Cicada Summer

by Maureen Leurck

  “Well, that’s the most depressing thing I’ve ever heard,” I said quietly. I thought back to the night I spent with Gavin, and how I had to forcibly push Matt’s ghost away, out of the bedroom. Even in the heat of the moment, he still hovered over me.

  “It shouldn’t be. We fought—fight—all the time, but we work at it, and we know we are both in it for the long haul.” She leaned forward. “Besides, fairy tales are boring.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Living in a castle might be fun. Plus, tons of money, a tiara, and a handsome husband? Not the worst thing in the world,” I said with a laugh.

  “Yes, but I know you. You get bored with easy after a while. You’ve always wanted a challenge—just look at that house. Cinderella, I’m afraid you’d steamroll right over Prince Charming.”

  I took a long sip of wine before I said, “Bulldoze, Mom. I’d bulldoze him.”

  * * *

  Two days later, my parents loaded their luggage into their rented sedan, ready to make the two-hour trek to O’Hare airport and return home. My dad had spent the better part of their trip helping me on the house, patching plaster cracks and scraping the woodwork, while my mom took Abby shopping and to lunch, two activities that I was never interested in. Finally, my mom had a girly companion.

  Before they left, my dad kissed me on the cheek and said, “Give ’em hell,” before he scooped up Abby and squeezed.

  “You know I will,” I said. As I hugged my mom good-bye, she whispered, “Stay away from any bulldozers.”

  “Not a chance,” I responded with a smile.

  Later that night, sleep washed over me quickly, and when I woke to the sound of my phone buzzing on my desk across the room, the bedside table light was still on. Fumbling around with the covers, I fell out of bed onto my knee, hard onto the wood floor. I grabbed my bed and hoisted myself up, quickly limping toward the phone. I glanced at the time as I answered it: 4:45 a.m.

  White-hot terror coursed through my body as I saw an unrecognized number. I had had enough of middle-of-the-night phone calls lately.

  “What is it?” I said quickly as I began to walk down the stairs, my hands shaking.

  “You the owner of a house on, uh, Maple Street?” a gruff voice spit out. “You’re listed as the owner of record.”

  “Yes. What’s the problem?” What can possibly be wrong now? I thought.

  “Well, this is Officer Miller with the Lake Geneva Police Department. There’s been a fire at the residence at 4723 Maple Street, and this number is listed as the primary owner’s contact.”

  “A fire?” I started walking quickly down the stairs again, my stomach in knots. “What do you mean?” I gripped the phone with one hand as I grabbed my car keys in the other.

  “You better come down here,” was all he said.

  CHAPTER 31

  Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw when I arrived at the house. Thick black smoke poured out of the second-floor windows, billowing into the night air like the fire was exhaling from the inside. The red and orange from the police cars and fire trucks projected multicolored strobe lights against the newly repaired stucco, and I could see a section of the replaced roof buckling inward from the heat. The roof, which was supposed to protect the house from water, was now succumbing to the fire.

  I ran toward the house, but was stopped by a firefighter who held his arms out. “That’s as close as you’re gonna get,” he said. His face was illuminated against the flashing lights, giving him a strange, demonic quality.

  “But it’s—it’s my house—what’s happening?” I cried out as I gestured toward the house. I didn’t wait for him to answer before I tried to rush toward the door again, but he held up an arm and pushed me back firmly. I leaned against his arm as I felt the breath go out of my lungs, sucked away like a vacuum. “Tell me what’s going on!” I said as my shaking hands went to my mouth.

  “Sorry. Fire started in the attic, we think. At least that’s our best guess right now.” He glanced at the house and frowned. “With these old houses, they usually have old wiring. I’ve seen it a million times. Anything and everything can cause a spark with that old stuff.”

  “I know, but almost all of it has been replaced.” My voice screeched through the air, swept away by the wind and the ash.

  The firefighter shrugged. “It’s just a guess. I’m not really sure what could be the cause. Sometimes these things just happen. We won’t know the details until we get it under control.”

  I sank down on the sidewalk in front of my house, the same sidewalk where I had stood and watched the house lift in the air, and watched as they fought the fire that wanted to destroy everything I had done. A few neighbors came out and gathered on the sidewalk. I heard their condolences and their offers to get me something to eat or drink, but everything seemed underwater, like it was moving through gelatin. I shook my head in refusal of their help, not able to take my eyes off the house as it burned.

