When Houses Burn

by Laurèn Lee

  “I’m ready if you’re ready.”

  “So, I wanted to start with talking about your experience being arrested and how you were treated in prison before your trial.”

  “That seems random,” he said.

  “Maybe so, but we haven’t touched these situations yet. Please, tell me,” I asked.

  “Well, it hadn’t taken long for the fire department to arrive at my parents’ property,” he began.

  “Where were you when they arrived?”

  “In the driveway close enough to see the flames, but far enough not to feel their heat.”

  So, he was there when the fire happened. Did that mean he started it himself? Or, did he black out and miss seeing the real perpetrator?

  “Why didn’t you run? Why did you stay knowing you’d probably be caught and arrested?”

  “I wasn’t afraid of taking responsibility for my actions.”

  “But you didn’t take responsibility; you recanted your confession.”

  “Responsibility comes in many different forms, Doctor.”

  “Tell me, then. How are you taking responsibility for murdering your parents?”

  “I’m here, aren’t I?”

  “You think attending mandatory therapy will repair the damage you have caused?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know.”

  We’d come to an impasse. I wasn’t sure what to say next, and Lucas didn’t want to elaborate.

  “Can I tell you something?”

  “Anything,” I offered.

  “I’ve been thinking about the fire more and more,” he paused.

  “Yes, and?”

  “I haven’t felt so happy, so alive since that night,” His smile faded as he confessed. “I want to feel that way again. I need to feel the rush.”

  Did he do it? I can’t get an honest read on him. My gut told me he was a murderer, but my heart still held out for another explanation.

  “You miss the emotions you felt while your parents burned to death?” There was no subtle way of asking him to confirm this.

  He nodded. “I’m a monster. And I don’t think I care.”

  “You’re not a monster.”

  “Then what am I, Doctor?”

  “I don’t quite know yet,” I said truthfully.

  Maybe he is, though.

  Lucas stood and paced the length of my office. I’d never seen him like this, and he seemed honest, eager for help.

  “Have you tried something else to fill the void?”

  “You mean a hobby?” He scoffed.

  “Are you interested in art? Do you like painting or taking pictures?”

  “I’ve never done so before. Can I take your picture?” His wicked smile reappeared.

  “Maybe start with some landscapes,” I offered sternly.

  “Can I take you to dinner?”

  “Lucas, we’ve gone over this time and time again—.”

  “I know, I know. But I firmly believe rules are made to be broken.”

  “That’s all well and good, but I don’t.”

  “How about a drink then? No dinner. Maybe that would be just bending the rule and not breaking it?”

  “What do you do in your spare time when you feel the urge to kill again?” I asked, placating him.

  He’d stopped pacing and resumed sitting across from me. He sat forward, his elbows on his knees, his hands tucked under his chin. I could smell his cologne and felt my cheeks redden as he looked at me. Why couldn’t I shake this undeniable electricity I felt a surge through my body whenever I was with him? Why couldn’t I be strong enough to ignore his advances?

  “What do I do when I need to feel tremendous satisfaction? I think of you, Delilah.”

  I came home to find James already in the shower. He promised he’d take me out to dinner to make up for blowing me off the last time. He said he still had something important to speak to me about and it needed to be said as soon as possible.

  His work clothes sprawled across our bed, as usual. You’d think a grown man would’ve learned to use a hamper by now. I picked up his shirt to toss it in with the other dirty clothes, but something made me stop dead in my tracks. I sniffed the collar of his shirt and smelled something different, something that didn’t belong on my husband’s shirt. I smelled perfume, and it wasn’t mine.

  Initially, my heart sank low into my stomach. Then, the more and more I thought about it, the more it made sense. He had been working more overtime lately. And he had seemed more chipper than usual. Almost like a man who’d recently gotten laid. And I knew it wasn’t me who’d satisfied him. We barely touched each other at this point.

  So, that’s it. My husband is cheating on me.

  “Delilah?” James called out from the shower.

  “Yes?” I shouted back.

  “I’m almost done. Do you need to get in here before I get out?”

  “No.”

  “All righty, then.”

  I heard the taps shut off and the loud thump of James stepping out of the tub and onto the bathroom tile. I assumed he was about to come out of the bathroom and into our bedroom. I knew what I wanted to say to my husband. I knew what I had to say to him.

  “Hey, almost ready for dinner?”

  “James.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I know.”

  He looked up from his dresser as he tried to pick out clothes for dinner. “You know what?”

  “I know you’re seeing another woman.”

  “Oh,” he said, looking down.

  I didn’t have proof he was cheating, until now.

  “Why, James?”

  “I can explain,” he pleaded.

  “I know our marriage isn’t perfect, but why would you ever cheat? Why not leave me,” I implored. Who knew the couple everyone envied in college would end up here, would end just like this?

  “I couldn’t leave you. I love you,” he whispered.

  “So, this is how you prove your love to me? By seeing another woman?”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say.”

  “Do you love her?”

