I twist around to face her. There’s fear in her eyes, but still she holds me. “No, I want to. It was my back. Felt like I got shot all of a sudden. Maybe the meds are wearing off or you just leaned on me funny. It’s better now.”
Joy nods, but looks close to tears. I feel a slight tremble in her hand as it rests on my shoulder. I touch her chin and smile. “Whatever you think we should do, I’ll do. This is a new beginning for us. All of us, Aza included.”
“Really?”
“Yes,” I say, sealing the promise with a kiss.
She resists at first, for just a fraction of a moment, but then presses back against me and parts her lips.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“I don’t think I can do this,” I say.
“Sure you can,” Joy says.
She’s been holding my hand the entire time we’ve been waiting in the “green room.” It’s not even green, just a stale shade of tan. Like wet sand.
“Aza, you’re making me dizzy,” I say weakly, trying to will my body to cease shaking and sweating.
Aza stops spinning, lets her satin dress fall still, and pouts. She stares at me a moment, but doesn’t say anything. Instead, she sits down on the coffee table and grabs a handful of candy out of a crystal dish.
Joy looks at Aza, half opens her mouth to say something, then turns back to me. “I know this isn’t your thing, but isn’t it cool that people want to hear your story? Our story. It’s a bit of a rush, yeah?”
“We’re nobodies,” I say, shaking my head.
“Exactly, but we’re still here. All-expense paid trip to the city. I still can’t get over how nice the hotel room is. And the car that drove us here…”
I bury my face in my hands. I hardly remember the days between Gwen Mercy’s arrival and now. Everything is a blur. There are flashes of Joy and I, wrapped up in each other’s arms. It’s just enough to keep me from screaming.
“Just think,” Joy says, leaning into me, resting her head on my shoulder. “We sit and chat for a few minutes and then we have the rest of the week to relax, see the city, enjoy a king-sized bed with silk sheets. Mmm.”
I flinch and jump to my feet.
“Did I say something wrong?” Joy asks.
I turn my back on her and lean against the wall, face first. I try desperately to hold on to the feeling of what Joy and I are now. Whole. Blissful. At first, it was easy, falling into bed with her, back into love with her. But it’s getting harder and harder to ignore what I’ve seen. What I’ve heard.
Forehead pressed against the wall, I stare at my hands. The skin is smooth and pink, a permanent reminder of what I did. More haunting than that is the understanding that I wanted to do it. Still want to do it on some level.
Aza’s head pokes into view. She grabs my hands. “Ouch,” she says. “Hot.”
Click.
I spin away from Aza and stare at nothing. I feel Joy’s hands on my arms, on my shoulders, against my cheeks. Her lips press into mine and I feel her tear the breath from my lungs, taking with it the tremors and faint scent of smoke.
When she pulls back, I am whole again.
“It’s going to be fine,” Joy says. “Little talk, then vacation. We deserve that.”
I nod. “You’re right. Sorry, I just hate the idea of all those people watching me talk.”
“I know, but we were given the questions ahead of time. It’s all pretty basic. They just want to hear what drives a hero like you to leap into a burning building.”
I nod again. I’ve already memorized the questions and succinct answers to each as best as I can.
“I know why he did it,” Aza says.
My blood runs cold, but Joy keeps me centered.
“Because he loves us,” Aza says. She begins dancing about and making kissing faces at me.
Joy laughs.
The door opens and a bearded assistant steps in. “We’re ready for you,” he says.
Joy looks at me, conveying an endless stream of support with a single expression and half-smile. “Ready?” she asks.
“Yes,” I lie.
Grace McCall, host of The Hope Hour, wastes no time launching into the interview the moment I sit down. I don’t even hear the first question until Joy elbows me. The studio audience laughs.
“I’ll repeat the question,” Grace says, looking down her nose at me. She’s wiry and fierce, no doubt used to getting her way without rebuttal. “Walk us through what happened that night.”