  * * *

  Five hours later, the fire hoses were off, and the firefighters were loading back into their trucks in the driveway. A few neighbors still gathered around me on the sidewalk around me, watching the spectacle of the house. My gaze remained on the house, as it had been the whole time, as though I could will it to resist the fire. Yet, black smudges of smoke trailed upward from the upstairs windows, and portions of the roof were burned away. I couldn’t imagine what it looked like inside. There was so much wood, and so much lath and plaster, that the fire would have had perfect conditions to destroy everything in its path. The firefighters had broken most of the restored windows to allow the heat and flames to escape.

  The air was still heavy with smoke, and tiny pieces of ash rained down around me, like a terrible baptism.

  “You the owner?” A police officer with a gray goatee appeared in front of me.

  I nodded mutely as I wiped at my face. I still hoped that I could shut my eyes and reopen them to find it was all a terrible dream, a nightmare that seemed too real.

  “As someone probably already told you, the fire looks like it started in the attic. We still don’t know the cause yet, but it could be faulty electrical wiring. Is all the electrical updated from the knot-and-tube?”

  I nodded. “Yes, it was all done weeks ago.”

  He frowned. “You said there had been water damage?”

  “The roof. It leaked in the storms a couple of weeks ago.”

  “Ah. I would imagine there was moisture still left somewhere and maybe that got into the electrical . . .” He trailed off and pointed to the charred roof. “We’ll have a full report for you, since I’m sure you’ll want to file an insurance claim.” He paused and looked at me critically. “You look a little pale. Do you need something? You need to see a doctor?”

  I shook my head, and he put a hand on my shoulder. “There wasn’t anything you could have done. It was the middle of the night, and no one was here.”

  I glanced over at Elsie’s darkened house, and remembered her promise to watch the house. Of course, that only worked if she was home, and not at the hospital. I knew if she had been home, she would have spotted the fire earlier, and called the police.

  “Who called it in?” I asked.

  The police officer pointed down the block. “Neighbor about seven houses away was sleeping with his window open and thought he smelled smoke. You’re lucky. It could have been worse.”

  The police officer walked away, and I remained staring at the house. Lucky. It could have been worse. I thought those were the worst words in the English language, for they implied that I should be grateful for the horrible situation in front of me. And after all, can’t everything always get worse?

  I tried as hard as I could, but I couldn’t picture the house decorated for Christmas, with the evergreen garlands and red bows strung across the porch. I couldn’t picture the tree in the front window, or the arbor in the back painted a pristine white. I could no longer hear the sounds of the children playing throughout the halls and the neighbors
laughing over cocktails.

  I had lost the image of the house as a home. It seemed as though the fire had destroyed not just the upstairs, but my dream for it, as well.

  And on top of that, to make things worse, I knew that getting historical status to preserve the structure was all but impossible now, due to the extensive damage.

  I put my head down on my forearms and screwed my eyes shut, fighting back the tears that would never stop if I let them fall.

  * * *

  After the firefighters and police had left, I stared at the open front door, and took a step toward it. My foot wobbled in the grass, and I stopped. I couldn’t handle going inside and seeing the damage from the fire. From what I was told, almost all of the upstairs had been touched by the fire. The downstairs, mercifully, was saved, but covered in inches of water that would warp the floors and soak the plaster. Again.

  In a daze, I looked up at the sky and saw the sun had risen high overhead. I looked at my phone and realized that I was supposed to pick up Abby that morning, and I robotically climbed into my car and drove to Matt’s house.

  “What the hell happened to you?” Matt’s eyes were wide with concern as he opened his door. When I wordlessly shrugged and lifted my palms, the terrible explanation escaping me, he gently pulled me inside by my shoulder.

  He shut the door behind me, and I looked down at my ash-stained white tank top and the dirt smudges across my gray sweat shorts. My hands shaking, I tried to brush off the marks, but just made them worse.

  “Alex,” Matt said quietly. “What happened? Are you all right?”