  My breathing quickened, and my heart pounded through my chest.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Is it just about sex? You needed sex?”

  “It’s not just about the sex,” he said carefully.

  “Then what? Is she prettier than me? Smarter than me? Nicer than me?”

  “No one could ever compare to you, Delilah.”

  “Then what is she to you?”

  He didn’t respond.

  “Do you buy her things?”

  He nodded.

  “Has she been to our house?” My voice began to rise.

  He nodded.

  “Has she been in our bed, James?”

  He nodded.

  Utterly shocked, I walked over to him. He reached out to hug me, and I slapped him hard across the mouth.

  “You’re a weak, pathetic man. You disgust me.”

  He began to cry. However, his remorse meant nothing to me. “What can I do to fix this? I’ll do anything!”

  I thought for a moment. What does a wife ask for when her husband wants to make amends for cheating? He can’t turn back the clock and change his actions, so what can he do?

  “I want to meet her,” I said, “I want to meet the woman you fucked in our bed.”

  20

  Past- Eighteen Months Ago

  On the flight home, I finally let myself break down. I could only hold in emotions for so long until they began to eat me alive. Mine were ripping me apart. I’d always fantasized what my future would look like, and I’d assumed it would come to fruition once I met James. He would help me attain my goals as a wife and a mother. He’d complete me.

  I imagined we’d have a handful of children. Maybe three boys and two girls. He’d be an incredible father. We’d go on family vacations, own a mini-van, and shower our children with love. We’d be so rich with happiness. People would be jealous of us.

  I
imagined we’d be able to have a date night every once in a while and Delores would come to watch the children, doting upon their every need. I’d consider her a mother and not just my mother-in-law. We’d have lunch dates, and she’d take me shopping. We’d be as thick as thieves.

  It was funny to look back upon our dreams, hopes and wishes to see just how different our life had strayed away from those fantasies. We think we will travel down a particular road in life and we end up facing an entirely different direction. Life has a way of taking our plans and throwing them into the wind.

  Luckily, I had no neighbor sitting next to me on the flight home. I could lick my wounds in silence. I stared out of the window, watching the sun set on the day. I couldn’t wait to be home.

  “Hey, Delilah!”

  “Sara, how are you? It’s been so long!”

  “I know, I miss you so much. Good news, though.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’m in town for the rest of the week! Wanna get together tonight for drinks?”

  “I’d love to! When and where?”

  “I’ll pick you up at nine. I think there’s a new bar opening on Main Street. It seems like it could be fun?”

  “Absolutely. I’ll see you later.”

  “Bye, Del!”

  Sara had been my roommate in college and still one of my best friends to this day. She also happened to be the only person I’d ever allow to call me “Del.” Sara moved away after college and became an interior decorator down in Florida. She helped the wealthy glamorize their mansions, and she happened to be quite good at it. She always joked about having to come back and visit to spruce up my house. Apparently, it was too industrial and professional for her taste.

  I checked my phone to see if James had texted or called me since I left. Not one text message. I’m sure his mother was coddling him and speaking more obscenities about me. She probably justified the whole scenario to make me appear as the villain. I was always the bad guy.

  I had a few hours before Sara promised to pick me up, so I decided to unpack and make myself a dinner. As the washer and dryer cycled, I whipped up a quick shrimp scampi meal, poured a glass of wine and put on a record.

  The house felt empty but comforting. Knowing James was thousands of miles away made me feel more at ease than I had in a long time. Maybe his mother would convince him to stay longer. A girl can dream.

  “Ready to party?”

  “Oh, Sara. I haven’t partied since college,” I laughed.

  “We did have some fun times, huh?”

  “I’ll have to take your word on it because there’s a lot I don’t remember.”

  Sara smiled and squeezed my hand.

  “How is everything?” she asked as we drove to the bar.

  “It’s fine, how’s Florida?”

  “Nuh, uh, sister. You spill first.”

  I sighed, “Everything is fine. Just as it always is.”

  “Are you and James still fighting?”

  “We are fine.”

  Sara looked at me with accusing eyes but realized I didn’t want to talk about it just now.

  “I’m surprised I’m still awake,” she joked. “Usually, I’m in bed by this time.”

  “Preaching to the choir, Sar.”

  We parked across the street from the bar and could see it was already packed. I hadn’t been out to a bar in a very long time. Anxiety crept up and began to take hold of me.

  “We’re going to have fun,” Sara promised.

  Inside, jazz crooned from the speakers, and the bartenders wore suit pants and vests. Relief washed over me as I wasn’t quite sure what to expect. I could never predict anything when it came to going out with Sara. I felt as though I could fit in comfortably here. Many of the patrons were our age, if not older.

  “You thought I was taking you to some rowdy, underage club, didn’t you?”

  I smiled, knowing I had been caught.

  “By the way, you look smokin’ hot!” Sara shouted over the new song which had just begun.

