Romeo Fails

by Amy Briant

  “Does anybody else go in there?”

  “No,” she answered, not sure where he was going with this. “Who do you mean—like the cleaning lady? She doesn’t go in there. I keep it locked anyhow when I’m not in there. What with the flammable stuff and the power tools in there, I wouldn’t want any kids to get in, you know?”

  She felt ill as she watched it burn. Her table, her chairs, all her wood and supplies, and most importantly, the tools…all gone. Just like that.

  Luke put his arm around her shoulders again, which she didn’t much care for, but she could tell he was up to something. He was clearly in detective mode. He again turned her so they were facing away from the crowd and spoke quietly, but distinctly, into her ear, giving the appearance of a consoling friend, but in reality, doing his job.

  “It’s too soon to say if it’s arson, but—”

  “Arson?” Dorsey was shocked. “In Romeo Falls? You’ve got to be kidding, Luke! And why would anyone want to burn down our workshop? It’s got to be some kind of an accident, don’t you think? Arson…” She couldn’t believe what he was saying.

  “There’s been a lot of strange things happening in this town lately, Dorsey. You know that as well as I do.”

  She nodded as Luke continued. “The point is, Dorse, if the fire was set on purpose—well, sometimes arsonists like to watch their fires burn.”

  His arm tightened around her as she started to swivel her head around to check out the crowd.

  “Easy, easy. Let’s just casually turn around now and you take a look and see if you notice anybody in particular, okay?”

  He released her and they slowly turned to walk back toward the street. Dorsey tried to look distraught, which wasn’t all that hard, and let her gaze wander over the crowd, which had grown even during the brief time she was talking with Luke. They were all people she knew, people she’d grown up with. Some looked concerned, some were enjoying the spectacle, some were both, but everyone’s expressions more or less matched their characters. Dorsey couldn’t imagine that any of these people—people she’d known all her life—would purposely cause such senseless pain and destruction. Sure, some of them were jerks, but they were her jerks, so to speak. She shook her head at Luke. He’d been checking out the crowd as well.

  “All right,” he said to her. “Let’s try it a different way. Do you see anybody you don’t know?”

  “No,” she replied. “I don’t know everyone by name—some of them are from out in the country or from GC, but the faces all look familiar. They’ve probably all come in the store at some point.”

  Luke tried again. When it came to his job, he was tenacious as hell. “Anything surprising or different or out of place to you? Anybody missing?”

  Dorsey took another look as Goodman came up to her side, his consultation with the fire chief complete. They saw Maggie push her way to the front of the crowd, looking frantic, with Mrs. Bigelow slowly limping up behind her, her progress further hampered by her need to stop and gossip with just about everyone she saw. Maggie spotted her standing there with Luke and Goodman and made a beeline for them, looking mightily relieved.

  Dorsey was still scanning the crowd. Luke watched her keenly, waiting patiently for her answer. The only one missing was…was…Sarah.

  “Sarah!” Dorsey cried out desperately as Maggie ran up to her side. “Mags! Where’s Sarah?”

  “I don’t know,” Maggie told her breathlessly. “Thank God y’all are all right!”

  In typical Mags fashion, she looked around for someone to hug, to share her joy and relief. Seeing that Dorsey was distracted, still searching the faces of the crowd for the one she missed the most—and sensing, perhaps, that she was not quite back on hugging terms with her oldest and best friend—Maggie settled for hugging Goodman, who looked surprised, but not displeased at the attention. He gently patted Maggie’s back with one of his big paws while sharing a bemused look with Luke. Shaw wandered over to their patch of lawn, with Dr. Melba’s hand firmly in his.

  Dorsey stopped scanning the crowd and focused back on Maggie.

  “Mags, where is Sarah?” she asked again. “Is she downtown?”

  “I’m sorry, Dorse, I really don’t know. She was supposed to come downtown with us for the concert, but she got a phone call at the house about an hour ago. Before I knew it, she’d thrown some stuff in her backpack and was taking off in her Bug. She wouldn’t tell me what was going on—just said she’d call me tomorrow or the day after. Although we still can’t find her cell phone—I don’t know where it’s gotten to…” Maggie added the last as an afterthought, her eyes getting big as she took in the full scale of the calamity raging in the Larue’s backyard.

