The Super Ladies

by Petrone, Susan

  She wondered what the insurance payout would be if only the garage burned. From her vantage point on the street, she couldn’t see the side of Abra’s garage, but Margie knew well the swirling, Alice in Wonderland–inspired mural a bunch of them had painted on it two years ago. Abra said it always made her smile, even in the weeks right after Richard left. It’d be a shame to damage the mural.

  It all came back to Richard. The more she thought about it, the more she realized that perhaps Abra’s house wasn’t the one that needed to burn. She sent a quick text to Abra and drove away.

  ⍟ ⍟ ⍟

  All through dinner at Katherine’s, Abra kept one ear open for her phone, expecting a call from the fire department or her neighbor to tell her that her house was on fire. It wasn’t that she actively wanted to get rid of the house. This desperate option seemed to be the only one that would get her out of debt so she could move on with her life.

  She and Katherine tried to act normally in front of Hal and Anna, talking about work and school and listening to Anna’s reports from the front lines of fourth grade. The four of them had just finished dinner and sat down to play Clue when Abra felt her phone vibrate in her back jeans pocket. Katherine must have noticed her reach for the phone because their eyes locked over the coffee table.

  “Excuse me” Abra said.

  “Me too,” Katherine said.

  “You can’t both leave!” Anna protested. “You can’t play Clue with just two people.”

  Abra kept the phone in her pocket as she stood up. “Just running to the rest room,” she said casually.

  She could hear Katherine’s, Hal’s, and Anna’s voices from the living room as she closed the bathroom door. There wasn’t any logical reason for her to be nervous; she knew what was coming. This was her choice, her decision. Even so, it would be difficult to say goodbye to her little house.

  There was a text from Margie that read, “I wonder if we’re not focused on the wrong thing.” That was all. Abra texted back, “What do you mean?” but didn’t receive an immediate response.

  “Aunt Abra! It’s your turn!” Anna called from the living room.

  She kept the text conversation open and left her phone on the edge of the sink. As she walked out of the bathroom, she nonchalantly said to Katherine, “It’s all yours” and hoped the nod she gave her would be enough of a clue to check the phone. Then she sat down and accused Professor Plum of doing it in the bedroom with the candlestick. Hal was still snickering when Katherine returned.

  “What’s so funny?” Anna asked.

  “Nothing. I’m just being immature,” Hal said.

  Anna looked puzzled. “How?”

  “Ah, must be the standard dirty Clue joke,” Katherine said as she sat back down. “Here, you left your phone in the bathroom.”

  “Thanks,” Abra replied, glancing at the phone. Her faith in Katherine’s nosiness had been rewarded, because there was a new text from Margie that read, “They used to burn witches. I’m reversing that.” Katherine had texted back, “It’s K. U crack me up. What’s going on?” Margie hadn’t replied. Abra couldn’t help but giggle at Margie’s text.

  “What’s so funny?” Anna repeated.

  “Sorry, Anna. Aunt Margie texted something funny,” Abra said.

  “Can I see?”

  “It’s private.” She and Katherine caught each other’s eye again. Margie’s text was a little too cryptic. It was worrying. She opted for an abundance of caution.

  “Anna, I think I’m going to have to borrow your mom.”

  “Now? But we aren’t done with the game!”

  Katherine was already standing up. She gave Anna a hug and a kiss on the head saying, “I’m sorry, sweetie, but there’s something we have to do.”

  “What’s going on?” Hal asked. He sounded a lot like Anna, or she like him. Katherine and Hal had clearly solved the nature vs. nurture question. Abra felt a quick pang of guilt for pulling Katherine away from her family and an even smaller pang of envy that Katherine had a family to be pulled away from when she didn’t.

  “I promise I’ll tell you later,” Katherine said, and gave Hal a kiss on the cheek.

  “Okay.” She couldn’t read the face of someone else’s husband, but he didn’t look as annoyed as she might have thought.

  Abra grabbed her purse and her phone as she stood up. “Hal, thank you for a lovely evening. I promise I’ll bring your wife back in one piece.”

  “My pleasure, Abra.”

  They gave copious hugs to Anna, and Katherine reassured her that while she wouldn’t be home by bedtime, she’d see her in the morning. Hal looked a little lost as he watched them go. Katherine was at the back door when she went back to the living room, gave him a quick hug and kiss, and said, “Thank you.”

  ⍟ ⍟ ⍟

  Abra’s little yellow Mini Cooper was already in the driveway, so she drove. Katherine buckled in next to her, enjoying the feeling of going on a mission. “So where are we going?” she asked.

  “I have no idea. I just know that Margie needs us.”

  “I have the same feeling, but no bright ideas.”

  Abra’s house was only a few blocks away, so they did a drive-by, but it was clear Margie hadn’t been setting any fires there. “‘I wonder if we’re not focused on the wrong thing.’ What does she mean?” Abra said.

  “And the whole ‘They used to burn witches. I’m reversing that,’” Katherine added.

  Abra was heading out East Anderson, back toward the direction of Katherine’s house, maybe heading to Margie’s house. “What does she want to burn?” she mused aloud. Suddenly she sped up, saying, “Oh God, of course: Richard.”

