by Nia Arthurs
Last night, when I defended my father to Alex, I truly believed my words. Dad was evil, but he was the type of evil that festered behind closed doors, that beat on a woman who loved him. The type that bruised her in places she could hide.
For all his blistering anger, he was just a coward. The world frightened him more than it did any one of us. Because I hated my father, I knew him well and I could say with certainty that he wasn’t an arsonist.
But what I saw this morning shook the foundations of everything I knew. Made me wonder if I’d been naïve.
Reporters. They’d swarmed Pine Hill High, their black shoes thudding in the hallways like determined soldiers marching to war. They flashed their cameras and wielded mikes like swords, searching for one thing.
Me.
When Principal Lane summoned me to her office, I figured she’d heard about my music gigs. The fact that I was playing in bars when I was underage was bound to come up sometime. And I’d been prepared.
But the meeting wasn’t about my music career.
It was about the fire.
Every news station in town was buzzing about my ‘heroism’. The phone had been ringing off the hook since morning. Journalists wanted an interview. A picture. A quote. All they could talk about was my ‘bravery’, my family, and what an inspiration the three of us were to the town.
It was a thinly veiled publicity stunt and it made me suspicious.
Saving Lauren last night wasn’t news. I’d done what anyone else would have. The fact that the media swarmed with a vengeance told me there was more to their eagerness than a fluff piece about the good in humanity.
Someone was behind this.
And the only person I could think of was Dad.
Which was a good thing. If Darius was involved with the fire, he’d go to jail. Mom would be free to live as she pleased. Our jaunts to The Greasy Monkey would end and her journey to emotional healing would begin.
I’d benefit too. Without my father forcefully reopening the wounds, the scars on my heart would heal.
So why was I so nervous?
“Screw it.” I grabbed my phone and plunked in the numbers on the card. Pulling it to my ear, I listened to the dial tone.
It rang.
And rang.
I was about to give up when the line clicked and a voice warbled, “Hello?”
“Officer Tony?”
“Yes?”
“This is James Sawyer. We met last night.”
“Ah!” His voice warmed and he sounded more like the man I remembered. “James!”
“Do you have a minute to talk?”
“It’s gotta be quick. Thanks to you, things are even more chaotic around here than usual.”
“The news people got to the station?”
“They were parked outside until about fifteen minutes ago. Our chief threw them a bone so they’d leave.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No problem.” He chuckled. “So how can I help you?”
I flicked my thumb over the grooves in the steering wheel. “Did the investigation reveal anything suspicious?”
“James,” there was a pause, “I’m not at liberty to discuss that with you.”
“Even a hint would help.”
“Why are you so curious? You’ll find out along with the rest of the town.”
I thought of Alex and his threat to go after my family. If I found out Dad was guilty, I’d help take him down in a way that would keep my mother safe. But first, I had to know the truth.
“Please,” I said.
Officer Tony sighed. “This is between you and me, okay? If it gets out before the chief makes an official announcement it’ll be my head on the block.”
“Thank you.” I let out a breath.
“I’m only sharing this because I’m worried about Lauren.”
My heart stalled. “Does that mean…?”
“The fire was deliberately set.” Tony’s voice was grim. “The investigators are looking deeper, but from what I’ve understood, someone snuck into Pandora’s last night and poured gasoline all over the bookshelves. The fire started there and followed a trail of kerosene to the door. Because of the high winds yesterday, the flames grew quickly.”
I rubbed my temples. “Do you have any idea who it could be yet?”
“We’re bringing Lauren in for questioning. Checking to see if anyone she knew would have cause to harm her. The way the arsonist worked showed he was an amateur. Either that, or he wasn’t trying to hide his intention by making it look like an accident. He wanted her to know. Almost like a…”
“Threat,” I whispered.
Urgency thickened his voice. “Do you know something, James?”
“No, no. Thanks for sharing, Officer. I have to go.”
“James!”
I hung up and turned the ignition. As I reversed out of my garage, I saw a car that looked a lot like Baz’s approaching from the opposite direction. A voice in the back of my head urged me to stop and check, but I shoved it away.
Baz was in class right now. What would he be doing around my house?
I slammed my foot on the gas and sped toward my father’s office. It was located in the heart of town amidst a cluster of high rises. I parked in the basement garage and took the elevator to the highest floor.
When the doors opened, I stumbled into a spacious lobby. A silver counter spanned ten feet across. Black and white photographs hung from thin pins on the wall and sleek chairs were sprawled around a low glass coffee table.
A spry older woman with black hair, tan skin and big eyelashes that looked too thick to be real sprung around the receptionist’s desk. “Mr. Sawyer!”
“Hello, Elita.”
“It’s been a while since you’ve been down here.” Elita stopped in front of me and grinned. I could tell she wanted a hug, but I kept my arms loosely at my sides and looked away.
Elita had been working for my father for five years. Dad’s former secretary—a busty and leggy blonde—threatened to sue for sexual harassment after Dad refused to offer her a raise. She received the boot along with a very generous stipend.
My mother personally vetoed the next secretary.