My eyes jump around the stage, an oasis of fine furniture in the midst of a warehouse of gray steel and underpaid millennials. A trio of cameras line the stage edge, another glides back and forth along a track near a false ceiling.
“Is this live?” I ask.
“No,” Grace answers curtly. “And thank God for that. Now, I was told you adequately prepared for the process.”
“Oh, we did,” Joy says. “We’re all just a bit nervous. This is a little outside our comfort zone.”
I smile weakly at Joy, silently thanking her for speaking up as I work saliva back into my mouth. Even Aza is quiet, though she’s fidgety, and her eyes are jumping all over the place.
I shift in the starched armchair I’ve been seated in and clear my throat. “Uh, sorry. Well, I came home that night and saw our house, well, burning and—”
“If I might interrupt you for a moment,” Grace says. “This was early in the morning, correct? So much so that one would even still call it night?”
“Uh, yeah, I guess. The sun wasn’t quite up yet if that’s what you mean.”
“I see. And you work the night shift?” Grace’s eyes seem to be staring through me. I suppress the urge to look behind me.
“No, I don’t…work at all right now.”
Groans flutter through the crowd. I turn to look and catch sight of a towering clock set against the temporary wall behind the tiered seats. I can’t fathom the need for such a thing. It’s an eyesore at best.
“My husband is between jobs at the moment,” Joy says. “And it’s a big reason he was in a position to save us. Had he been home in bed—”
“Is it often that your husband spends nights away from home?” Grace asks.
“Hey, that wasn’t on the list of questions I was given ahead of time,” I say, feeling a cold confidence grow.
“Oh, so you did prepare, after all,” Grace replies without an ounce of emotion showing in her frigid features. “That was merely a guideline, a rough idea of where things might go. Often, I find new and more exciting lines of inquiry once I’m face-to-face with a guest. Don’t worry, most of what is said will be edited out. I’m just trying to cover enough to make an interesting piece in the end.”
Joy shoots me a look, but I can’t read it. I hear Aza whispering, likely to herself, but I can’t make out the words. And I can’t stop shooting glances at the world’s most out-of-place clock. Its second hand is the size of a sword and growing louder with each breath.
Tick.
I turn back to Grace. “No, not common at all. I just happened to be out that night, celebrating with a friend.” I speak with such force that Grace flinches for just a moment.
“Celebrating?” she asks.
I feel Joy looking at me. I know what she’s thinking. She’s trying to decide if I’m telling the truth or not and whether she wants to hear it if I am.
“His celebration, not mine. Anyway, I came home an hour or so before dawn. As I was getting out of my car, I smelled smoke, and then the whole first floor erupted in flames.”
“I see,” Grace says. “So, you smelled smoke and then the house caught fire?”
“No,” I say quickly. “I mean, it all happened so quickly.”
“So, you arrived home at precisely the moment the fire started?”
The audience falls deathly silent. I shoot a quick look at Joy. She looks sick. Aza is still mumbling. I don’t know what she’s saying, but it sounds vaguely familiar and I can’t help but think it’s directed at me.
“No, well, I don’t know. Like I said, it all happened so quickly. The fire could have already been going and I smelled the smoke from it before it really got going.”
“And Joy,” Grace says, quickly shifting to my wife, who sits on the other side of Aza, too far to grab my hand and keep me grounded. “You were in bed, asleep?”
“Yes,” Joy says, gathering herself, ever the professional. “The fire alarm at the top of the stairs woke me. I got up and went to get Aza. But by then the upstairs was full of smoke. I could tell Aza was having a hard time breathing. I tried to keep us low, close to the ground…”
“And that’s when your husband valiantly appeared to save you?” Grace asks, one eyebrow raised.
Tick. Tick.
I look away from the giant clock to glare at Grace. “Yes, that’s what happened. I came in, found them in the hallway upstairs. The fire on the first floor was too intense. We couldn’t go back that way, so I did the only thing I could think of.”
