In a mimicking sing-song, Troy said, “Just getting coffee.” He shared a laugh with Frank. “Well? Get your damned coffee and get out.”
Neil said to me, “Can I get you a cup?”
“No,” I replied in a measured tone. “I’m fine.”
With a half nod, Neil turned around and hunched over the coffee machine, searching for whitener.
Barry never even glanced at Neil; he simply continued to stare at me, a twisted smile on his lips.
Behind the counter, I clenched my fists at my sides and literally bit my tongue.
Barry growled low in his throat. “Never thought you’d have the guts to show your face in town again.”
“What’s past is past, Barry. We all have to move on.”
My eyes can see.
My tongue can taste.
Barry cocked his head to the side, as if hearing my inner thoughts.
“Maybe I don’t want to move on,” he said.
My mouth can smile.
My lungs can breathe.
Barry leaned forward, his face ugly with anger. “What the hell are you whispering there?”
Out loud, I said, “Back off, Barry, or I’ll report you.”
Troy cackled. “Who’re you going to call, the sheriff? You hear that, Barry? She’s going to call your dad and tell on you.”
Barry’s smile deepened. “Is that so, Darcy? You going to tattle on me?”
“I’m warning you, Barry.”
“That’s funny: you warning me. You know, it’s time we finished this. I would say, about ten years past due.”
My heart can beat.
Tendrils of smoke curled around the fingers of my balled hands while Frank and Troy continued to grin from ear to ear, obviously enjoying the confrontation. Some people just get off on conflict.
“I don’t want any trouble, Barry,” I said, my voice tight.
He growled. “Well, you should’ve thought of that before you tried to kill me.”
Deep within me, I could feel the anger stirring. This was not the kind of personal information I wanted dredged up in front of anyone, least of all Neil, the new fire-chief-in-training. Never mind that I didn’t even know him, first impressions were lasting impressions, and the last thing I wanted was this kind of drama my first week home. I just wanted to put it all in the past and rebuild my life. Some people, however, just couldn’t let go of old wounds.
My heart can beat. Wait. I said that one already. My stomach can digest…
The mix of anger and embarrassment I felt threatened to make me lose control; and that was not something I could afford to do.
My legs can—
“But like the stupid idiot you are,” Barry continued, “you ended up killing your own parents!”
I felt the burning in my hands, but I couldn’t stop it.
I yelled, “I wish it was you in the cemetery, you sick bastard!”
Barry roared in anger. “Bitch!” He lunged at me, hands outstretched.
Reacting without thinking, I grabbed his wrists before his meaty paws could find my throat.
My hands shook with the effort to hold him off, and also from another kind of exertion. A kind of energy swelled inside me. It wanted out.
At first, Barry was so outraged, he didn’t feel anything, but as black smoke began to billow out from between my hands and his arms, Barry’s rage quickly turned to surprise and then fear.
“What the hell?” he yelled.
I could smell his flesh burning.
Barry screamed, and jerked his arms back, but the power inside me had taken control and I could not let go of him.
Control!
I had to regain control! I had to finish the mantra properly.
My heart can beat.
I couldn’t let it out.
My stomach can digest.
But Barry’s shrieking ruined my concentration.
My legs can walk!
No! I had kept it contained for so long, I was not going to falter now.
My body is calm!
I forced myself to focus on my hands, release my fingers.
I AM IN CONTROL!
With excruciating effort, I let go of Barry’s wrists, but it was too late. His sleeves were on fire.
“Aaagh!” he screamed. The look on his face was a cross between rage, shock and panic. Waving his arms around like a startled chicken trying to fly, he only made it worse. Frank threw what was left of his beer on Barry, and it was only then that Barry came to his senses and beat the flames out with his hands.
Staring at his smoldering sleeves, Barry yelled, “You little maniac! What did you do?”
The sneering smiles had disappeared from Troy’s and Frank’s faces. Frank scowled and smashed the bottom of his beer bottle against the counter, sending shards of glass spraying all over.
Frank pointed the shattered bottle at me. “I’m gonna make you cry, you bitch—”
Just then, a torrent of steaming coffee splashed across his face. His shrieks of pain only got louder when he gingerly touched his scalded skin.
Standing in a defensive crouch, Neil brandished the empty coffee pot as a weapon.
“All of you,” he said. “I think it’s time to leave.”
Troy, sporting a look of astonishment, was clearly torn with indecision. A coward at heart, he flicked his eyes back and forth between Neil and his injured friends.
Somehow, I found my voice.
“It’s over, Barry. It has been for a long time. You should never have come here.”
Barry glowered. “Oh, I’ll be back. Just you count on it, bitch.”
Nursing his blistered wrists, he backed out the door, Troy and Frank following in his wake.
Watching my three assailants stagger out of the parking lot and make their way down the street, I became aware that Neil was staring at me. As if realizing only then he still had the empty coffee container in his shaking hand, he placed it on the counter with exaggerated care.
My heart was pounding from the altercation, and I wanted nothing more than to run into the back office, lock the door, and cry. But I didn’t want Neil to see me in that kind of condition, so I forced myself to smile as if I wasn’t on the edge of losing it.