  “Is she coming back?” Dorsey couldn’t stop herself from asking.

  “I don’t know,” Maggie said, shaking her head.

  Luke said, “It could be important, Maggie. Do you have any idea where she went or when she’s coming back?”

  “I’m sorry, Luke, I just don’t know. She took off so quickly, I hardly had time to say goodbye. But I’m sure she’ll call.”

  Dorsey looked at Luke to gauge his reaction at the news that Sarah had taken off. Surely he didn’t think she could be responsible for the fire? Surely…Dorsey looked again at the flames and thought of Sarah with her grandfather’s silver lighter in her hand…and the look on her face when she had left Dorsey’s house the Saturday before…and her words—so cool, so sensible, so fatal—the last time they had spoken at the Bartholomews’ deck. Other words and phrases rang in her head: antidepressants…fragile…strangers are trouble…nothing was happening before she got here… She felt battered by her own confusion. Surely it was a coincidence that Sarah took off right before the fire started? Where had she gone in such a hurry? Without saying goodbye… Dorsey looked at the raging inferno that had once been her refuge and felt like she was going up in flames as well.

  The volunteer firefighters had been gamely battling the blaze for close to half an hour. A major portion of the roof had fallen in, which was a good sign per a passing Arlen Gustafson—it helped to bring the fire under control. It was clear the firefighters now had the upper hand. A cheer went up from the crowd as the chief ordered first one, then another hose to be turned off. The steaming, smoking devastation that had once been a workshop looked like a mini war zone now. The firefighters continued to spray down hot spots and make sure the blaze didn’t flare up again. Arlen had been poking around in the trampled, muddy grass around the workshop, going in wider and wider circles. He stopped now, near the corner of the house, several yards from what had been the doorway to the workshop. He called Luke over for a quick conference, then Luke yelled for Officer Gargoyle who, at Luke’s direction, had been dividing her time between crowd control and taking pictures of the scene with the department’s digital camera. After a few words from her boss, she took some shots of whatever Arlen had found on the ground, then stood guard over it so no one would step on it.

  Luke returned to the Larues. The crowd, which had started to break up when the fire was doused, seemed to re-coalesce as they sensed A Dramatic Development in the offing. Without the Gargoyle to keep them at bay, they were inching closer, forcing the people in the front to within a few feet of where Dorsey, her brothers and Maggie were standing.

  “What did you find, Luke?” someone called out.

  Keeping his voice down, Luke addressed his words to Dorsey, Goodman and Shaw.

  “Looks like one of those wand-style firelighter things, half-melted from the heat. Being around the corner of the house there protected it from totally melting. Maybe somebody dropped it in a panic, running away—people sometimes do that when their fires take off quicker than they expected.”

  The three siblings looked at each other in dismay.

  “You folks have one of those?” Luke asked.

  “No,” Goodman answered, his face grim. “Not that I know of.”

  “Shaw? Dorse?”

  They both shook their heads. Dors
ey added, “No, Luke. We’ve got matches, of course, but no lighter like that. Although we do sell them down at the store.”

  “Sold any lately?”

  Dorsey and Shaw looked at each other. She could tell he remembered the transaction just like she did. She could hear the voice in her head: “What’s up, La Puke?” The nasty voice of Justin Argyle. She could see him stuffing the change and his receipt in the pocket of his dirty denim jacket after he’d paid for the firelighter.

  “What?” Luke and Goodman said the word simultaneously.

  “Justin,” Shaw told them.

