“There are too many people, too much commotion. My kids are scared and crying.”
“You tend to them. I’ll be right there.”
I toss the receiver at the switch hook and race down the hallway to the doctor’s office. A silver-haired woman holds the door open for her husband, who blocks the entrance. Without stepping inside, I call to the frosty receptionist that I have an emergency at home. I’ll send someone to pick up Angelique later or she can take a taxi.
All the way home, I pray Colton didn’t fall asleep and get caught in the fire. Had he taken another pain pill and passed out? Maybe someone rescued him through the upstairs window. Where is Judith? What could have exploded?
Saint Trixie, you better have a damn good excuse for letting this happen.
By the time I turn onto my street, I can smell smoke. Three trucks are parked at my house, one in the circle driveway and the other two in front on the street. Hoses lead from the fire hydrant down the block, crisscrossing the shrubbery, and neighbors are gathered in the corners of their yards. I pull over to one side and get out of my car. Mike Avery stands on the front lawn, locked in deep conversation with the captain. The man hands him a plastic bag containing a hodgepodge of colorful fabrics, charred at the edges. I recognize them as remains of the three tee shirts Colton rejected wearing earlier. The captain turns around to join his men at the adjacent truck.
When Mike sees me approach, he waves me forward. His face muscles tighten as he slips his arm around my shoulder.
“Where’s Colton?” I look up at him.
“We can’t locate him. He’s not in the house or the garage. We searched around the greenhouse and the backyard. One of the neighbors saw him leave the house about ten minutes before the first explosion.”
“Explo–?” I can’t make a whole word, much less an entire sentence.
“The blaze started in the garage and spread to your greenhouse. The windowpanes shattered after the fertilizer in your greenhouse caught fire. When the outside wall collapsed, the greenhouse caved in.”
“But–” I put my hand to my lips, or maybe I feel my cheek for tears.
“He can’t have gone far, if he’s still on foot.”
“But where’s Colton? Is the fire–”
“The fire’s mostly out now. Your house is not damaged inside. No smoke, no water got in, nothing else is ruined. The trouble is, we have reason to think it’s arson.”
“Who? Have you seen Skipper hanging around here?”
Mike holds out the bag of tattered and burned tee shirts. He doesn’t have to say anything.
I shove his arm away and shudder. “No, no, it wasn’t Colton!” I shout. “He didn’t do this!”
“They’re soaked in gasoline.”
“My son did not”–my voice breaks as I sob–“burn down my greenhouse.”
“Right now, he’s a suspect. Or at least a person of interest. When I find him, I’ll have to bring him in.”
I shake my head as I clutch the front of Mike’s shirt.
Mike gently pries my hands loose. “He’ll have to answer some questions. No more hiding.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I stand in my driveway. As Mike’s patrol cruiser pulls away from the curb, it’s all I can do to keep from running after him, screaming my son’s name. For a moment, I wait at the edge of the heat from the smoke-filled garage, wondering if I can simply faint and escape my misery. I head toward the house to call my lawyer.
“Mrs. Edwards?”
A young man’s voice jerks me back. One of the firefighters needs directions where to relocate a damaged bench removed from what is left of my blackened greenhouse.
“Here, let me help you with that.” I approach the garage, relieved for a distraction.
He holds up his gloved hand. “Sorry, ma’am, but you can’t come in here.”
My expression must relay my confusion, and I keep walking until he trots in front of me and halts. “The area’s now under investigation,” he says. “You have to stay clear of it.”
Any other day I would argue about my rights as a homeowner, but Mike’s suspicions, plus the bag of gasoline-soaked tee shirts belonging to Colton, force me into obedience. “All right. You can set the bench on the patio behind what’s left of the garage. Am I allowed in that section of my property?”
He nods, and I surrender the smoldering area to the professionals. The trip through my house, front door to back patio, takes less than a minute. As I inspect scorched terra cotta pots, smoke stings my eyes and my hands shake. I wipe my face, but can’t distinguish sweat from tears.