  She wasn’t lying. In the back of my closet, I found a rather tight red dress I hadn’t worn in years. When the only major events I attended were stuffy psychiatry galas, there’s not much room for anything form fitting. I hadn’t seen my curves in a dress in many years.

  “Not too bad yourself,” I winked. Sara sported an equally tight navy-blue dress. However, this was her style; it was no great reveal as my outfit had been.

  Just then, two middle-aged men made their way over to Sara and me.

  Wait, stop! This is a girls’ night!

  Too late.

  “Can we buy you two a drink?” One of the men asked as he ruffled his dark hair which sparkled with the incoming grays.

  Sara looked at me excitedly, she loved free drinks, especially from handsome older men. I nodded, knowing not to avoid the inevitable.

  “Sure!” she said.

  The first man smiled back and put his hand gently on Sara’s waist to guide her to the bar. The other man seemed shy as we stood there awkwardly for a few moments.

  “Would you like a drink, too?”

  “That would be wonderful,” I admitted. My buzz from dinner had begun to fade.

  We walked over to the bar together, but he didn’t touch me, and I was grateful.

  “What would you like?” he asked.

  “Just a glass of white wine would be nice, thank you.”

  The man tried to obtain the attention of the bartender, and I took this time to take in his appearance. He had auburn hair and stood about my height. He wasn’t remarkably handsome, but he seemed nice enough so far.

  He handed me a glass of wine.

  “Thank you.”

  “I’m Steven,” he said, holding his hand out.

  “Nice to meet you. I’m Delilah.”

  He grinned as we shook hands, and at that moment, he became a little more attractive.

  Sara and her new friend chatted away next to us, leaving Steven and me to our own devices. The smooth jazz continued to play, and the buzz within the bar kept the atmosphere electric.

  “So, Delilah, what do you do?”

  “I’m a psychiatrist,” I said, waiting for him to cringe. Most people immediately put up their walls once I mentioned my profession. Almost as though they feared I would psychoanalyze them and find out their deepest, darkest secrets.

  “That’s fascinating,” he said genuinely.

  “And how about yourself?”

  “I’m a lawyer.”

  “Also fascinating,” I said nudging him playfully.

  We continued to chat about our professions, the hardships, the rewards, and everything in between. I couldn’t believe how refreshing it felt to have an adult conversation with a man who seemed interested in what I do for a living. It also felt refreshing to have a conversation with a man without him trying to make a move. Maybe mature men did exist?

  Sara and Steven’s friend nodded toward the dance floor as they made their way over to the other jiving patrons. I shook my head, laughing, as I knew this man didn’t know what he was getting into with Sara. She could dance for hours without a single break.

  “Shall we?” Steven asked.

  “I’m not much of a dancer,” I admitted shyly.

  “Me neither,” Steven said, gently taking my hand and leading me to the dance floor as well.

  Sara cheered once we joined them and I shook my head. I never thought tonight would end up like this, but to be honest, I wasn’t complaining. Steven twirled me around and dipped me low. I couldn’t stop laughing. He didn’t seem like the dancing type, but he surprised me. Sara even looked a little jealous, as her date had no charisma on the dance floor whatsoever. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had this much fun. Why hadn’t I done things like this more often?

  Just when I thought the night couldn’t get any more spontaneous, I happened to look over to the bar and noticed James standing there, staring at me with his arms crossed.

  21

&nb
sp; EVENING HERALD

  Phone Records Requested

  Officials are now reporting Helena Woodruff may have been having an affair with a married man.

  “We spoke to several colleagues and friends of the deceased. Some provided information that Woodruff had been seeing a man they presumed to be married,” Captain Moonie said.

  According to Woodruff’s friends, she had been extremely secretive about their relationship and wouldn’t introduce her boyfriend to them.

  It’s undetermined at this time if these assumptions are accurate and if they are, it’s unknown if this married man had been involved in the murder or is the father of the unborn child.

  Detectives on the case have officially requested the phone records associated with Woodruff’s cell phone line and her work line.

  “If the deceased were having an affair, it wouldn't be difficult to find the communication and pinpoint who this mystery man is,” said Detective Boucher.

  22

  Present

  “You want to meet her?” James asked incredulously. “Why, what are you going to do?”

  “I want to ask her why she decided to sleep with my husband.”

  “Can we just talk about this, Delilah?”

  “Is this what you were going to speak to me about at dinner?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you leaving me?”

  “I don’t know.”

  I scoffed.

  “Unbelievable, James. Unbelievable. After everything we’ve been through, after all the times I stuck by you,” I trailed off.

  “It’s always about you,” he mumbled.

  “Right now, it is about me.”

  “I am suffering, too. You know?”

  I closed my eyes and begged for the patience I desperately needed at this moment.

  “You are suffering?” I asked slowly.

  “I lost Lola, too.”

  “And this is how you cope? You sleep with another woman and leave your wife?”

  “I didn’t say I was leaving you!”

  “What makes you think I want you to stay? Give me your phone.”