by Sandi Ward
Wait—what? “You set the fire?”
“Yes.”
I’m shocked—no, appalled. My son? Started that fire?
But when I see the look on Donovan’s face, I soften. He looks grateful, staring at me in admiration. I feel it, the love he’s sending me, and it’s a relief.
Donovan thinks I was trying to protect him, not Sam.
It’s just as well. I would do anything to protect my children. My love for the twins is absolute, no matter how crazy they drive me. I just had no idea it was Donovan who set the fire.
But . . . why in the world would he do such a thing? I think carefully about what my next words should be, aware that Hank is watching us. “Was it an accident?”
“Yeah, Mom.” Delilah comes over, closer to us. “It was an accident, like you said, but it was Donovan who started it.”
I can see they’re not kidding. And it hits me. This is serious. Delilah is somehow involved, too. Oh, God.
I fight back the tears that are welling up. What in the world . . . ?
Delilah quickly approaches and puts her arm around me. “It’s okay. We’re fine. We’re here now.”
“You were there, Del?” Lisa asks, narrowing her eyes, putting her hands on her hips. “Why were you kids over there?”
“Yeah, I was there.” Delilah nods. “I went to make sure things didn’t get out of hand. I knew Donovan was angry, and I didn’t want him to accidentally hurt himself.” She looks over at Hank. “He didn’t mean to burn the whole house down.”
Hank adjusts his glasses. “Why don’t you let your brother tell me what happened?”
Donovan admits to starting a small fire in the house up on the hill. He explains that he’d wanted to burn his father’s journal to punish me, but didn’t want to do it in the fireplace at home because he was afraid I might catch him. He tells the story about how Peter died in his sleep, in greater detail than he’s ever told me before, and explains that he’s blamed me for it ever since, both for brushing off Peter’s symptoms and not being home when he died. By the time Donovan is done with this story, clutching the blue leather book to his chest with both arms and explaining that in the end he just couldn’t burn the diary but got distracted as the fire spread, he has tears streaming down his cheeks. I haven’t seen my son cry like this since the funeral, his face blotchy but his expression typically stoic. Hank can’t help but put a hand on Donovan’s shoulder in comfort. It’s a stunning performance—all the more striking because I’m not sure how much of it is acting. I’m starting to realize Donovan must have heard some of my conversation with Sam, and he had his own reasons for wanting to help Danny out and burn the house down. But a lot of what Donovan is saying is clearly true emotion, the way Donovan really feels. I’m sure Donovan had no intention of burning the journal, but I think he means every word he says about wanting to hurt me.
It only makes me cry, too. Delilah rubs my back with her hand. It must be clear to her that I have no idea what to do. No one has provided me with directions titled “What to Do If Your Children Burn a House Down.” Perhaps there’s nothing I can do.
“Don’t worry, son,” the fire chief says softly. “Accidents happen.”
“Don’t we all know it,” Lisa sighs.
Donovan bites his lip, light and shadows from the fire in the woodstove playing against his face. A shudder goes down my spine as I wonder if I’ve lost him somehow, if I’ve let him use his grief to drive a wedge between us.
But then I remember Sam at the same age—sad, confused, and feeling abandoned by his parents. He was never a bad person. On the contrary, Sam was capable of love, humor, and tenderness—if not always the best judgment. It helps to firm up my resolve, and when I reach out a hand to Donovan, he immediately comes to me and lets me put my arms around him. His hair smells like he’s been sitting in front of a bonfire.
“Again, I’m so sorry to hear Peter has passed on,” Hank says. “He was a good kid who didn’t deserve what he got. Losing his leg and all that.”
I shake my head. “No, don’t you think that. His life wasn’t all about the accident. Not at all. He got what he deserved—a family who loved him.”
I notice that Danny has now joined us in the room. From the look on his face, I imagine he is suspicious and alarmed about the fire, but he doesn’t ask any questions. He stares at my kids, clearly puzzled and tempted to ask more about it. Holding a hand over his mouth, frowning, he sits on the edge of an armchair as if ready to jump into action at any moment. But he sits tight.
