How to Start a Fire

by Lisa Lutz

  “I make mistakes. I’m sorry.”

  “Have you made mistakes before?” George asked, recalling the long, unexplained silences in her house growing up. Her mother would say she was angry because her father hadn’t taken out the trash or replaced the floodlight. George had always thought her mother’s mute punishments particularly harsh.

  “We all make mistakes,” Bruno said, still trying to reach out, thinking some physical contact would repair this divide.

  George bobbed and weaved like a boxer.

  “How many times?”

  When George and her father returned to the High Street house, George silently hooked her coat on the rack and climbed the stairs to her room.

  Anna sat at the kitchen table with her book splayed open. She regarded Bruno’s glassy-eyed gaze as he watched his daughter head up to her bedroom. Trying to remain invisible, Anna closed her book and looked for an escape route. Her only option was going out the back door and then hoisting herself through the bathroom window. It seemed extreme under the circumstances.

  Bruno poured himself a glass of wine. He turned to Anna and silently asked if she wanted one. Anna nodded her head. She was hoping tonight she would sleep. All that food and wine; it seemed possible. After four nights of insomnia, one of the many secrets she had been keeping lately, Anna was afraid of what another sleepless night would do to her.

  Bruno passed her the glass of wine.

  “Is she okay?” Anna asked, nodding in the general vicinity of George’s bedroom.

  “I don’t know,” Bruno said, sighing. “We’ll see.”

  Anna wanted to respect their privacy, so she didn’t ask. But often, not asking made the answers pour in.

  “Her mother and I are getting a divorce.”

  “I’m sorry,” Anna said.

  “It’s okay. We’ve been talking about it for a long time. I think George blames me.”

  “Why?” Anna regretted asking the question as soon as it escaped her lips.

  “I’m not perfect,” Bruno said.

  “She’ll get over it,” Anna said.

  “You sure about that?”

  “Everybody’s parents get divorced these days.”

  “Yours aren’t,” Bruno said.

  “Yeah, but they should be,” Anna said, biting back a laugh.

  Bruno looked concerned. He had known Anna for almost four years. She was different this visit. Her hands were shaky; her eyes sometimes didn’t focus. Excessive studying and sleep deprivation would explain it, but he saw something else that he didn’t like.

  “Are you all right?” Bruno asked.

  “Better than ever,” Anna said lightly. She got to her feet and stumbled toward the kitchen counter. She could feel herself fading and she liked it. Tonight she didn’t want to think about anything at all. She poured herself some more red wine, filling her glass to the rim.

  2003

  Boston, Massachusetts

  Anna watched the bubbles rise to the edge of the champagne glass and then collapse. Her third flute of the night of the cotton candy of spirits. It was like drinking air. Anna wondered why she bothered. Lena Fury breezed past in her full-length red evening gown and, with the grace of a ballerina or a pickpocket, stole the flute from her daughter.

  “You’ve had enough,” Lena said. “Why don’t you get yourself a cup of coffee?”

  “Excellent idea,” Anna said.

  Anna circumvented the throngs of bow ties and painted faces, acting invisible, as she had as a child. Unlike most children, playing hide-and-seek, Anna had never really wanted to be caught. It was the same now. Her presence that evening was ghostly. Many guests would later wonder if Anna had even made a showing.

  Anna avoided eye contact, always a precursor to conversation, as she navigated through the room. She brushed past yet another tuxedo, but this one reached out, gripped Anna’s elbow, and drew her close.

  “Anna,” he said.

  “Dad,” she said, startled.

  “Anna, you remember Paul, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” Anna said. She didn’t.

  She assumed, correctly, that Paul was an investment banker who worked with her father, but she had no recollection of ever having met him.

  “Nice to see you again, Anna,” Paul said. Or maybe he, too, was bluffing.

  Anna caught a glimpse of her brother sneaking into the kitchen. He was up to something, she’d noticed earlier. Always slipping out of the room to take a phone call, not his usual practice.