“Thank you. I probably could have handled it myself. But, thank you…”
Neil let out his breath as if he’d been holding it for a very long time.
“Yeah, sure. No problem.” He regarded me with a hesitant expression on his face, and then cleared his throat.
“What?” I asked.
“So,” he said casually. “You got a pack of matches and some lighter fluid behind the counter there?”
I could feel my face flush, and pretended to be interested in a coffee-stained receipt. With a shrug, I stammered out an explanation. “Uh, no. I don’t know how that happened. Maybe he had a cigarette butt in his sleeve or something that just finally ignited.”
Lame.
Neil opened his mouth to say something, but then reconsidered. He gestured to the telephone on the counter.
“You going to call the cops and report him? I can witness.”
“Wouldn’t do any good. Frank was right.”
“Oh?”
“Sheriff Burke is Barry’s father. If I called this in, the sheriff would be more likely to arrest me rather than Barry.”
Neil gave me a puzzled look.
“It’s a long story,” I told him. “I’m just sorry you had to see that. Some welcome to Middleton, huh?”
“Right.” He let out a dry laugh, then looked at me in concern. “Do you want me to hang out a bit, just in case they come back?”
“I wouldn’t worry about it. Barry’s a classic bully if you ever saw one. If it looks like he’s outgunned, he’ll run. He might come back, but it won’t be tonight.”
“You sure?” he asked.
“Yeah. You go on, get yourself settled. I’m about to lock up in a few minutes anyway.”
“All right, but I’m a light sleeper. If y
ou need me—”
I waved him off. “I can handle it. But thanks. Hey, listen, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about anything that was said here.”
“You mean about … your parents?”
“It was an accident.” I sighed. “It was a long time ago. I was just a kid.” I squeezed my eyes together to stop the tears.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“It’s a very personal story, but if you’re going to be moving to Middleton, I’d rather you heard the truth than rumor.” I couldn’t believe how bold I was being. I could feel my face flush a deep scarlet as I said, “Maybe I can buy you a real cup of coffee sometime and tell you about it.”
Neil gave me a wide grin. “No problem. Sounds good.”
He took a step toward the door and turned on his heel.“Who is this Barry character, anyway, other than the sheriff’s son?”
Why did everyone always have to see me at my worst, and why did all my deepest regrets have to be out on display for everyone to gawk at? How could I expect to start my life over if everyone kept dredging up my past?
Reluctantly, I told him: “He’s my ex-husband.”
Chapter Eight
I was plagued with dreams of fire and destruction. The nightmare was the same, but this time I could not wake from it.
I tossed and turned, kicked the sheets off me, and moaned. My skin was hot and feverish. I clutched at my chest.
“No!”
There was a sound like logs cracking in a bonfire, and the glass on my nightstand shattered into a thousand pieces, splashing me with cold water. The shock woke me and I jerked to a sitting position.
“It was an accident.” I breathed the words without realizing I said them.
It took me a moment to orient myself, wondering why my sheets were wet, and I couldn’t wrap my mind around the fact that someone was knocking impatiently on my door. A sliver of light penetrated through the drawn curtains of my room. A glance at my alarm clock told me it was still quite early in the morning.
The knocking at the door persisted, so I swung my legs out of the bed and fumbled for my jeans and shirt.
“What?” I barked.
The only reply was another demanding thump.
“Fine! I’m coming. Just hold your horses.”
Realizing I had put my shirt on backwards, I twisted it around and slid my arms back through the sleeves. I didn’t bother with socks or shoes, and padded barefoot to the door.
My stomach did a lazy flip-flop when I put one eye to the peep hole and saw Sheriff Burke.
“Shit.”
This was not going to be pleasant. I slapped the deadbolt back, cracked open the door and poked my head out.
“Darcy Anderson,” said Sheriff Burke, puffing his chest out and giving me a stern disapproving eye. He stood in front of his car, hands on hips and feet planted shoulder-width apart. His uniform was one size too small and his hat was one size too big. If I wasn’t so nervous, I would have laughed.
“I need to have a word with you,” he said, and I could hear the venom in his voice.
“Sheriff?” I stepped outside my room, letting the door close behind me. The boards of the walkway were cold on my feet. “What’s this about?”
I knew damned well what it was about, but ten years’ experience with prison guards and their leading questions had taught me that feigning ignorance was the best defense.
“What’s this about?” he parroted. “Well, for starters, how about not coming by the station upon arrival in Middleton to check in? I received a very unpleasant phone call this morning wondering why I hadn’t filed my location report on you yet. I have to find out you’re back in town from some ass-jerk bureaucrat in Phoenix. You know how that made me look? I have half a mind to place you under arrest for parole violation and send you back for another ten years.”
I had to bite my tongue. “Sorry, Sheriff. I guess it sort of slipped my mind.”
“And secondly,” he continued, working himself up into a good rant. “I just spent the last half an hour listening to Frank Simmons tell me how you threw a pot of hot coffee in his face for no good reason.”
“No reason?” I fumed. “Let me tell you—”
He waved a hand to shut me up. “I ain’t interested in your lies. You’re on thin ice as it is. The only reason you’re not in lock-up right now is Frank and that half-wit Troy couldn’t get their stories straight.”
