by Hughes, E.
“I don’t know how you stand her. Her mouth is too big for me.”
I grabbed my army jacket and draped an over sized messenger bag containing my laptop over my shoulders.
“That’s why she’s my friend and not yours. I’m taking my bike. I’ll be back tonight.”
Meeting Dana was just the excuse I needed to get out of the house. I would have walked downtown to get away from my mother’s irksome old fashioned ways.
“At this hour? And for goodness sake! Can you please keep your room clean? Last time I checked the word ‘maid’ wasn’t stamped on my forehead. This look like the Hilton to you?”
“Whatever. Dana’s waiting for me. That greasy little diner on 3rd street burned down. The cops think it was another arson job. Say what you want about Dana but at least she's helping me. I’m going downtown to freelance another article for the Journal.”
“Well! Good luck with that.”
Mama shrugged like she was bored and walked out.
I didn’t expect her to take an interest in my career choice anyway. The only thing mother ever cared about was finding a man and keeping him. Never worked a day in her life and refused education beyond high school. Despite this, she was well read. She had to be to hook the kind of man she wanted. By the time she met my father she had already gone through a string of wealthy men. My parents married when she was in her thirties. She had me at forty-three.
The only man mother ever truly loved was my father. He wasn’t rich, like the others. He was a struggling real estate agent when they first met. Somehow, he managed to win her heart and they’ve been happily married ever since.
It was the one good thing she’d ever done.
A crackle of thunder made my bedroom window rattle as a burst of rain poured down in sheets. I left the house a few minutes later, hopped on my bike, and pedaled like a maniac all the way downtown. We lived a few beats outside of the city where highway met country road. Our house was the two story four bedroom, country home with the wraparound porch out in the middle of nowhere. A half-mile away from the water tower, yards away from the blue windmill in a big grassy field not far from an ancient willow tree overlooking a pond with baby ducks waddling in it. I pedaled as fast as I could down the gravel path from our house until I hit the bike trail leading to Madison Heights, just off road.
I was nervous biking out there alone… the route I took was dark and dreary, like something out of a horror movie. Dilapidated warehouses and abandoned buildings accounted for most of the scenery. But after the accident I vowed I would never drive again. In fact, driving scared me far more than the thought of Freddie Krueger lurking out there in the bushes.
I made it to Dana's crime scene forty minutes later. There, fire trucks, squad cars, errant fire hoses, and police officers littered the street.
The wheels of my bike rotated slowly as I pedaled into an area that had been sectioned off by yellow police tape as I looked for my friend Dana.
She was a tall woman, tough with a lean build and crystal clear eyes that sparkled like green ice. She wore her auburn colored shoulder length hair pulled into a ponytail. I followed the sound of her voice until I had a visual. I could hear her barking orders from across the street.
The two of us made an odd pair, and it was amazing how we'd managed to stay friends over the years. I was the aimless artsy one; she was focused and professional. It was her drive that led her to make detective in four years. Though some of the guys in her district would suggest she’d been pushed ahead of the pack because she was a woman, Dana worked hard to prove herself.
“Hey, what we got here?” I asked, far more cheerful than someone entering a crime scene needed to be. A police officer gave me an irritated look.
“Get your ass behind the line, Tai. You’re messing up my crime scene,” Dana yelled.
Dana was lead arson detective on the arson case. This was the third fire in six weeks. Mostly restaurants. Sometimes a barn here or there in the middle of nowhere. The modus operandi was always the same.
I backed off. “What crawled up your ass and died?” I asked.
“Your mother. She called looking for you. I told her I was in the middle of something and she chewed my damn ear off.”
“My bad. What’s the scoop?”
“Same guy. Same M.O.”
Dana grabbed a piece of debris and held it in her hand, smoke still rising from it.
“Looks like he used an accelerant. Probably took less than an hour to burn this place to the ground.”
Dana chucked the debris aside. A man wearing a CSI jacket picked it up and placed it in a baggie marked “evidence”.
“And how do you know this?”
“Our dog sniffed it out. Judging by the char marks near what used to be a window, I would say the fire burned there first, spreading across the dining area to the kitchen. My forensic team is analyzing paint chips and pieces of wall.”
I pulled my notebook out and took notes, wondering why anybody would want set this place on fire. The diner was just a tiny storefront on a busy two-way street, owned by a sweet hard working old couple. I’d eaten burger in there once.
“What about the other restaurants? Any chance he'll come back?”
“It’s inevitable, Tai. Unless we catch him first. He’s picking them off one by one.”
I followed Dana to a window where she kicked broken glass into the restaurant and looked inside.
“I’m taking bets. Will it be the Japanese restaurant across the street…or The Pancake Shack on 5th?”