“You jumped out of a second-story window, protecting your wife and child with your body and what could have been your life,” Grace says.
The audience claps. It’s enough to drown out the sound of the clock, but not enough to make me feel as if it’s stopped.
“That is quite a story,” Grace says once the audience settles down. “Truly remarkable what your family has been through. Now, if I may, I’d like to speak with Aza.”
Aza stops whispering and sits forward in her seat.
“Aza, what do you think of what your father did?” Grace asks, a thin smile hiding something darker.
“He’s a hero!” Aza shouts.
The audience coos and I smile.
“It was very fortunate that your father got home at just the right time to save you and your mom, isn’t it?”
Tick. My smile melts.
“We already went over this,” Joy says.
“Of course,” Grace says. “I am merely trying to bring to light the fortunate circumstances of what occurred. Your family is truly blessed.”
Joy clenches her jaw. There’s a cold glint in her eyes, but she turns away and pats Aza on the leg. “Good job, Aza,” she whispers.
“Now, while your story of rescue and survival is remarkable, the incident itself is quite the opposite. For someone to set fire to a house inhabited by such a sweet family—”
“No one set our house on fire,” I blurt out. I smell smoke now and just a hint of gasoline.
Joy shifts in her seat. I look at her, but she quickly looks away.
“It is my understanding that the fire is under investigation due to suspicious circumstances,” Grace says, nonplussed. “Suspected arson.”
Tick. Tick.
“No, it was an accident. Happens all the time. Maybe bad wiring or something. Maybe dryer lint. I haven’t given it much thought, but…”
Joy reaches across Aza and grabs my arm, silencing me. She still won’t meet my gaze.
“Interesting,” Grace muses. “Well, I imagine with what you have been through, it must have just slipped your mind.”
“It’s my fault,” Joy says. “He saved us and could have died. I didn’t think it important to worry about that yet.”
“Someone burned down our home on purpose?” I shout, coming to my feet. For a moment, I actually believe that it was someone else, but the scent of smoke reminds me.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
“Are you all right?” Grace asks.
I’m on my knees, but can’t remember falling. Joy and Aza are at my sides, leaning in close, sheltering me.
“The fire is under investigation?” I ask.
“I didn’t want to worry you while you were recovering. What does it matter? We’re alive, that’s the important part.”
I shake my head and climb to my feet, unstable in every sense of the word. “What if they come after you—us—again?”
“Is that a concern of yours?” Grace asks from her chair. “Are you worried that someone may want to kill your family?”
“No,” I say, stepping toward her. It’s so quiet in the studio that the sound of the clock is like thunder.
“You said you arrived home just as the house began burning. I would think you’d have seen the someone who caused this tragedy. Did you see who set fire to your house?”
Click.
My vision flickers for a moment, like someone is jimmying the light switch. It’s lightning to the clock’s thunder. “You fucking bitch,” I say. My skin crawls and my mouth tastes like cinders.
“Whoa,” Joy says, stepping in front of me, trying to direct me away from Grace McCall, high queen of shit.
“How dare you bring us here just so you can talk down to us?” I snarl over Joy’s shoulder. I want to watch Grace burn, flames licking up her legs, searing flesh, crumbling bone. “You know nothing!”
Hands stronger than Joy’s grab hold of me. I don’t fight them as I’m dragged off the stage. I hear Joy apologizing for me. I hear Aza laughing. And above all, I hear the sound of raging flames.
Released backstage, I collapse on my hands and knees and vomit.
“Eww, gross, Dad,” Aza says from nearby.
I cough and wipe my mouth on my sleeve. My eyes burn and my muscles are still twitching.
“You all right?” Joy asks. She’s standing at my side, scowling.
“Fine,” I say, fighting to speak through clenched teeth.
“Good. So, what was that all about?” Joy asks.
I flinch. It’s the first time I’ve heard her speak to me like this since the fire. I thought I had burned away that part of her. Has the last week just been a brief reprieve?