“I’m so glad to hear you have two great kids.” Hank gestures toward Donovan and Delilah and smiles, as if he’s their own proud grandfather. “Twins! You’re lucky.”
“You know kids, Hank. Sometimes they’re great, and sometimes they’re just trouble.” I laugh and wipe my eye with my thumb.
Hank nods and digs a tissue out of his pants pocket, which he hands to me. “I know.” His voice quiets. “Believe me, I know.” Hank nods at Lisa. “I’ll get this taken care of.”
“Thanks.”
Lisa offers to walk the fire chief part of the way down the road. They bundle up, she grabs a flashlight, and they head out.
Once the fire chief is gone, Danny jumps up. “I heard everything.” He walks up to stand over Donovan, who is now sitting on the couch, but my son is too worn-out to respond. “That was quite an interesting story. We’ll have to call the insurance company tomorrow and file a claim.” He doesn’t take his eyes off Donovan as he paces the length of the couch. “It’s so fascinating how that happened. Really amazing. How that all just happened in my dad’s house. It’s almost . . . unbelievable.” I’m not sure from his tone if he admires my boy’s brio, or is concerned he’s now going to be forced to let Donovan visit his daughter because he owes him one.
Either way, I think Donovan has won himself a reprieve. I don’t think Danny will object too strenuously if Donovan shows up at his house to visit Lexi this week.
I don’t know how to feel about it. Something has gone wrong with my son, and that’s my primary concern. I will try again to get him to go back to a therapist. It’s clear to me my first priority right now can’t be his education; it’s got to be his state of mind. Forget boarding school—for now. I’ll tell Donovan I want to meet Alexis, and that she’s welcome in our home. What I said to Sam is true; I’m trying to be a better person all the time. I just have to coax Donovan to join me on that path, and if Delilah helps, I’m sure we can all get there.
“Donovan,” I say, kneeling at his feet in front of the couch. “You don’t have to go to The President’s Academy. I understand you need to stay, even more than I need to go. So let’s just agree that we won’t make any big moves right now. We can stay at least through the spring, and then see where we’re at. I’ll figure out what I’m doing and how to get through this. I will.”
Donovan looks at me and nods. Delilah comes right up behind me and almost knocks me over as she bends down to give me a hug. “Thank you,” she exclaims. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” She bounces over to sit next to Donovan on the couch.
Sam is standing by the side window, looking out at the darkness. I pat Donovan’s hands and get up and go to join Sam.
“I assumed it was you. I didn’t know who else it could be,” I whisper to him.
He turns to face me. We’re so close that his coat rubs against mine. “You were gonna take credit for it? Are you crazy? Donovan’s right. Hank would’ve had a hard time believing it.”
I reach out and tap my fingers against his. “Maybe he would have. I wanted to try. I don’t want you in trouble. No more. There’s been enough.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He gives me a look. “I hear you.”
I glance over to the twins to make sure they’re not watching us. I squeeze Sam’s hand gently, just for a moment. I’m tired, but that doesn’t bother me right now. It feels good, like I’ve earned it.
* * *
When Lisa returns, she assures me that Hank is a good
guy, someone she trusts. There will be a police investigation, but Hank has pledged to help sort everything out.
“Thank you. And, Lisa, we’re going to stay here for a while.”
She clucks her tongue. “Fine. Suit yourself. I’m glad you’re not wasting anyone’s money on that school.”
“If you really want the cottage, of course we’ll look for somewhere else in Manchester to live. I’m sure there are many other houses where we’d be comfortable.”
She shrugs, looking at the kids, who are draped in random positions over the couch, worn-out to the bone. “Okay, well . . . I mean, that would be nice of you. But I know Delilah already painted and decorated her room. So if you find another house, great. But I’m not gonna kick you guys out.”
“Thanks, Aunt Lisa,” Delilah says, putting a hand in the air to acknowledge that she’s heard this concession.
Everyone ends up scavenging the kitchen for food; then we go to sit by a roaring fire in the back room, eating cashews, Cheerios, and other assorted random food from a tray I’ve perched on the coffee table. Delilah and Donovan assign themselves the task of digging everything out of our kitchen cabinets to see if there’s anything we can eat that we’ve missed.