While the firefighters continue their job, I wash whatever items they set to one side of the patio, as if I can rinse the damage down between the bricks. One thing cannot be salvaged: Jack’s appointment book. I stare at the charred cover, soaked with water, the ink washed out and the pages stuck to each other like they had melted together.
The discovery is more than I can bear. I break down and sob as I rip the book apart along the spine, section by section, and throw the smeared puckered pages in the trash heap. Never had I felt drained by something more final, not even Jack’s death. All my hopes and expectations snatched from my grasp and lost forever. Swept away by fire and an ocean of tears.
I forget about Angelique until she appears an hour and a half later. She hurries toward me with her arms outstretched.
I raise my palms toward her. “You don’t want to get this . . . this grime on you.”
Without hesitation, she enfolds me in a sympathetic embrace. “There, there, my sweet angel girl, I’m just here to be with you.”
At that moment, she knew the perfect thing to say. Judith might have encouraged me not to worry or assured me everything would be all right, but I’d have sent her straight home without packing her overnight things. With my head nestled on Angelique’s shoulder, a long howl threatens to erupt from my throat. I tell her about the loss of Jack’s book. “How did you get here?” I finally ask.
“Mike sent Nate to pick me up from the doctor’s office.” She relaxes her grip on me and surveys the growing pile of charred lumber and broken glass. “What on earth happened?”
I swallow what feels like a lump of charcoal. “Somebody . . . the captain said someone started a fire in the garage, and it spread and ignited my greenhouse.”
“Somebody?” She chucks me on the chin and raises my face to meet hers. “I thought maybe it was the new heater gone faulty.” Shaking her head, she furrows her brow. “Arson! Who would do such a thing?” Her frown recedes as her eyes widen. “Oh, no. Not . . .”
How can I argue? I have my own suspicions, too, dragging my heart down into a blackened pit. “According to my neighbor, Colton left the house before the fire started. Mike has gone to look for him. Just to ask him some questions.”
“Has Colton run away from home?’
I shake my head, but the truth is, I don’t really know.
“Sally, what are you going to do?”
“The fire department won’t let me–”
“About Colton.” Her sympathetic tone now sounds serious. “If you can’t figure out what’s driving his crazy behavior, then, for God’s sake, get some professional help.”
“Do you think he’s crazy?”
“Okay, poor choice of words. If he won’t tell you what’s bothering him, get him talking to an expert who can sort through all this mess. Someone without any connection to your family history.” She pulls on her ponytail. “Have you asked yourself why he might have started the fire?”
I squint. “As of last Wednesday, it’s been a year since Jack died. For the past week, Colton has seemed increasingly distraught at the mention of Jack’s death. I’ve had to speak about it, because . . .”
Angelique nods but says nothing.
“. . . he’s grieving for his father so much, and he’s angry that Jack isn’t here to . . . to be his dad any more.” My eyes search her face, as I silently plead for approval. “You can’t say I am totally
ignorant of his feelings, can you?”
Angelique brushes a strand of hair from my cheek and tucks it behind my ear. “Can you imagine what it must have been like for Colton–”
“To find Jack’s body in the garage the next morning?” As the familiar sharp sensation pricks my eyes, I bite my lip. “No wonder he wanted to burn it down.” I drop to a chair in the shade of the eave over the porch and put my head in my hands. Even rubbing my eyelids, I can’t erase the vision of sooty residue.
Angelique sits beside me. She rests her hand on my arm, massaging with gentle pressure. “I know you love your home.” Her hand grows still. “But maybe it’s time to let it go.”
I sit up and run my hand through my grime-dusted hair, wishing my mother were here to brush it for me, the way she sometimes used to do.
In my mind’s eye, I entered the house through the front door for the first time. The curved railing of the front staircase seemed to lead to heaven, and echoes of distant laughter resounded from the high ceilings in each room. Light from the crystal chandelier scattered a shower of golden sparks across the polished oak floor. I glided through each doorway, expecting treasure, and somehow found Grandmother Mason and my mother as her little girl, smiling back at me, the way I remembered from old sepia-toned photographs.