  It took Katherine a moment to realize Abra meant Richard’s house. Then it all made sense. Katherine knew exactly why Margie might want to burn down The Evil Richard Brewster’s house. Once it was clear that Abra was going to take the high road and simply cut off all possible ties to the man who had ruined her life, Katherine herself had sometimes fantasized about different ways to exact revenge on Abra’s behalf. These had mostly centered around painful (to Richard) encounters in dark alleys or abandoned parking lots after he closed up the restaurant. Almost anything can make sense if you think about it long enough. And if someone is caught up in a swirl of anger and wonder at how life has turned out and why some things are so lopsided and unfair and is in a state to want to right wrongs, then even revenge fantasies put into action can make sense.

  While Abra tested the posted speed limit of every road they traversed, Katherine frantically texted and called Margie, hoping to stave off or at least delay any anger-inspired arson. “God, she could have his whole house burned down before we get over there,” she muttered.

  “I know, I know…”

  “How does she even know where Richard lives now?”

  “Karl helped me with the quitclaim deed, and Margie was kind of enough to courier it back and forth. Richard’s new address was in there somewhere.”

  They drove down I-90 to the west side and got off in a neighborhood that looked to be right on the line between Cleveland and Lakewood, the first suburb to the west. It was dark out, but the streetlights illuminated well-maintained houses where people still turned on their porch lights after dark, a city park with what looked to be new playground equipment, and a street with a surprising lack of potholes. It was the kind of neighborhood where a city makes the extra effort to keep the residents happy for the property-tax revenue they provide. She couldn’t bring herself to remark that it was nicer than the neighborhood where Abra still lived. Maybe Evil Richard had a roommate.

  Abra turned down a side street and parked. They didn’t see Margie’s minivan anywhere near the pale yellow house a few doors down that Abra said belonged to Richard. Katherine wasn’t sure what, if anything, they would find. Even so, she opened her purse and pulled out the red cat-eye readin
g glasses with the little daisies. “Just in case,” she said. It seemed prudent. Abra must have agreed because she grabbed her iris-painted reading glasses from her bag and put them on. They sat in the car for a moment, wondering if they had overreacted and perhaps Margie was at La Fiesta having a quiet margarita on her own. Katherine glanced over at Abra. She nodded, and Abra nodded back. Without saying a word, they both got out of the car and walked across the street to get a better look at Richard’s house. Katherine went a few steps down the sidewalk, looking around to see if any of the neighbors were out. It seemed like a normal Thursday evening in a quiet neighborhood. People with kids were probably making them do homework or putting younger ones to bed. There wasn’t anyone on the street.

  Suddenly Abra said, “There!” and ran up the driveway. It only took Katherine half a second to see the faint glow coming from the backyard. That’s not a fire pit, she thought as she ran after Abra.

  The back of the house was dominated by a two-level attached deck. The smaller top level came off a sliding door leading into the house. Two steps down was a broader second level with a built-in bench on one side, a propane grill, and an umbrella-covered table and chairs. The deck looked new and still smelled faintly of fresh wood. It was also on fire.

  The fire was strongest near the grill and traveling toward the house, helped along by Margie, who was slowly running her left hand along the railing, leaving a smoldering flame in her wake.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Katherine said, doing her best not to scream.

  Margie turned to face them. “Burning down The Evil Richard Brewster’s party deck,” she replied.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  The deck looked the way Richard had often described his dream deck. Seeing it built here, away from her and the house on West Anderson, was a visible reminder that none of his dreams included her. That’s the worst part of a breakup. It isn’t suddenly being alone that does you in, it’s the rejection, the idea that someone you thought so highly of no longer wants you to be a part of his life.

  In that moment on the deck, watching the flames from Margie’s hand make their way along the railing to the house, Abra almost said, “Let it burn.” The fire wasn’t burning hot enough or big enough to attract attention. Not yet. In a few minutes, if Margie kept it up, the fire would reach critical mass and Richard Brewster’s house would be toast. It was tempting. All she needed to do was walk away and let it burn. All she needed to do was do nothing.

  Doing nothing has a definite allure. It requires no commitment, no energy. In an instant, Abra’s brain flashed through a dozen times when she had done nothing, when not choosing had been a choice. Not speaking up during the freshman hazing on the high school track team, not stopping when she had driven by a raggedy stray dog wandering along the Shoreway, doing nothing when Richard had “borrowed” her credit card to buy things online. That wasn’t the person she wanted to be.

  Margie’s hand was on the side of the house now, the flames spreading from her fingertips to the wood siding.

  “Stop!” Abra said loudly.

  Margie turned and looked at her, leaving her hand on the side of the house. “What?”

  “As much as I would love to hurt him back, this isn’t the right way. I am so grateful to you, but please don’t do this.”

  Margie froze, as though thinking through what Abra had said, as though deciding what the correct way to exact revenge might be. She took her hand off the house and took a few steps toward Abra. “After all the crap Richard put you through, you’re going to let him get away with it.”

