Dancing with Fire

by Susan Kearney

  “Was your father wearing any identifiable jewelry?” Deputy Bryant asked.

  “A watch and a wedding ring.”

  “And a class ring from the University of Florida?” the second officer asked.

  She nodded, and sorrow welled up in her throat. They’d found her father. Still, she didn’t want to believe it.

  When Deputy Bryant didn’t say anything else, she forced another question through a mouth as dry as sand. “Was it him?”

  “I’m sorry.” The truth was in his sympathetic eyes, there for all to read.

  God. They’d found his remains. Kaylin swallowed hard. Her father was dead.

  Dead.

  Like a jab to her gut, the pain radiated outward, and she swayed on her feet.

  Sawyer slipped an arm around her waist to steady her, and she was grateful for his heat, because her flesh had gone ice cold. A cold that made her shiver and her teeth chatter.

  “You’re wrong!” Lia leapt to her feet and screamed at the cop, her pretty features contorted with tears. “Dad was right at the door when Billy and I left. He could have walked out . . . couldn’t he? You found someone else. Not him.”

  Kaylin stepped away from Sawyer’s side and held her sister tight, easily wrapping her arms around her.

  Her heart agreed with Lia. Their father couldn’t be dead. It had to be a mistake. Kaylin had spoken to him on the phone only a few hours ago, and he’d been so happy, telling her that his formula worked. He just couldn’t be gone.

  But her head pointed out the facts. Her father had been inside that building. He never took off his ring. Never. They’d found his body.

  Oh . . . my . . . God. He was dead.

  The loss seemed to squeeze her lungs so that breathing was an effort. Anger and grief spun her thoughts so fast that nausea hit. Dad was dead. The Danner girls were on their own.

  Her sister shook Kaylin in desperation. “Do something.”

  Kaylin couldn’t flip out right now. She had to get a grip.

  Lia needed her.

  Hugging Lia, Kaylin shielded her from the ashes and the tiny fragments of metal still falling from the sky.

  “Do something,” Lia repeated her demand. “Maybe the medics can save him. Make them try,” Lia sobbed, her tone high-pitched, tears streaming down her face.

  If the medics could have saved him, they would have. They’d gotten here too late. Or maybe he’d died instantly. She prayed his death had been quick, painless. Not like her mother, whose liver had slowly shut down. Kaylin kept the thought to herself as she tied the grief down tight. Wrapped it in bands of steel.

  Don’t think about losing Dad. Don’t think about never seeing him again. Don’t think about him never calling. Don’t think about anything but helping Lia.

  Focus on her. And Becca.

  Surely this couldn’t be happening to them. Not again. Their mother had died four years ago. Now, Dad was gone, too. He might not have been practical, but he’d been an extraordinary man. Without him, she didn’t know how she’d keep it together.

  But she had to. She couldn’t let herself think about the fear. She didn’t have time to come apart. She had to stay strong for poor Lia, who wasn’t going to make it out of her teenage years with even one living parent.

  Kaylin didn’t know what to do or say to make this right. Nothing could make this right. Parents weren’t supposed to die and leave their families until their kids were grown.

  Daddy was dead. Kaylin’s throat tightened in grief, and tears choked her. But she couldn’t release her emotions. Lia needed her. So would Becca when she came home.

  Her sister couldn’t hear about their father’s death from a stranger. His death. God. She still couldn’t believe it—even though she’d seen the building blow up, even though Fire Rescue had found his body and his rings. She still expected the laws of physics to bend for her.

  Damn. Damn. Damn.

  When her sisters didn’t need her so much, Kaylin would grieve. Later, when she was alone. Not out here on the lawn with all the neighbors looking on. For now she repressed her tears. Her horror. Her fear.

  Flames that danced across the backyard broke through Kaylin’s shock. The fire had leaped from the lab to the bushes.

  Her mother’s rose bushes were on fire.

  “I’ll be right back,” she told Lia, then sprinted across the yard.