I touched the doorknobs and reached for my mother’s hand just beyond my grasp, gazed in the mirror over the mantel, and longed for her face to emerge from the shadows. Aromas from the oven in the kitchen beckoned me, and I licked my chocolate-smeared lips and crunch peppermint candy canes, as I awaited trick-or-treaters and St. Nicholas.
The shades over the windows dropped like sleep-drenched eyelids, while the scent of pine logs in the fireplace chased away the darkness and cheered the corners of the room. Night sang an encore, notes woven through the tall columns of the front porch, as the sun trailed its glory off the worn-out stage.
Later I carried a small bundle across the threshold, trussed in soft trappings, fresh and white as the bride I had once been, and watched for a sign of hunger. A tiny fist secured its future by gripping a strand of my hair and pulling me into its milky breath. I relinquished time and myself in the trundle of feeding and sleeping, mostly to watch God’s promise to remember me, growing and thriving, even as my baby slumbered.
Pacing the gardens bequeathed blooms, not footprints, and shade to cool the heat of creation, season after season. With my hands, I dug in the damp ground and buried my soul, and waited for each new season’s awakening to leave the protection of the earth’s womb. Under my fingernails resided the energy of ownership, my house, my home, my heart. All of which tied me to my mother by an invisible cord.
I shake myself as if waking from a dream. With my fists relaxed, I look at Angelique and say, “I always thought”–my mouth goes dry–“I would stay in this house forever.” Cupping my hands over my knees, I let my head droop. “You’re right. Maybe it’s time to sell.”
Angelique slips her arm around my shoulder. “I know that’s a big decision.”
“I’m good at detachment, remember?” Sitting up straight, I look at her from the corner of my eye. “I should be good at it. I’ve had years of practice.”
She smiles and nods.
One of the young firefighters approaches me with a toasted cardboard box. “I think this was in your storage closet in the garage. There’s nothing in it we need for evidence.” He sets it next to my feet.
“Thank you.” The odor of charred fibers makes my nose itch. With my toe, I lift the flap and lean forward to peek inside. My doll Esmeralda stares back at me with bright blue eyes, her blonde hair drenched and her cheeks dusted with soot. I lift her from the wreckage and smooth her pink corduroy jumper and remember when she lost her shoes.
Daddy said I couldn’t stay home by myself because I was only eleven. Also because Mother came home for a short visit from the hospital in Baltimore. The doctor sent two nurses with her. Since it was Mrs. Gussmann’s day off and Aunt Mary was at the doctor’s office, Clyde had to bring me with him on his errand to the airfield. I liked to ride in the car with him, just the two of us, because he talked to me more when no other adults were around.
Esmeralda sat on the front seat between Clyde and me. I didn’t have permission yet to go for a spin with Danny, but I planned to ask Daddy when we got there. Last time he said yes right away.
Danny, our pilot, hasn’t come to the house lately because Daddy has stayed in town all week. He saved his visits until my father was gone on a long trip across the ocean. He must have thought Daddy was still mad at him for breaking Mother’s dresser drawer.
Mother liked for Danny to come roaring up the driveway on his motorcycle. She giggled a lot around him. I bet my father would have been surprised to hear her laugh so much. She also wore her new dresses when Danny was around. Mrs. Gussmann wondered how he got any work done, but maybe he dropped by to check on things, like Clyde did when Daddy was away.
I asked Clyde if he thought Daddy would let me go for a ride, but he didn’t talk much and frowned a lot. He must have had something on his mind. He already said he’s been working on a special project for Daddy, and maybe he wasn’t finished with it yet.
I picked up Esmeralda and showed her the view out the side window. She couldn’t count the horses in the pastures as we go by, but I could. I liked the times tables better, starting with my favorite number five. By the time I reached eighteen, I couldn’t remember what came next. When I turned to ask Clyde for help, I accidentally dropped Esmeralda on the gearshift.
“Hey, watch it!” Clyde shoved my doll to the side. She landed face down on the floorboard.