Danny checks his phone. “Trung says the town will definitely plow this road overnight. They’re starting to get to the secondary roads anyway. But thanks to that fire, this road is now a priority.”
“Good.” My stomach grumbles, hopefully not too loud. I’m nibbling on a dry cracker because we’ve run out of cheese. Sam spreads strawberry jam on another cracker and hands it to me. I smile as I take it from him.
“I hope we get the power back soon,” Lisa says. “It’d better not take two weeks for them to fix it.”
Delilah comes in and plops down on the bricks in front of the fireplace. She’s wearing pink fuzzy slippers, her hair in a bun on top of her head. “So what’s this I hear about my dad writing a novel?”
Lisa grabs a fistful of cereal. “Yeah, it’s true. It’s a fantasy. It’s got everything: Dragons. Sea serpents. Magic. A knight on a quest. You’re gonna love it.”
She perks up. “Did you read it?”
“Some of it. It’s excellent. Unfortunately, I flipped to the end, and it ends abruptly in the middle of a scene. I think you’re going to have to finish it for him.”
Delilah’s eyes light up. “What?”
“Sure,” Lisa says, sliding forward in her seat. “You’ve gotta complete it. For your dad. Just read through it and figure out how it should end.”
“Oooh, wow.” She leans forward. “Okay. I’m up for it. I’ll come up with something once I’ve read the whole thing. I can do that. I get to write the ending? How cool is that?”
“He was a terrific writer. I’m sure you’ll be very proud to read his work.”
“I’m sure I will.” Delilah looks pleased.
Lisa clucks her tongue, watching me. “Del, did you know that when we were in high school I used to call Sam and your mom the lovebirds?”
She laughs. “What?”
I immediately straighten up. Sam moves an inch away from me, looking chastened.
“Yep.” Lisa reaches forward to take one cashew and pop it in her mouth. “Lovebirds.”
“Aww. That’s kinda cute.”
I can see Delilah gets a kick out of this. I’m sure I’ll get a ribbing from her later. I imagine that Sam will grow on her, assuming he and I continue to see each other. He’s not Peter, and he won’t try to be. Which is for the best. No one can take the place of their father, but that’s not to say the twins couldn’t use guidance once in a while from other adults I trust.
Standing, I stretch my arms over my head. “I’ll be right back.”
I find Donovan alone in the front sitting room, lying down flat on his back, sprawled out on the rug in front of the woodstove. His father’s journal is on his chest. I sit down next to him and hug my knees, grabbing an extra blanket from the couch and throwing it over me.
“Aren’t you cold?”
“No.” He stares at the ceiling, his eyes half closed. “The stove is warm enough.” He sighs. The excitement of the afternoon has worn him out. “I hate that you were driving when Dad lost his leg. He didn’t need to be in that car with you. You ruined his life.”
“I made a horrible mistake getting behind the wheel of that car. But I didn’t ruin your dad’s life, because he didn’t let me ruin it.”
Donovan’s head falls to the side, and he actually looks at me. “I know. Dad didn’t care. I read that part in the journal. He didn’t blame you for the accident. Dad said it was only Henry’s fault, and you were driving fine. He seemed happy about it that you were there. He wrote that it was fate. It was God’s plan about how you guys would meet.” Donovan rolls his eyes. “What a joke. As if God would want something like a horrific car accident to happen. Dad was just a messed-up teenager with an overactive imagination who went through something traumatic. I mean, when I read between the lines, I can see he was depressed about losing his leg, but he forced himself to be cheerful to impress you. I guess you were good for him.”
I don’t know how to respond. I haven’t read what Donovan has, so I can’t interpret it yet. “That sounds about right.”
“I still don’t forgive you.”
That hurts. Donovan must know that hurts. But I take in a shaky breath. “Okay. Fair enough. I don’t forgive myself either.”