  If Kaylin could hook up the hose and turn on the water spigot, she could save her mother’s roses. The firemen were concentrating their efforts on the lab as well as the roof and walls of the house. The east wall was blackened, yet nothing burned there. But the garden behind the back deck was another matter. She had to save the roses. Her Dad loved those roses. Had loved the roses. Her mother had given them into her care on her deathbed.

  Hands shaking, Kaylin screwed the hose to the spigot. But the threads refused to align, and her hands shook with frustration.

  Sawyer approached and took the hose from her useless fingers. “Let me help.”

  “My mother’s rose bushes . . .” She pointed to the flames burning the first three bushes.

  For a moment, she was afraid Sawyer would mock her. Her father had just died, and she was worried about rose bushes?

  His face remained gentle, his tone soft and serious, as if he understood exactly how much those bushes meant to her. “We’ll save as many as we can.”

  Within seconds, his clever fingers had attached the hose, and with an efficient twist he fixed the spray nozzle into place. When she spied the raw patches on the backs of his hands, guilt stabbed her. He should be getting medical treatment. “Your hands. Let me do it.” She reached for the hose.

  And was slightly startled when he gave it to her. He actually understood she needed to act, to do something.

  As the hose sprayed water, all her careful control burst. Tears cascaded over her cheeks. Tears of frustration and fear and sorrow. As she put out one fire and watered down her mother’s rose bushes, her eyes overflowed. Then she was crying, out of control, shoving the hose into the ground and digging through the mud with her hands so the water could reach the roots, unable to hold back deep, racking sobs.

  At twenty-four, she was head of the Danner family. Everyone had left her. Her grandparents were long gone. Then Mom. Now, Dad. There were no aunts and uncles. Her parents had had no sisters or brothers. There were no cousins. Just Kaylin, Becca, and Lia.

  But they would manage. Kaylin would keep it together. She’d promised her mother to watch over the girls. And Kaylin didn’t break her promises.

  With a muddy hand, she wiped away her tears. When she finally regained a measure of control, she looked up to find Sawyer beside her. He’d removed his tattered shirt and handed it to her. “Here. It’s ruined anyway. Go ahead and wipe off the mud and blow your nose.”

  She couldn’t believe she’d actually forgotten he was there. He’d remained so still. Hadn’t said a word. Just allowed her grief to pour out without intruding. And she liked that he didn’t mutter platitudes—like it was going to be okay. Because it wasn’t ever going to be okay. Not with Dad gone.

  She sniffled and accepted his shirt. She wiped her face and eyes, blew her nose, and breathed in the smoky scent of Sawyer’s shirt along with a faint earthy scent that she found as comforting as his presence.

  She mashed his shirt in her hands. “Thanks. I need to go to Lia. I shouldn’t have left her.”

  “Take a minute. She’s safe with Deputy Bryant.”

  “She shouldn’t see me like this.” God. Oh . . . God. What was she going to do now?

  4

  SATURDAY MORNING, the day after Henry’s death, Sawyer set up a ladder and rolled primer over the scorched side of the two-story Danner home. The physical labor gave him an excuse to stay close by . . . in case anyone tried to bother the women
, but it also left Sawyer with too much time to think, to mourn.

  Through the open window, he heard Kaylin phoning her students and canceling dance classes for a week. Then she took a break and came outside to offer him a cold glass of water.

  Dressed in jeans and a tank top, she looked young, fit, and strong, but one glance into her eyes told him she was hurting. She looked exhausted, and he suspected she was coping with her grief by keeping busy. The artistic and playful Kaylin whom he’d seen dancing two days ago had entirely disappeared. Although his heart had ached for her, and he thought about giving her a hug, he didn’t. She’d reeled her emotions in tight, and any intrusion into her private grief clearly would not be welcome. So he accepted the water with a nod. “Thanks.”

  After handing him the glass, Kaylin gestured to the fresh primer. “I should be thanking you.” Then, as if uncomfortable with accepting his help, she changed the subject. “What will you do now?”

  “Wait for the primer to dry and apply paint.” He could have easily drained the entire glass in one swallow but sipped, suspecting the moment he finished she’d take back the glass and retreat into the house. With her shifting uneasily from foot to foot, no doubt she’d come outside out of obligation, out of politeness, not because she wanted to talk.

