.   Maybe it’s because being married to his man also means always being reminded to unplug the toaster after using it and directed to notice where the emergency exits are when we take our seats in a theater. (Trust me, no matter how handsome he is, this is always an awkward start to a night.) Maybe it isn’t marriage but motherhood that’s made fire a threat that’s always in the back of my mind. My most distinct…