His face wrinkles in confusion, and I can see I’ve stumped him. “Really? It’s been a long time. You married him. You guys must have been happy.” He rolls onto his side, and it’s to face me rather than to turn away from me, thank goodness. “I think if Dad knew you didn’t forgive yourself, he’d be upset about that.”
I feel a tear roll down my cheek. “Me too.”
Donovan looks at me. He’s my baby. He’s a smart-ass kid sometimes, but still my baby. And he’s got a soft spot for me in that heart of his. I know it.
When I reach out, he has no choice but to sit up and give me a hug. I give him a rough squeeze, wrapping my arms around his broad shoulders, before letting him lie back down.
“Look,” he says. “Let’s just agree we’re okay. With everything. Because Dad didn’t blame you, and he’s the one who had to live with it. It’s dumb for us to keep fighting about everything when he’d want us to be happy. I mean, I’m not exactly happy right now, but I can try to be.” There’s a pause, and we listen to the fire pop. It will need more wood soon. “Dad did say we couldn’t do this without you.”
“Do what?”
“This,” he says, throwing his arm out from left to right. “Life. Everything.” He starts to smile. “He didn’t really define it more specifically than that. But you know that dramatic way he had of explaining something.” He is still lying down but manages to toss his head and announce dramatically: “THIS. LIFE. EVERYTHING.” He laughs.
I want to laugh, too, but I’m drained. I nod and wipe away my tear. “Okay. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
I’m relieved to hear a sincere note in his voice. “Sweetheart.” He glances at me again. “I could have done some things differently. Plenty of things. But I wonder if you feel you could have done things differently, too.”
His face shuts down again, and he turns his head away from me.
“You two were fighting a lot before he died, but in a perfectly normal way for a dad and his teenager. Your father loved you, and he knew you loved him. He knew it every minute, and he was proud of you. I feel good when I remember the two of you swimming at the beach that summer—you were doing what you loved, together. Even when you were arguing.” I put my hand on his arm, and he allows it. “Okay? It was fine.”
He pauses, but then gives a tight nod. “Okay,” he says, and I have to lean in to hear him.
I let him have a moment to think about it. Because once he’s done forgiving me, he also has to forgive himself.
“Mom,” he whispers, turning to look at me. �
�He was happy, I know it. I could tell from what he wrote and from his drawings. We don’t have to worry. He was okay. He really was.”
I swallow, and realize I’ve been holding my breath. These are words I’ve needed to hear. It feels miraculous to hear words of encouragement from Donovan, because I know it has taken him a long time to come to this conclusion.
“Yes, he was happy.” And once I say those words out loud, I realize it’s true. My heart feels lighter, looser in my chest.
We sit in silence for another minute. Donovan’s phone pings! He takes it out of his pocket and glances at it.
I nudge Donovan’s leg with my toe. “So . . . what’s the latest with Lexi? Did you call her yet?”
He turns toward me. “Yeah, she wants me to come over as soon as I can. I know we’ll figure out how to deal with her dad. But I’m still not happy about that photo she posted with Steve. I’m trying to decide what to say about it. What’s my play here? Am I angry, or does that make me possessive? Am I jealous, or will I look desperate, like Aunt Lisa said? Am I nonchalant and cool about it, in which case she might think I don’t care, even though I do?”
“You tell me.”
He chews on the inside of his mouth. A hand goes up to absentmindedly pull his hair out from under his neck. “I dunno.”
“I think honesty is the best policy, but it’s up to you. It’s perfectly okay to be any of the above. It’s your love story. Only you can write it.”
Luna saunters in and brushes up against Donovan’s elbow. He scratches between her ears. And I realize: He’s finally listening to me.
“Sweetheart, if you don’t trust Alexis, I think you should break up with her and not put yourself through heartbreak. If you do trust her, then show it, be supportive, and everyone will admire you for it.”
He chews his lip. “I do trust her. I wish I could go over there right now. Del said I should . . . I don’t know, write down how I feel, like a love letter or something like that.”
A love letter. That’s something Peter would have told Donovan to do. I smile to think that Delilah suggested it. Maybe that’s sort of how I should think of Peter’s journal: a love letter to his family. I can’t wait to read it.