  She shook her head. “I meant with Dad gone . . .” She bit her lip and changed the subject. “The medical examiner called with a preliminary finding and said Dad died due to the fire. They couldn’t be more specific until final tests come in, and that might take weeks.”

  “What about the cause of the explosion?”

  “That’s yet to be determined, but I can proceed with the funeral arrangements. I picked out a casket and headstone to match my mother’s.” She swallowed hard and brushed away a stray tear, then got herself back together.

  “Henry would have liked that.”

  “But what will you do without him?” she asked, recognizing she wasn’t the only one in this conversation who would dearly miss her father.

  Losing Henry might not just be the end of his friend, but the end of Sawyer’s dream. The idea of working with Henry had motivated Sawyer through many lonely nights of hitting the books, of studying. “I hope to continue Henry’s research.”

  “But the lab’s gone.” Her gaze floated over the burned building and caved-in roof, what was left of the walls a poignant reminder of their loss.

  “I’m not giving up.”

  “Maybe you could get a job with—”

  “I’ve never wanted a corporate job.”

  Kaylin made a face. “Neither did Dad.”

  He could tell by her tone she didn’t approve of that choice. Was that why she’d never come around the lab much? He’d assumed she’d been busy. Not interested. But maybe she’d disapproved.

  He tried to keep censure from his tone. “Surely you of all people understand that owning your own business gives you a certain freedom?”

  She avoided a direct answer but rolled her eyes, revealing skepticism. “The dance studio gives me the freedom to starve if I’m not successful. It doesn’t automatically supply health insurance or a steady paycheck.”

  “You seem to do okay.”

  “But if a hurricane blows through or I twist an ankle and have to shut down for a month or two, I won’t have the financial resources to recover.”

  “Sure, it’s a risk.” But life was a risk. And Sawyer yearned to control his own destiny. “If I do research for a big company, then they own my work and any patents that come from it. I don’t want my ideas to belong to stockholders who might or might not appreciate my creations.”

  He could see doubt in her eyes, and with the burned-out lab a fresh reminder of risk gone wrong, he didn’t blame her. She glanced at his water glass as if willing him to finish. “What will you do for funding?”

  “I haven’t figured that out yet.” He downed the rest of the water and shrugged out the aches in his shoulders, determined not to give up. Perhaps he could apply for a grant or attract financial backing. Somehow, someway, he would continue. “Maybe we’ll find Henry’s laptop with his latest formula. Do you have time today to search the house?”

  “While Billy mows the yard, Mitzy, Becca, Lia, and I are going to clean the house top to bottom. We intend to search as we clean.”

  “I could help,” he said.

  Kaylin accepted his offer, and after he rolled out the last coat of primer, he headed inside, where under Kaylin’s supervision the Danner sisters and Mitzy cleaned, and all of them searched for the laptop. Sawyer’s hunt began in the attic, and he worked his way down through the house. He rummaged inside every closet and cabinet in each room, even the pantry. They opened old suitcases and boxes. They’d been through the garage twice and checked his car as well as the trunk. And then they all switched rooms and searched again. But no one found Henry’s laptop.

  Frustrated, Sawyer went back outside and touched up the primer.

  Still, even without Kaylin in sight, his thoughts revolved around her. He admired her strength, the passion he’d glimpsed when she danced that she’d again buried so deep that only family or a good friend would know was there. Sawyer used a brush around the eaves and thought about the contradictions in Kaylin. She seemed so strong, but her fear of spraining an ankle or a hurricane showed her vulnerability. She seemed to put her family first, and yet, he kept thinking about Kaylin’s airline ticket. The one she hadn’t wanted to talk about. Where was she going? Had she canceled her plans?