“I didn’t throw any coffee at anyone.”
“I said I don’t care.” He glared at me a moment longer to make sure I wasn’t going to talk back. I pressed my lips together tight.
He pointed toward town. “All I care about is that you march your skinny little butt into my office no later than three o’clock today and fill out those damned location papers, or I swear by all that’s holy you’ll spend the rest of your miserable life behind bars where you belong.”
I took a deep breath. I’d always known I would have to face Barry and his father at some point. If I couldn’t control my emotions now, I never would, and I might as well pack my things and skip town. There would be no chance of rebuilding my life; I would forever be running from my past and myself.
I am in control.
At that moment, someone cleared their throat, and Uncle Edward stepped out of the maintenance room and leveled his not inconsiderable gaze at Sheriff Burke.
“Edward.” Sheriff Burke’s eyes flicked back and forth between my uncle and me. “I didn’t see you there.”
“Excuse me, Martin. I may not know much about the law, but I do know about lines.”
“Lines?” The sheriff shifted his eyes to me and then back to my uncle.
Uncle Edward growled. “Yeah, like the one you’re crossing right now.”
“Oh,” the sheriff stammered. “I think you’ve got the wrong idea.”
“Do I?” Uncle Edward asked in a drawl.
In an attempt to maintain his dignity, Sheriff Burke inhaled deeply and affected an affable smile. “Of course! I just stopped by to check in with your niece. It’s my job, you know.”
“I know why you stopped by. Does it make you feel like a big man to push around a girl?”
“Now, listen here!” Sheriff Burke protested.
“If you want to blame someone for not following every letter of your law, then you go ahead and blame me.”
The sheriff looked like he was about to speak, but Uncle Edward put up a hand.
“I kept Darcy too busy the last couple of days working the motel. But I’ll personally make sure we stop by the station later today to fill out your precious little forms. How does that sound?”
There was a history between the two men that stretched back a lot further than when Sheriff Burke was my father-in-law. I had never gotten the whole story, and anytime I fished for a hint from my mother why the two bristled whenever they were in sight of one another, I was shushed and shooed away like a bothersome fly.
As if sensing that to continue pressing his point was not going to result in any positive outcome, Sheriff Burke backed down. “Well, just see that you do. I’ll be waiting.”
“Fine. You’d best be moving on, now.” Uncle Edward folded his arms over his chest.
Indignant, Sheriff Burke pointed a finger at me. “Thin ice.”
With a last glare at Uncle Edward, the sheriff turned on his heel and retreated to his squad car. He peeled out of the parking lot, sending up a shower of gravel behind him.
When the dust finally settled, Uncle Edward was still watching the road.“God-damned bully. Never could stomach the little weasel. Especially when he was family.”
“Uncle Edward, thank you.” There was sincerity in my voice, and that shocked me. I had long since come to the conclusion that the only person I could ever count on in this life was myself. Now, though, someone had stood up for me. It was incredibly comforting to know that, when push came to shove, there was someone at your back.
Uncle Edward growled deep in his throat. “Thank me for what? I
can’t have some busybody just come around here whenever they want and disrupt my employees. So just you never mind about it.”
He took two steps away in a huff, but then paused. “I heard the last part of what Martin said. Barry and his friends showed up last night, did they?”
“I can handle Barry,” I said, and I meant it.
“Maybe you can, but you don’t have to handle him by yourself. If he comes ’round again, you give me a holler and I’ll put a load of buckshot in that fat ass of his.”
With that, Uncle Edward stalked off, and when I called out another thank you after him, his only acknowledgement was a slight tilting of his head.
I watched him disappear into the main office without once looking back at me.
Definitely, a tough nut to crack.
Chapter Nine
I slinked into the Finer Diner, trying to make myself as inconspicuous as I could, and gasped. I would have turned and run right then, except someone else was entering right behind me and blocked my way.
The place was packed. Indistinguishable table talk, shouted orders from the servers to the cooks, the clanking of dishes, the sizzling of food on hot grills, and the cash register ringing all combined in a loud symphony of noise I had not expected.
I took a step forward to allow the couple behind me inside, and then tried to make good my escape.
A sharp voice pierced the babble.
Standing in the aisle a few tables down, a slender woman my age with jet black hair cut in a bob and dressed impeccably in a pantsuit pointed a well-manicured finger at me.
Everyone in the diner stopped their conversations and turned in my direction as Beth Longson hollered at me.
“Darcy Anderson, you unbelievable bitch!”
* * *
After the fire that killed my parents, Middleton had become a media circus for a while. The story even made the national news.‘Local woman kills parents in fiery blaze while they sleep.’Reporters from both Flagstaff and Phoenix swarmed into our small town, interviewing locals and business owners to get their take on what happened.
‘Mentally unstable’, ‘pyromaniac’, ‘murderess’.
I’d been pretty much called them all. Speculation on why I had done it ran to all extremes: greed, wanting to collect insurance money; revenge for abuse; sociopathic tendencies finally manifesting. The list was endless.
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