“You heard her,” I say. “Those weren’t the questions she was supposed to ask. It’s like she thought I had something to do with the fire.”
“She was just digging for drama. That’s how all these stupid shows are,” Joy says. “But you didn’t need to go off on her like that. It’ll be great for their ratings, I’m sure. Not so great for us, though.”
I shake my head, trying to piece together recent events. I still hear the faint tick of the clock. I feel the heat of flames against my face. I wipe sweat from my brow and stand shakily to my feet.
“When were you going to tell me that the fire is under criminal investigation? That someone burned our house down on purpose?”
There’s a tremble in Joy’s lower lip, a half snarl with the upper. She’s fighting hard to keep her composure. Aza being nearby is likely the only thing preventing Joy from attacking me outright.
“It’s not a big deal,” Joy says. “They have to investigate every house fire, to figure out what caused it. I didn’t know arson was suspected until right before we left for the city.”
“It is a big deal, Joy,” I shout. “I think I should know that someone set fire to our home while we were still inside.”
“You weren’t,” Joy says.
“What?”
“You weren’t inside when it started. You weren’t home.”
Tick.
I scratch at my ear, hoping to dig free the infernal chattering of the unseen clock. I don’t know how no one else is bothered by it.
“What the fuck are you trying to say, Joy?”
“Ha!” Aza shouts.
Joy steps close to me, turning her head away from Aza. “Don’t you dare do this in front of Aza.”
I look in her eyes. She stares back, daring me to speak.
I don’t give her the satisfaction. Instead, I head for the nearest exit, kick it open, and stalk into the alley behind the studio.
I sit on a discarded studio camera and bury my face in my hands. Why am I surprised the fire is being looked at? And, of course, it’s obviously arson. I must have dumped a tank’s worth of gasoline throughout the first floor. I can’t remember taking any precautions to hide my involvement. In fact, I remember very little of the night beyond the fire itself.
All I know is that if I’m found out I will lose what the fire gave me.
The
exit door opens and Joy steps out into the alley, closely followed by Aza. I don’t look up, but I see their feet in my periphery as I stare at the pavement between mine.
They don’t move or say anything for several moments.
Joy sighs and walks toward me. She sits down next to me. Aza walks right up to me and pushes on my forehead until I sit up. She nods and sits on my lap.
“I can’t remember the last time you sat on my lap,” I say. The scent of fire has faded, the tick of the clock a distant memory. I just need to keep my family close. They’re my antidote.
“Because I never have,” Aza says. “Now shush, Mom wants to talk to you.”
“Oh?” I say, turning toward Joy.
Aza slaps her hand over my mouth and wags a finger.
Joy looks at me, smiling softly despite a heavy crease in her brow.
Aza isn’t letting me speak, so I cock my head to the side and raise my eyebrows.
Joy shakes her head and wraps an arm around my back. She slides her other around the front, encapsulating Aza as well. Aza protests, but I grab her and pull her tight against me. Just a moment before, I felt like dying, but now…
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“It’s not your fault,” Joy says.
We sit in silence. Even Aza stops squirming and settles down. The air in the alley is stale, but it matters little. Joy and Aza are with me. We are closer and stronger than ever before.
My cell phone rings, snapping the precious moment.
“For fuck’s sake!” Aza shouts, jumping off my lap.
“Aza!” Joy scolds.
“What? It wasn’t me. It was Dad.”
“Sorry,” I say as I pull my phone out.
I expect it to be Ty and my pulse quickens with the thought of him spoiling things. But it’s a number I don’t recognize. I shrug an apology at Joy and answer.
A gruff voice introduces himself as the detective in charge of investigating the cause of the fire. He has to repeat himself three times before I formulate a response. I don’t catch his name.
“Uh, yes, what can I do for you?” I ask. Joy gives me a concerned look.
“I’d like you to come down to the precinct as I have a few questions regarding the fire at your home.”
House of Sand: A Dark Psychological Thriller Page 10