Elita was beautiful for an elderly woman, but she wasn’t Dad’s type. There hadn’t been any reports of sexual harassment in the office since she came on.
“Is he in?” I asked.
“Did you have an appointment?”
“No.”
Elita hesitated. Dad didn’t see anyone unless they had made an appointment first. That rule extended to his wife and son as well as dignitaries and friends. He didn’t want anyone walking in on things they shouldn’t.
“I’ll be quick,” I begged.
Elita offered a strained smile. “Go ahead. I’ll be outside if you need me.”
“Thank you.” I turned and strode toward the wide double doors down the hall. Just before entering, I stopped and inhaled deeply.
If I was honest, there was a part of me that hoped my instincts were wrong. I had no idea where this sudden concern for my father came from, but it weakened me. Made me want to bury my suspicions and convince Alex to do so too.
Suck it up. Think of all the hell he put you through.
I lifted my chin and blew the doors aside. They banged against the wall. Dad jumped from his perch behind the desk. His office chair went skittering.
I stepped into the lavish room. Dad’s office was all black and red. Floor-to-ceiling windows let in the bright, mid-morning light. A bookshelf stood to my left. A set of cabinets was to my right. A tiny plant as fake as Dad’s smile preened atop his tall, metal desk.
Dad said nothing as I walked in, but his eyes followed me, not flicking away for a moment. I plopped into the sofa and draped one arm along the back of it. “Morning.”
“James, what a pleasant surprise.”
I lounged in the sofa, my leg sticking over the arm and bending toward the floor.
“Shouldn’t you be in school?” He s
wept his large hand over his tie as he folded his body back into the office chair.
I studied him, saying nothing.
Dad’s left eye twitched.
I smirked.
The air conditioner clicked to a lower setting.
As I knew it would, the face he’d crafted to welcome me into his office started to crack. “I’m a busy man, James. Get out if you’re just here to waste my time.”
“I’m here to ask one question.”
“What is it?”
“Why’d you tip off the reporters?”
Dad scoffed. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Last night, the apartment Alex was staying in burned down. Did you have anything to do with that?”
“What do you mean? Is Alex okay?”
“Yes, he is. But you knew that. He wasn’t home at the time of the accident.” I eyed him. “Class act, Dad. Threatening your oldest son like that. Alex gave up a lot to find you. I’m sure he was very disappointed when he realized the guy he’d been searching for was a jerk.”
“Watch your mouth.”
I smiled. “Why’d you set the fire, Dad? It was sloppy. Unlike you.”
“I don’t know what you’re insinuating, but I am not responsible for setting any fires.”
I laughed darkly. “You know what stinks? I took up for you. I told Alex you weren’t the type of scum that would endanger someone’s life just to make a point. But today,” I eased up to a sitting position and leaned over, “reporters showed up at my school acting like I was some sort of superhero. Instead of focusing on the cause of the fire, they were all occupied with me.”
“I had nothing to do with the reporters either.”
I stiffened. “Are you sure? Someone had to tip them off to who I was.”
“It wasn’t me!” Dad thundered.
I flinched.
His nostrils flared as he breathed out through his nose. “Leave if all you’re going to do is fling half-baked accusations.”
“They aren’t half-baked, Dad.”
He stiffened.
I settled into the couch and closed my eyes. “The fire started in the bookstore. Someone poured kerosene over the books and then set the place on fire. They left a ton of evidence for the investigators to call it arson. Either you miscalculated the skills of your hired thug or you wanted to warn someone.”
“Shut up!”
I jumped to my feet. “Someone almost died. A life would have been lost. And for what? Your stupid reputation? Is it that hard for you to admit you made a mistake twenty-five years ago? Is it that hard for you to be real?”
“That ‘reputation’ you hate so much is what puts food on the table and a roof over your head.” His eyes darkened. “I don’t know what Alex told you but I was more than generous with my proposal yesterday. That is the extent of my involvement with him.”
“You’re lying!” I trembled, becoming increasingly agitated by his unflappable composure. “Who else would have the resources to do this? Who else would have a motive? You and I were the only people who even knew where Alex was staying. It has to be—” I choked.
Dad flicked an eyebrow in inquiry.
My face went pale. My heartbeat quickened, thudding against my ribs like a moth gone amok.
“What is it?” Dad asked smugly. “Did you finally come to your senses? If so, get out.”
I woodenly rose and slipped outside.
Uneasiness crept over me, a slimy snake circling around my neck and squeezing tight.
Dad wasn’t the only person who knew where Alex was staying.
Someone else did too.
Mom.
18
WHY SHE LOVES HIM
Monique
“JAMES ISN’T HOME,” Mrs. Sawyer said, as she stood half-hidden in the doorway.
I shuffled my feet in disappointment. Baz had already driven off and, since most of the people in James’s fancy neighborhood had cars in spades, the bus route didn’t service this area.
How far would I have to walk to get back to school?
“Oh,” I mumbled. “That’s okay. Forget it then.”
“Why don’t you stay?” The door sprang free. “Come inside.”
I smiled. “Thank you.”