Clyde had never yelled at me before, and my eyes got teary. Large drops spilled down my cheeks and I sputtered, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to–” I scooted forward, as I tried to reach Esmeralda.
“Aw, don’t cry.” He stepped on the brakes and Esmeralda rolled forward as the car came to a stop beside the highway. “I wasn’t paying attention, there now.” He pulled Esmeralda up by her hair. “Here’s Esther for you, good as new.”
I took my doll from him and cradled her against my shoulder. “Her name’s not Esther.” I choked the words out, trying not to blubber, but I cried as if my heart had broken. It wasn’t like I hadn’t heard anyone yell. Mother yelled at Daddy all the time, and sometimes at the servants. It was why they never stayed long, all but Mrs. Gussmann. Ever since he arrived, Clyde has acted like my special friend. He spoke to me the way no one else did. I laughed at the funny stories he told me when we were by ourselves. Except today there were no funny stories.
“Oh, now, stop that,” Clyde handed me his hanky. His voice grew softer. “I didn’t mean to make you cry. I’m just concentrating on something and I plumb forgot you was in the car with me.” He patted my head. “Is Esther okay?”
“Esmeralda’s fine.” After wiping my eyes and honking into the hanky, I turned and sat facing forward in my seat again.
Clyde steered the car onto the road once more and we drove to the airstrip. Daddy paced up and down outside the manager’s office. Clyde got his duffel bag out of the trunk and I waited in the front seat. Daddy walked around to the back of the car to speak to Clyde, but I couldn’t hear what they said. When Clyde set the bag down, it clunked like there were heavy tools inside.
As Daddy walked by, I leaned over the edge of the open window and asked him if I could go for a ride today.
“What?” He frowned and glanced at Clyde.
“Can I, um, may I go for a ride today?”
“Sure, Clyde will take you. Just wait here or go play in the office until we’re ready to leave. Miss Weatheridge will give you some pencils and paper.”
“Not Clyde. Danny.”
But my father had already walked away. I opened the car door and followed him toward the office, but decided to look for Danny in the hangar instead. I wanted to be sure he knew I was allowed to take a short ride before his big trip with Daddy. Maybe he would do a crazy-eight loop, l
ike I’d seen in the Saturday cartoons at the movie theater.
Daddy and the manager were talking to Danny in the manager’s office. There was a big window looking out into the hangar and Danny stood with his back to me. I tiptoed past toolboxes and storage bins. Daddy’s airplane was already parked on the airstrip next to the hangar.
Before I had taken ten steps, Clyde came around the corner from the airstrip and waved at Daddy. Then he went out the side door toward the car. All Esmeralda and I needed was the pilot.
I tucked my doll under my arm and headed for the plane. The passenger door was unlocked and I climbed in the front seat. Danny had called me ‘his little co-pilot’ last time, even though I didn’t do anything for the five minutes we circled around the airport. Maybe I’d learn to fly when I got older. I put Esmeralda in my lap and twisted sideways to find the seatbelt. It wasn’t too tight when I strapped it around both of us.
Danny tapped on the glass on the other side of the cockpit.
I grinned and gave him a thumbs-up, the way I’d seen Clyde do.
He shook his head. “Mr. Wallace says nobody’s flying anywhere today.” He opened the door and picked up a large envelope from the seat.
I felt like someone had just broken my favorite crayon on purpose. Frowning, I stuck out my lower lip. “But . . . but I really wanted–”
“Okay, okay, how about a quick spin on my motorcycle before I leave? Let me get the right packet from the manager, kiddo, and we’ll zoom.”
While Danny went to the office, I took Esmeralda to the parking lot and waited next to Danny’s motorcycle. I liked the red and orange flames he had painted on the tailpipes. “Vroom, vroom!” I imitated the sound of the motor for Esmeralda.
Danny returned with another envelope, which he tucked inside his jacket. He threw his right leg over the seat and pulled the motorcycle upright, releasing the kickstand. With Esmeralda snuggled under my arm, I jumped up and down with excitement. He started the engine and let the wheels roll forward a few feet, then he took my arm and swung me up behind him, as if we were riding a horse together.
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