  “What are you doing these days, Anna?” Paul asked.

  “Anna is a doctor at Boston Medical Center.”

  “Impressive,” Paul said.

  “I know!” Anna said. Medical school had been such a challenge for Anna, she never dismissed any comment about her accomplishment.

  “What line of medicine are you in?” Paul asked.

  “Emergency. Although I’m thinking about switching to anesthesiology.”

  “Why is that?” Paul asked, genuinely interested.

  Anna understood the customs of these events: a polite question was asked, and a polite answer was provided. She also knew that honesty was often the most direct path to ending a conversation.

  “I think I prefer unconscious patients,” Anna said. “But many doctors feel that way. That’s why anesthesiology is such a competitive field.”

  Don patted his daughter on the head and said, “Run along now, dear.”

  As Anna beat a less ghostly path through the black-tie traffic into the kitchen, she wondered how many times in her life her father had said “Run along now, dear” to her. It was something he’d say whenever she made him uncomfortable. She was always happy to comply.

  Anna followed her brother into the kitchen, but he was already gone.

  George had been surprised when she heard the voice-mail message from Colin inviting her to his parents’ anniversary party. He thought Anna could use a friendly face, he said. George reminded Colin that Kate lived in Boston, and Colin reminded George that Lena was afflicted with an extreme aversion to Kate, the origin of which no one could uncover, triggered during a Christmastime visit years ago. Anna had never seen her mother dislike someone so aggressively: if Lena was in a room with Kate, an arctic chill permeated the air. Even the most socially oblivious could feel it.

  George was glad to get away and pleased that she didn’t have to brainstorm any of the details. Colin bought her plane ticket and made all of the arrangements. A car service picked George up at the airport and alerted Colin when she arrived at the house.

  Colin slipped out of the kitchen and through the back door, where George was waiting in the garden. He snuck her into the basement so she could change out of the jeans and sweater she’d worn on the airplane into something less comfortable.

  “I’ll be back to collect you in a half hour. Is that enough time?”

  It wouldn’t have been enough time for Colin’s ex-wife.

  “Fifteen minutes,” George said.

  When Colin returned, George was dressed in a full-length black evening gown with spaghetti straps and just a hint of sheen. It was a simple, unfussy dress, the kind of dress Colin would have chosen for her. George and Colin had met on only two previous occasions, but she was as beautiful as he remembered.

  “Shall we?” Colin said, offering his arm.

  George looped her arm through his as they walked upstairs to the party.

  “Your ex-husband is a fucking moron,” Colin whispered as they traversed the kitchen and entered the living room.

  “Thank you,” said George.

  She had been so locked into her recent marital downfall that she had forgotten what it was like to be something other than a mother and a divorcée. She liked the way Colin looked at her, even though anyone else would have described it as a leer.

  Anna was searching the room for her brother when they entered. While she was still adjusting to the surprise of seeing her old friend, the pair approached her. Anna immediately noted her brother�
�s predatory gaze upon George.

  Colin noted the slight squint in his sister’s eye, always a sign of suspicion. Anna’s face was rarely in calm repose. Interpreting her expressions could be exhausting; it had become easier simply not to look at her.

  “Surprise,” Colin said.

  Anna and George embraced.

  “What are you doing here?” Anna asked, trying to amp up the level of enthusiasm in her voice.

  “Look what I brought you,” Colin said. “A sparkly George for the entire weekend.”

  “You did this for me?” Anna said.

  “I did,” Colin said, ignoring the edge in her tone.

  “You look great,” Anna told George. “Divorce suits you. Or is it motherhood?”

  “It must be motherhood.”

  “Where is Carter?”

  “With his grandmother. This is the first time I’ve left him since he was born.”

  “It’s really good to see you,” Anna said. She meant that.

  “You too,” said George, wrapping her arm around Anna. “Are you getting enough sleep?”