  All of them turned to look for the younger Argyle. He’d been near the front of the crowd all along and had been pushed to the very front when the crowd surged forward. He’d been trying to unobtrusively weasel his way back down to the street ever since he saw Arlen find the firelighter, but the densely packed crowd kept him pinned on the lawn. He then tried to slide down the front of the line to a point where he could escape, but Good was too quick for him. For a big man, he was nimble on his feet, as many a former defensive lineman in the county could attest. A few swift steps, then he reached out and grabbed the back collar of Justin’s jacket, almost lifting the smaller man clean off his feet. It would have been an illegal “horse collar” tackle in a game, but no one was calling a penalty on Goodman in this situation. He unceremoniously dragged Justin, who was futilely clawing and kicking in an unsuccessful attempt to break free, back to the spot where Luke and the others waited.

  “Easy there, Good,” Luke told his old friend, but the twinkle in his eye was unmistakable. Goodman reluctantly let go of Justin, but made sure he was still within reach.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Justin angrily demanded, looking furiously around him at the people now encircling him. He looked hostile and irate, but pathetic as well. His hair was a sweaty mess, his face unshaven and his denim jacket as filthy as usual, with a gaping tear in the sleeve of the left forearm.

  “What’s this all about?” he snarled again. “If you think I set that fire, you’re crazy.”

  It wasn’t clear who his comments were directed to, but Dorsey noticed he looked everywhere but at his mother, still doing her duty by the corner of the house standing guard over the half-melted firelighter. Dorsey looked away quickly after catching a glimpse of her white, agonized face. She hadn’t moved from her post, but was straining to see and hear what was going on with her only child.

  Luke stared straight at Justin, who seemed unnerved by his silent, unblinking scrutiny. Luke looked at him without expression, but the contempt in his eyes spoke volumes.

  After a tense moment in which no one spoke, Justin caved first and blustered, “Hey, man, you don’t even know that firelighter’s mine!”

  Luke finally spoke. “What firelighter, Justin?”

  There was a moment of silence as everyone realized the only way Justin could have known about the firelighter—which was out of sight on the ground at his mother’s feet—was if he had seen it before. Justin’s face was as white and twisted as his mother’s as he began some angry retort. But Luke’s words stopped him cold again.

  “Fingerprints oughta settle it.”

  Everyone looked down at Justin’s grimy, but ungloved hands. He jammed them in the pockets of his jacket as if he could hide his guilt that easily.

  Shaw chimed in, “Doesn’t look like you’ve washed that jacket recently, if ever, so I’m guessing the receipt is still in your pocket.” His voice was carefully neutral, but Dorsey could see the gleam in his eyes. Seeing his tormentor finally get his due was sweet indeed. Shaw had turned the other cheek long enough.

  Justin looked at him with hatred, looked at all of them with hatred, but saw no way out. There was nowhere to run. Luke pulled a pair of handcuffs from his belt.

  Mrs. Gargoyle spoke for the first time. “Oh, no, Justin,” she said softly. Despite her size, she looked strangely small in that moment.

  Dorsey had never thought she would feel sorry for Mrs. Gargoyle, but standing there in the yard, with the smoldering ruins of the workshop and the twisted remains of her father’s beloved tools which she’d never be able to replace, all she could feel was sorrow. For herself, for the workshop, for Gargoyle, and most of all, for Sarah and the love she knew she could never replace either. In the smoke and the darkness and the flashing multicolored lights from the emergency vehicles, she finally broke down and cried like a child as Maggie helped her into the house.

  Chapter Sixteen

  She ended up spending the night at the Bigelows. Goodman went back to the store, while Shaw said he would stay at the house, Dr. Melba still stalwartly by his side. Arlen had some of his firefighters stay too, to continue making sure no hot spots flared up overnight. The smell of the smoke and the knowledge of what had been destroyed was too much for Dorsey. She couldn’t stay at the house, not that night. Maggie understood and took her home with her.

  At first, it seemed like neither one knew what to say to the other. A good bottle of wine, which Maggie had hidden in her sock drawer, helped the conversation along. She retrieved it after her mother went to bed, a grumbling Carmichael in her wake. Dorsey and Maggie stayed up till the wee hours, talking and crying and talking some more in the kitchen.