  It sounded more like an accusation than a question, and it hit straight to the heart of the eternal conundrum: being the bigger person and doing the right thing sometimes means the asshole gets away with it. Abra tried to find the right words but couldn’t. “Karma will take care of him,” she said half-heartedly.

  “Karma? You can’t put your faith in karma.”

  “I don’t want revenge—I mean, I do but not like this,” Abra said. “Destroying someone’s home…geez, that isn’t the person I want to be. It isn’t…it isn’t nice.”

  “Sweetie, I am fucking sick of being nice.”

  Abra sighed. Being nice was ingrained. It was the go-to word when you didn’t know what else to say or do. Being described as “nice” was the no-commitment, ambivalent equivalent of describing a book as “interesting.” “Understood. I have no words to describe what you’re doing right now, but it isn’t who you are, Margie.” Abra didn’t know what else say and could only look at Margie in the flickering light of the burning railing behind her. “You don’t have to be nice. Just don’t be an asshole.”

  Margie closed her eyes for a second and took a deep breath. “You’re right.” It sounded as though the words were difficult to say, but her face looked a little more relaxed. She let out a long sigh. “I don’t want to be responsible for this. I guess I got carried away,” she said.

  “It’s okay. I appreciate that you care enough to get carried away on my behalf.”

  Margie flung her arms out in frustration. “It’s just…I need something else, something different.”

  “I know. Destruction is an answer, but I don’t think it’s the answer.”

  Katherine had been uncharacteristically quiet during all this, but now she interrupted. “Um, guys? You want something different? Put out the fire.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Abra caught sight of a leaping flame. While they had been talking, the fire had been busy. Even without Margie’s help, it had spread along the rear of the house, and the flames were now nipping at the edge of the window frame.

  Abra stared at the flames for one breath, two breaths, three. Standing and watching was probably not the best idea, but the fire was so mesmerizing that she was momentarily unable to remember what ought to be done, what could be done. She felt hollow inside. “What can we do?” she asked.

  “Oh geez, I screwed up big-time,” Margie whimpered. “I say we call nine-one-one and get the hell out of here.”

  Katherine clapped her hands, one sharp clap that could silence a classroom of teenagers or snap her friends out of immobilizing shock. “No, they track nine-one-one calls, and there’s no good reason for us to be here. We’re gonna put this out before it spreads any more and before the neighbors start snooping,” she said. With a few steps, she was at the rear of the house. Katherine slammed her hands into the flames and held them against the wooden siding for a moment. When she raised her hands, the fire in that small spot had been extinguished. “Cool, that worked,” she said and did it again.

  Abra was past being shocked at the ways in which Katherine’s body was impervious to injury, although she did hear a little “Ow,” more like someone accidentally pricking their finger with a needle than thrusting their hands into a fire. Whatever little pinpricks of pain the fire may have caused, Katherine continued to pat down small sections. Staring at the spreading flames, it was clear Katherine would never be able to put the fire out on her own. She needed help.

  Margie looked as shocked and helpless as Abra felt. “How can we put it out?” she asked.

  Katherine paused in her labors just long enough to look at Margie and say, “Are you a Super Lady or aren’t you?”

  How the hell does turning invisible help put out a fire? Abra thought. She looked left and right. There was a spigot and a sloppily wound garden hose by the side of the house. Abra turned the water on full blast and went to work on the flames. There wasn’t a spray nozzle, but holding a thumb over the end made the water spray a good ten feet. The hose was short, and most of the fire was on the far side of the house. She couldn’t make the water reach the worst of the fire from where she was standing. If only the hose were higher. If only she were higher.

  It dawned on her that she could be.

  She turned off the water and tied the end of the hose loosely around her waist. Right
now, she needed the lightness, the increased agility that came with being invisible. There was no time to shed her clothes. It didn’t matter if Katherine or Margie saw a pair of jeans and a sweater jump onto the part of the railing that wasn’t burning.

  Abra stood on tiptoe on the railing, spying the gutter on the corner of the house a few feet above her head, higher than she’d be able to jump while visible. This is when it paid to be invisible. With a grunt and a leap of faith, she sprang up and grabbed the edge of the roof with one hand and the gutter with the other. Praying that the gutter wouldn’t break off, she braced her foot on the top of a window frame and pulled herself up and onto the roof, thanking her lucky stars it wasn’t a three-story house. She untied the hose. Almost immediately the water turned back on and she started hitting the fire from above.

  ⍟ ⍟ ⍟

  Once she turned the hose on, Margie could only watch as Abra and Katherine worked to control the fire. She could start fires, she could burn and destroy but not save. It was hard to tell if the fire was getting contained or not. The largest fire she’d ever been responsible for was a campfire.

  Evil Richard’s backyard was secluded. The neighborhood was reasonably affluent, so there was some distance between houses. The neighbor on the driveway side, where she stood, had a six-foot privacy fence around the perimeter of the property. The neighbor on the other side had some high-growing shrubs and trees. Still, anyone glancing from an upstairs window could see the flames, anyone outside would smell the fire. Then she heard a dog bark. Just one tentative woof. Then another, like the sound of an older dog trying to muster up enough air to sound fierce. The woof came from inside the house.