“Anything’s possible at this point. We’ll keep our eyes on both.”
I scribbled some more. A uniformed officer gave Dana a chart. She gave it a cursory read, took a pen out of her jacket and signed the document.
“Wanna get some lunch tomorrow?” I asked.
“Let’s do that. Across the street?”
I looked up. “Why?”
“I told you I’m keeping an eye on the place. The suspect might come back to have a look at his handy work. They always come back.”
“Cool. We’ll catch up.”
“How’d you get out here?”
“I rode my bike.”
“This time of night? I’ll give you a ride home. I’ll be done in a few minutes.”
Dana snapped her fingers and a young officer with a dog pushed his way through the crowd toward us.
“Nah, I’m good. I’m gonna grab some coffee and hammer away on my laptop for a while.”
“You sure? It’s raining pretty badly out here.”
Thunder crackled again as if to emphasize her point.
“I like rain. I’ll catch you tomorrow,” I said, hopping on my bike again.
I rode across the street, dodging a fireman as he rolled a large white fire hose back onto a fire truck. He gave me a nasty look and spat on the ground, wiping a smudge of black soot across his cheek with the back of his hand as he dried his mouth.
I continued across the street and parked on the sidewalk in front of Satsuki Japanese restaurant, my back facing its large red sign as I took in the devastation unfolding across the street. The air smelled like barbecued pieces of wood and melted plastic.
Overpowered by the fumes, and realizing my laptop was probably wet, I went into the restaurant to see if I could salvage the damned thing. I sat down, taking a window seat. I did a double-take when I saw my reflection in the glass. My hair looked mangy and wet, mascara running down my mocha complexioned cheeks leaving a trail of ink colored tears in its wake.
The laptop beeped. I stared at the blank white screen of my word processor and hammered out a title. As I typed, a young Japanese waitress wandered out of the kitchen to my table. The restaurant was empty, the chaos across the street driving customers away for the night.
“Excuse me, may I take your order?” the waitress asked. She held a tiny notebook in her hand.
The woman was young, all of twenty years-old with big pretty eyes and dark hair pulled into two pony tails. She looked
liked a school girl.
“I’ll have some coffee,” I answered.
“I’m sorry. We shut our coffee maker down for the night. We close in an hour. Would you like some tea instead?”
“Tea would be great, thank you.”
I looked away, typing again. A few minutes later the young woman returned, setting the tea on the table before me. She stood for a moment, gazing out the window.
“A shame the rain didn’t put the fire out.”
I looked up and gazed into her soft pale face.
“It was a nice restaurant,” she muttered absently. “You look cold. My brother told me to offer you a blanket. Would you like one?”
“I’m almost dry and the tea is keeping me warm… but thank you.”
“I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything.”
“Maybe some more tea.”
The girl nodded.
Lightening lit the sky, revealing a glittering of stars behind dark ominous clouds. My eyes darted to a silhouette outside the window. A woman in a tan trench coat slipped out of a dark car, closing the door behind her. I watched as she raced into Satsuki, wiping rain water out of her eyes. A few seconds later, the door opened and the woman walked inside, an open newspaper covering her damp hair. She took the paper off and shook it, droplets of water falling to the floor.
I drained the liquid in my cup unsweetened, gazing blankly at my computer screen again. Suddenly, a familiar voice called me by name.
“Tai? Is that you?”
I looked up, immediately recognizing the woman.
“Rachel?” I exclaimed. “What are you doing here? How are you? How are the kids?”
I waved her over, wondering what she was doing out so late. She took her wet trench coat off and shook water onto the floor as she sat down, exhausted.
“Damn rain. I fucking hate it.”
Rachel’s thick brown hair clung to the side of her chubby cheeks. She blinked water from long dark lashes as we hugged across the table, leaning away from my laptop. A drop of snot tickled out of one of her nostrils and her hands looked shriveled and cold.
“I haven’t seen you since…”
“The party,” she answered dryly, trying to light the sopping wet cigarette in her hand.
“I didn’t know you smoked.”
Rachel smiled. “Neither does Richard.”
She flicked ashes into a ceramic tray, covered with packets of sugar and salt.
When Rachel and Richard got married, everyone thought they were the perfect couple. Even their names matched. Rachel had dropped out of college and married Richard before his unit deployed to Iraq. She was a twenty-five year old mom of two kids and as much as she loved them, hated the life she’d been dealt. Or rather, the life she chose...
I looked up to find the waitress next to my table. She set a tea cup before me and took the old one away.
“So… what brings you out on this cold wet night? Shouldn’t you be at home reading the kids a bedtime story?”
Rachel spouted a cloud of smoke into the air, pointing her nose dramatically.
“They’re not up this late,” she answered, fanning a puff of smoke away from my face. “I was out with my old man. I told him to let me out at the diner.”