  After her second glass, Maggie said, “I was so shocked when I found out about you and Sarah, Dorse. It was all I could think about. I mean, at first, I thought I was thinking about the two of you, but eventually I realized all I could think about was me—how I felt about it, what my reaction was, what my feelings were. I know this doesn’t mean much, if anything to you, but I prayed about it. A lot, Dorsey. And I spent a lot of hours talking with Pastor Reinhardt. I know Sarah thinks he’s kind of a jackass, but he really helped me to see how selfish I was being. He’s been through a lot with that Mariah, you know. He told me that being the father of a teenager has changed his perspective on a lot of things. Anyhow…what I’m trying to say is, I realized that Sarah is my family and if I love her—and you know how much I’ve adored her, ever since I was a kid—then I have to love who she really is, not who I want her to be. Especially not some juvenile, eight-year-old’s vision of the perfect woman. I was being ridiculous holding her up to some imaginary standard I’d made up myself that had no relation to who she really is. I did some real soul-searching, Dorse, and at the end of that I realized: How can I say I love Sarah and then demand that she deny her very identity? It would be like me having to deny the things that make me who I am. I mean, what if I couldn’t tell anyone I’m a teacher? I love being a teacher, you know that. I’m proud to be a teacher. I can’t imagine having to keep that a secret that I could never tell anyone, not even my own mother.”

  “Or your best friend,” Dorsey murmured, sipping her wine. It was a bottle of the white zinfandel Sarah so loved. Even with the fire, and Maggie’s confession, and everything else, her mind still ached whenever she thought of Sarah, her Sarah. Where was she? Was she coming back? Would she ever see her again? Hold her again? Tell her that she loved her?

  “Exactly!” Maggie said fervently. “When the pastor made me think in those terms, I finally started to realize, just a little bit, what Sarah’s life has been like. What our family has made her life be like.”

  She looked at her lifelong friend with pain and understanding. “And a little bit what your life has been like too, maybe, Dorse. I’m so sorry. I was such a…such a…such an asshole!”

  Dorsey had to smile at such strong language from Maggie, who hardly ever used such words. And certainly not in her mother’s house.

  “It’s all right, Maggie.”

  “No, it’s not! It’s really not. I’m sorry, Dorsey—I feel like I completely screwed things up for you. No, let me finish. I need to say these things. I feel like I finally understand how lonely you must have been all these years, in this town.”

  Dorsey felt like she should be polite and demur, but then thought: Why? Why should I disagree? She’s telling the truth.

 
“If I could never tell anyone I was a teacher, I’d have an awful hole in my life. Or, what if they wouldn’t allow me to teach in Romeo Falls just because I was a woman…or just because I was me…I love this town, but I realize it can be a terrible place as well. I guess I finally figured out that the Romeo Falls I know and love is not the same town you grew up in.”

  They both thought about that for a moment. Dorsey couldn’t help but think about Justin Argyle as well. He too was a product of this town.

  “What I’m trying to say, Dorse, is if you and Sarah found even a little piece of love with each other, then I should be happy for you, not tearing you apart. I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive myself for the way I’ve acted. I’m so, so sorry, Dorse. I was stupid and wrong and I’ve done you an awful misdeed. You, my best friend. I’m so sorry, Dorse.”

  Dorsey reached over and embraced her bawling friend, patting her comfortingly on the back. She appreciated what Maggie was saying, but was also really hoping she was almost done. She’d had about all the drama she could handle for one twenty-four-hour period. But Maggie’s confession and her emotions seemed to be escalating, not diminishing. A small part of Dorsey’s brain wondered if Maggie was enjoying the dramatics, despite the painful subject matter.

  “And the worst part is—” (there’s a worst part? Dorsey thought) Mags was crying so hard now that Dorsey could hardly make out what she was saying. Whatever it was, it came out in almost a wail.

  “What was that, Mags? I can’t understand you.”

  “I (sniff) said…(sniff sniff) I said the worst part is… GOODMAN ASKED ME OUT!”

  Yep, definitely a wail.

  Dorsey sat perplexed. This was certainly a week for the record books. First, Shaw with Dr. Melba and now Goodman had finally stepped up and asked Maggie out.

  “Well…did you say yes?” Dorsey asked her old friend.