  That was the most generous comment Anna could expect. The first thing her mother had said to her when she stepped through the front door was “What happened to you?”

  It had been a month since Anna had seen her mother, even though they both lived in Boston. After medical school, Anna had reluctantly returned to her hometown; her father had pulled some strings and helped get her into the Boston Medical Center emergency medicine residency program despite her unspectacular med-school transcripts. He never said anything about it.

  It was true; Anna did look awful. Her skin had a grayish tone, and her hair was obviously thinning. Her teeth had yellowed from the bottomless cups of black coffee. Unlike Lena, she wasn’t schooled in covering up her physical flaws, so, other than a bit of mascara and rouge, there was no camouflage.

  George felt like a teenager again as the trio slunk away from the adult crowd and retired to the basement. On the way to the hideout, George watched Anna slip by the bar and steal two bottles of champagne. Downstairs, they kicked off their shoes and sat on the plush white carpet. Anna popped the cork on a bottle and took the first sip for herself. She passed it to George.

  It had been a year since Anna had seen her friend. Anna and Kate had made a short trip to New York to mark the dissolution of the marriage between Mitch and George. George’s spirits then had been better than they had expected. George had told them that the last few weeks of her marriage were the happiest of their union, mostly because she didn’t care anymore.

  The conditions of the divorce, however, were a rude awakening. George had signed a prenup that was so airtight that when Colin read it, he told his sister it was written for someone who had never planned on staying married. George had two options: she could accept her payoff money and child support as it was, or she could fight for more and risk losing what she had. She signed the divorce papers. The only thing George couldn’t lose was custody of her baby. Fatherhood hadn’t agreed with Mitch even before he was a father. George’s pregnancy seemed to repulse him. Anna and Kate had known many unsavory details of the marriage, but George had never mentioned that by the time she reached her third trimester, Mitch could hardly look at her.

  Colin had taken a seat next to George, and he put his arm around her. It had been a while since George had been so close to a man who wasn’t her father. It was comforting and seductive and she wished Anna weren’t there. She did, however, feel guilty for wishing that. Anna knew exactly what her friend was thinking as she watched George’s body settle into the crook of Colin’s arm. Anna opened the second bottle of champagne and took a gulp like an athlete swigging Gatorade.

  “I was sorry to hear about your divorce,” George said to Colin.

  “It wasn’t meant to be,” Colin said.

  This was one subject that Colin and Anna avoided entirely. Anna had known from the start that his marriage was doomed, but even she had to admit that she’d accelerated the process. No one wanted to think about that day—which was unfortunate for Colin and Megan, since it had been their wedding day. The marriage ended within a year. In the two years since, Colin had cycled through women as if they were ice cream flavors he wanted to sample. Anna figured George was the next flavor.

  “How have you been?” Anna asked George.

  “I’m okay now,” George said. “I really am. Kate was right about him.”

  Colin stole the bottle of champagne from George and poured it into flutes.

  “To Kate,” George said, raising her glass. “I should have listened to her.”

  Colin and George clinked glasses. Anna clinked with her bottle.

  “You didn’t listen to her about your tits,” Anna said. “But look on the bright side: they’ll never droop.”

  George laughed, but the memory of that conversation with Mitch filled her with shame. She didn’t see herself as someone who was easily swayed, and yet in that relationship, she could not recall winning a single battle. Anna, still sober enough to pick up on her discomfort, changed the subject.

  “Did you notice my mom’s face-lift?” Anna said.

  “I thought she looked rested,” said George.

  “Don’t you mean surprised?” said Colin.

  “How’s residency treating you?” George asked.

  “I have good days and I have bad days.”

  “What’s a good day?”

  “When I don’t kill a patient.”

  Anna downed the rest of her champagne, shook the empty bottle, and said, “I’ll be back.”

  Colin used Anna’s departure to whisk George away. They left the basement, found two fresh champagne flutes in the kitchen, and slipped outside into the garden.