Mrs. Sawyer returned my grin with one of her own. Bright brown eyes sparkled at me. A silky blue nightgown hung from frail shoulders. Her brown hair was brushed, full and gleaming in the sunlight.
James’s mom looked like a model, not a mom.
I couldn’t help comparing her to my own mother.
The differences were glaring. And I wasn’t just referring to the fact that Mrs. Sawyer was Caucasian while my mother was black. There was something about James’s mom that screamed high class, and it went beyond the color of her skin.
It was… everything.
My mother’s brown hair was thinning at the ends and often scraped back into a bun. She never kept up with getting relaxers because she was either too broke or too busy to go to the salon.
Mrs. Sawyer had luxurious brown hair with not a hint of grey in sight. The way her locks bounced over her shoulders told me she got treatments consistently to keep her hair happy and healthy.
Though both women were thin, my mother’s body was lean from constantly skipping meals and lack of sleep. She wore baggy, unflattering clothes to work and rarely dressed up, even when the occasion called for it.
Mrs. Sawyer’s body looked toned and fit as if she worked out regularly and ate balanced meals. Her outfits were always expensive and elegant. Even the dresses she slept in were glamorous.
My eyes drifted to Mrs. Sawyer’s hands.
The comparisons started again.
Mom’s hands were slender, but they were calloused. Rough as a man’s. They were also stained and scarred from working in a hot kitchen.
Mrs. Sawyer’s hands were delicate, the nails a soft coral shade with French tips. They were the hands of a woman who had never seen a day of hard work.
Envy threatened to creep over me, but I pushed it away. On the outside, Mrs. Sawyer had the kind of life that I wanted for my family, but I knew my mom wouldn’t trade if she had a choice.
Despite her hardships and the lack of luxuries in her life, Mom had a husband who loved her and who was trying his best to be better for her. She had a husband who was faithful and couldn’t comprehend the thought of putting his hands on her.
Mrs. Sawyer didn’t have that.
In my books, that made her life far more pitiful.
“Monique?”
I jerked my head to shake away the thoughts and laughed softly. “I’m sorry. Can you repeat that, ma’am?”
“Ma’am? Please, don’t bother with such formalities. Call me Natasha.”
“Uh… Natasha?”
“Yes, dear.” She glided into the kitchen. “Follow me.”
I did.
The moment I entered the room, I had a flashback to the day Natasha shattered a liquor bottle on the floor, forcing James to pick up the pieces. Now, the room was spotless. Most of the shards had probably been found by now.
“Would you like something to drink?” Natasha asked. “I was just about to fix myself breakfast.”
I checked the time.
It was after ten o’clock.
Natasha saw the side-glance and chuckled. “Well, I guess it’ll be brunch by the time I sit down to eat.”
“I’m good,” I said.
“Have a seat, Monique. I hope you don’t mind talking while I flutter about.”
I slipped into a seat lined up before the island counter and clasped my hands tightly together. James’s mom and I had never had a one-on-one conversation. I didn’t really know what to say.
She seemed to sense my discomfort because she smiled. “Relax. I’m not going to bite. Can you tell me why you’re here instead of in school?”
“Uh…” I watched her crack two eggs into a glass bowl and whisk it.
“I’m assuming, from the fact that you
came here looking for James, that he’s not at school either?”
I ducked my head and chuckled nervously. “You’re good.”
“I’m a mother. It’s what we do.” She swung to the stove, flicked the knob and settled a pan on top of the blue flame. For a second, she just stood there. Watching the flame. I glanced at her face, noticing the way her eyes fixed on the fire.
“Natasha?”
“Huh? Yes?” She jumped and slid the whisked eggs into the pan. “You were telling me why you and my son were ditching school?”
“We didn’t ditch. We—well, James was asked to leave.”
She whipped around. “Why? Did he do something wrong?”
“No. There were reporters at school, demanding an interview.” I tilted my head as I remembered. “It was really weird. I’ve seen news vans around when there was a burglary or assault in my neighborhood, but they were never this intense.”
“Maybe it’s because he’s the son of Darius Sawyer.”
Was it just me or did a smirk play on her lips when she said that?
I leaned forward. “Is your husband that important?”
“He’s a great man.”
For the second time in the scope of five minutes, I was speechless. Mrs. Sawyer—Natasha—couldn’t be referring to her abuser with such love, could she?
The same curiosity I had when I saw the red curtains at The Greasy Monkey unfurled in me as I watched her. “Would you tell me how you and your husband met?”
“Of course.” Her eyes lit up. “I was very shy as a teenager and I wasn’t very bright either. My parents were constantly disappointed with my grades, but they believed I could do better. Which was why they forced me to go to college even when I didn’t want to.”
“Is that where you met Mr. Sawyer?”
“Yes. I met Darius while I was studying out of state. It was my first time in a big city. I grew up in a small town so it was very overwhelming.” She sighed happily. “You can imagine how secure I felt when a dashing gentleman started paying attention to me.”
“Had you dated before you met him?”
“Not seriously. Like I said, I was very shy, so the thought of having a conversation with someone outside of my small circle of family and friends was terrifying.”
I smelled something burning and pointed. “The eggs!”