I almost spat tea out of my mouth. “I hope you’re talking about Richard.”
“Why would I be talking about Richard? If you must know, I’m having an affair,” she answered flippantly.
“Why? What happened?”
Rachel gave me a curious smile and pointed her cigarette at my face accusingly.
“Richard bores the hell out of me, that’s what happened.”
“What about the kids?”
“Puh-lease, what are you, my mother now?”
I sighed. “I’m your friend. You can talk to me if something's wrong.”
Rachel nodded, drawing from the filter of her ciggie again.
“Good…good. I’m glad I ran into you, actually.”
“What’s up?”
“I slipped out when Richard went to bed, but he must have realized I was gone because he called my cell twenty minutes ago, wondering where I went. I told him to pick me up. He’s been acting real suspicious lately. So if you don’t mind, I’ll just use you as an excuse.”
“As long as I don’t have to lie to him…” I started.
It wasn’t my style to get involved. I liked Richard. I wasn't down with lying to him about his wife. Rachel took a puff of her cigarette again. I inhaled, drawing second hand smoke into my lungs, unable to meet her unrelenting gaze. She must have known by the look in my eyes that deep down inside, I was judging her.
“Don’t worry about it. He trusts me. But enough about my shit. How are you?”
“I’m fine. But sometimes, I miss Everett so much I feel like I’m losing my mind.”
“I know, sweetie…” Rachel softly replied. “Just remember he’ll always be with you.”
…And what if I didn’t want him to ‘always be with me?’ I hated trite responses like that. When was it okay to move on? Maybe I wouldn’t feel so bad about the accident if I weren’t always blaming myself. I met Rachel’s pitying gaze.
“When I’m alone in the house I see him as clear as day, standing right there in my bedroom. It’s scary as hell but I miss him so much I don’t want him to leave. I feel so torn. Whenever I think about being with someone else, you know, dating again... I feel like I’m betraying Everett. Like I don’t deserve to move on and have a life without him. It feels so wrong…”
“Everett would want you to be happy, Tai. Give it some thought.”
“Now you’re sounding like my mother. I know Richard’s boring and all but just thank your lucky stars he came back from the war alive.”
Rachel sighed.
“I’m sorry. I must sound like a real bitch when I talk about my husband.”
“I wouldn’t say that…” Out loud.
We looked out the window. A green minivan pulled to the curb, right in front of Satsuki’s. The door opened and a man jumped out and slammed the door behind him. He gazed at the burnt out diner across the street, a confused look on his face.
“There’s Richard. Just a head’s up before I leave…” Rachel said.
I gave her a questioning look and she gestured toward the kitchen.
“You might end up with somebody a lot sooner than you think.”
I turned around. The young Japanese waitress appeared at my table again with the check. What in the hell was Rachel talking about?
I looked at the young woman. “Thanks, I’d like to pay my bill now.”
She left and I grabbed the second cup of tea and drained it quickly, searing hot liquid scorching my throat. The young woman returned a few minutes later and sat the check on the table. I stayed another twenty minutes and finished my article. When I was done, I paid the bill and left her a small tip.
Thunder rumbled and lightening streaked across the darkened sky. I loved rain, but lightening scared the shit out of me. Especially at night, when I'm alone in bed staring at the ceiling, trying my best to fall asleep. I'd see things in the flickering shadows and angry flashes of light.
I looked back at the restaurant and thought about going inside. But the flashing green “OPEN” sign in the window powered down and a red “CLOSED” sign flickered on.
I hopped on my bike, swung my bag over my shoulder and pedaled away. I could hear the wheels crunching on top of pavement it was so quiet out. Everything in Madison Heights shut down at 11:00 pm, the boring little city that it is.
It was lonely out, but I didn’t need an mp3 player to keep me company. Nature had already provided an orchestra, like the thundercloud pouring rain on top of my head. A cold merciless wind battered my face. I was grateful when I made it to the deserted little bike path not far from my house nearly an hour later.
I entered the blackness of the bike path. There, pavement gave way to dirt and treacherous shards of rock where the mud had been washed away by the rai
n. I wasn’t intimidated. I rode my bike on that path for most of my life. It was second nature to me. I knew every hill, bump and crevice. But the most ungodly aspect of the ride was that unpredictable wind. Branches bent and swayed ominously overhead and my face was cold and red.
I adjusted the messenger bag swinging from my neck. It was getting heavy. I could feel the straps burning into my shoulders. I turned the handles on my bike swirling a full 360 degrees to a screeching halt, the tires kicking mud into the air. My fingers were numb. I blinked water from out of my eyes, wiping them with the back of my hand. I got off the bike and kicked the wheels, knocking mud from between the spokes.