  ON SUNDAY, the day of Henry’s funeral, Sawyer awakened early and walked through the charred ruins of the lab before the church service. The fiberglass tanks that had held the soybean oil had melted. Ditto the wash tanks. The pumps, the generator, the methanol and caustic soda . . . all of it was gone. Sawyer hadn’t needed to check on the insurance. This year money had been tight and they’d let the policy lapse, gambling that disaster wouldn’t strike. Talk about starting from scratch. First he’d have to clear the charred ruins of the metal walls from the lot. He’d scheduled demolition for Monday. The sooner the better. He didn’t want any of the neighborhood children exploring and hurting themselves.

  During his tour of the lab, he said his own good-bye to Henry. The man had been father figure, mentor, and friend, and Sawyer would miss not only his wisdom but his gift for seeing possibilities when everyone else believed a project couldn’t happen. Henry’s personal mantra reverberated through him.

  What would you attempt if you knew you wouldn’t fail?

  Borrowing Henry’s optimism would help him go on. A hundred failures didn’t matter. Not if experiment one hundred and one brought success.

  As Sawyer’s feet crunched over the ruins, Henry’s spirit reached out to infuse him with hope. And Sawyer vowed to rebuild. He didn’t know where he’d acquire the funds, but he would find a way . . . as a tribute to Henry. To the legacy a brilliant and caring man had left behind.

  Saying good-bye to Henry reminded Sawyer of the loss of his own parents. Not that he recalled the actual car accident that had taken their lives when he’d been little, because he hadn’t been with them, but he knew about loss, a constant companion through his childhood and into his teens. Luckily his grandmother had raised him, and then he’d found Henry. Henry had given Sawyer’s life a purpose.

  Sunday morning the Danner sisters buried Henry beside their mother, Danielle. They’d sat together, Kaylin in the middle between Becca and Lia. She’d been courageous and outwardly stoic. But Sawyer had only to look at her red-rimmed eyes with dark circles beneath to see her grief. Yet despite her own grieving, she’d always seemed to know when Becca needed a tissue, when Lia needed a comforting hand on her shoulder, or when Mitzy needed bolstering. Coping with her father’s death had obviously drained Kaylin, but she kept up a brave front, even whispering kind words to friends of Henry’s during the burial.

&nbs
p; After the funeral, the clean house was ready to welcome mourners. The chandelier in the foyer glistened, as did the hardwood floors. Wearing black slacks and a pale gray blouse and charcoal pumps, Kaylin stood in the foyer graciously greeting neighbors and friends, introducing her sisters to her father’s friends when needed, and directing traffic. Time and again as the line moved forward, she pointed people to the kitchen. Many had arrived with plates of food: fried catfish, hush puppies, coleslaw, cornbread, pork cassoulet, fried chicken, greens, black beans and rice, cherry pie, and peach cobbler. At least no one would have to cook for a week.

  The scent of food actually made Sawyer’s stomach churn. He had yet to regain his prodigious appetite. He couldn’t help thinking that if he’d been there when Henry had switched on the systems, he might have stopped the spark that had likely caused the fire. Then again, the generator hadn’t been running just before the explosion, an indication that Henry had waited for him to do the first test run of the fuel.

  With a beer in hand, Sawyer strolled through the house, now filled with friends and neighbors, and out onto the back deck, where Randy slept on the lounger. He sat beside the rose bushes and gazed across the lot at the burned lab. When Kaylin sat beside him, he was a bit surprised.

  “I needed a break,” she admitted.

  “Me, too.”

  But she obviously had something on her mind. “Just after the explosion, I heard a car drive away. Did you happen to notice if it was a neighbor?”

  He shrugged. He’d heard a vehicle’s tires squeal, but his focus had been on getting inside the lab to Henry. “I didn’t see any . . .” Her question had his mind shooting in new directions, directions that made his stomach clench into a roiling knot. Had someone caused the explosion?

  Kaylin gently swatted away a pair of love bugs, careful not to hurt them. “My father was intelligent, methodical, and careful.”

  “I agree. Henry knew that methanol is flammable, and every machine inside that lab was explosion proof. That means—”

  “No sparks.” He liked that she’d picked up some scientific knowledge, but wished she knew more about the business. Kaylin continued, her voice softening. “I was talking to Dad that morning . . . He was so excited. He sounded certain he’d discovered a workable biodiesel formula.”