  The cold air was refreshing after the overheated Fury home. Colin gave his suit jacket to George and led her to a bench under the gazebo.

  “Now that you’re a free woman, what will you do with all of your time?”

  “I think I’ll look into environmental-consulting jobs.”

  “In New York?”

  “Not necessarily,” said George. “I suppose I could live anywhere.”

  “So that’s where you’ve been hiding,” Anna said as she casually approached.

  “George needed some air.”

  “Looks like you found it,” said Anna.

  Anna stole her brother’s champagne flute and drained the glass.

  “Your liver must really hate you,” Colin said.

  “We’re not as close as we used to be,” Anna said. “I’ll get you a refill,” she added, quickly exiting the garden.

  “I think she’s suspicious,” Colin said.

  “Of what?”

  “Of my intentions toward you. That maybe they aren’t completely honorable.”

  “She’ll never leave us alone,” said George.

  “Then we need to come up with a plan.”

  Before any plan could be put into action, Anna returned with two more glasses of champagne. She passed one glass to her brother.

  “For you,” she said.

  “Thank you,” said Colin.

  Anna raised her glass. “To old friends.”

  George hadn’t noticed Colin drinking heavily, but he must have been. It was alarming, his turn into a sloppy drunk. He began slurring his words and then he rested his head on her shoulder.

  “Is he all right?” George asked.

  “He started drinking early in the day,” said Anna. “It must have finally caught up with him.”

  George thought the brother of Anna should be able to hold his liquor better.

  “We should get him to bed before my mother sees him,” said Anna.

  George kicked off her heels, threw Colin’s arm around her shoulder, and got him to his feet. George still had the strength to manage a semiconscious hundred-and-eighty-pound man. They stumbled upstairs and put Colin to bed.

  “Why am I so tired?” Colin mumbled.

  “It’s been a long day,” Anna said.r />
  Anna helped him remove his shoes and socks while George freed him from his bow tie.

  “Go to sleep,” Anna said. It was an order, not a suggestion. “And lie on your side,” she added, rolling him.

  George kissed Colin on the forehead. “You okay?” she said.

  “I’m fine,” Colin said, slurring his words. “Why don’t you stay here and keep me company?”

  “She’s coming with me, Colin,” Anna said. “We have a lot of catching up to do.”

  As the revelers downstairs slowly dispersed, Anna and George took over another spare bedroom and changed into their pajamas. Anna removed her dress; George noticed a patch sticking to the small of her back.

  “What is that?” George asked.

  “What?”

  “That patch on your back. What is it?”

  “Oh, that,” Anna said. She paused a little too long. “A nicotine patch,” she finally said. An easy lie. A patch was a patch to George. Nicotine, fentanyl, they all looked the same.

  “But you don’t smoke,” George said.

  “I took it up briefly,” Anna said, buoyed by the ease of her lie. “All the stress at work. You’d be surprised how many doctors and nurses still smoke.”

  “I guess I would,” said George.

  The guest room was furnished with two twin beds. Anna called it the future-grandchildren room. It would be neglected for years. There were moments she felt sorry for her parents, but those moments passed quickly.

  Anna turned off the light, and they slid into their beds. Anna thought they’d stay up for hours talking, but George drifted off within minutes. Anna remained awake the rest of the night. She had slipped into Colin’s champagne the one thing that would have put her to sleep.

  1989

  Boston, Massachusetts

  Malcolm Davis woke up in the guest bedroom of the Fury household with no idea where he was. This often happened to him when he slept in unfamiliar environments. This morning he was able to place himself quickly. The voices outside were so familiar. He heard Lena Fury say, “Stop that, Anna.” He heard Anna say, “One more time.”

  Malcolm got out of bed and opened the curtains. Outside, a cloister of denuded trees stood immodestly among mounds of raked maple leaves. Anna charged at the pile of leaves and threw herself on top, a human wrecking ball.