  “There was a fire. At my house on Maple,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. Saying the words out loud didn’t make them more real. If anything, it seemed even more like a dream. My head felt light, like I had drunk the better part of a bottle of wine, yet my feet were heavily planted in his shiny marble foyer.

  “Oh. Oh, no. I’m—shit. I’m so sorry. Is there a lot of damage?” he asked as he rubbed his face. I then noticed that he was wearing his blue Turkey Trot 10K T-shirt. I remembered when he ran that race. It was when he had just started as an associate at the Wynn & Ryan law firm and took up running as a way to relieve stress. It was that or start screaming obscenities in the office. I cheered him on as he reached the finish line, and then we headed to Chuck’s for after-race beers. A couple hours later, tipsy and happy, we sat on the beach in Fontana and sipped smuggled red wine out of a plastic flask and talked about when we might be ready to have a child.

  He always wore the T-shirt to bed, and I realized that he still had stubble covering his face and his feet were bare.

  I glanced at the giant silver and gold clock above the mantle. It was only 6:30 a.m.

  “It’s early. I’m so sorry. I thought it was later. I’ll drive home. I can come back later for Abby,” I said as I turned toward the door, my whole body shaking.

  “Are you crazy? Come sit in the kitchen. Have some coffee and settle down. You shouldn’t be driving anywhere.”

  I followed him into his kitchen, with white cabinets, a gray island, and white and gray quartz countertops. As I sat down at the island underneath a row of Edison lights, I noticed that the countertops had silver flecks in them that reflected the light like diamonds. It all looked shiny and new, a contrast to my dirty and smudged appearance.

  Matt turned and poured me a cup of coffee from a giant, expensive-looking silver coffeemaker that looked like a spaceship. He opened the fridge and put two splashes of heavy cream into the mug and slid it toward me. Then, he poured himself a cup. Black, no sweetener.

  I took a sip, the ease of the routine washing over me. I set my forearms on the cool island and dropped my head.

  “Is it salvageable?” he asked quietly.

  I shrugged, not lifting my head. “Probably. I think. For a price. Always for a price.” I sighed and then sat back, tucking my feet up on the chair, drawing my knees to my chest. “Of course, historical status will be all but impossible, assuming I can even find the money for the repairs.”

  “Insurance?” he said.

  “Sure. There will be insurance money to cover some of it, but I can guarantee it won’t be enough. And, like I said, historical status is . . .” I shook my head, the images of Waterview’s bulldozers threatening from the corner of my mind. I rubbed my face, covering my eyes with my hands.

  I jolted slightly when I felt him put an arm around my shoulders.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said.

  My shoulders stiffened, pulling back at first. Then he said, “Everything will be okay.”

  The same words that had comforted me for years caught me off guard, and I softened like room-temperature butter. I turned slightly toward him, and he wrapped both arms around my shoulders.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said again.

  For what? I wanted to ask. Which part?

  My head rested on his chest, fitting perfectly in the space where it always did. I wanted to tell him that it wasn’t okay. That he always said that, but things didn’t turn out that way.

  Most of all, in that moment, I wanted his words to be true. I wanted him to tell me that again. I wanted to hear him promise.

  “Don’t give up. Everything can be fixed, if you try,” he said, his voice quiet.

  My body shuddered under the weight of his words. Before I could respond, the moment was broken, as we heard a thud from upstairs, and then the rhythmic motion of small, bare feet padding down the stairs. We broke apart, not making eye contact. Not willing to acknowledge that something strange had just happened.

  “Mommy!” Abby came flying into the kitchen, clutching her pink blanket. Her hair was a tangle down her back and she wore a light blue nightgown.

  “Oh, honey.” I scooped her up and held her to my chest, tears falling from my face. I pressed her tiny body to mine.

  “Mommy, that hurts! What are you doing?” She giggled into my shoulder.

  I didn’t answer as I let her go, brushing her sun-streaked hair from her face.

  She looked at me critically. “Why are you all dirty?”

  “Oh, it’s nothing. I was just working at the house,” I said quickly. I couldn’t handle explaining what had happened again, especially not to Abby.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” she said as she rested her head on my shoulder. “I had a dream about you.”

  “What was it about?” I said.

  “It was that I got to live in the house you’re fixing up, like a real princess,” she said.

  My heart caught in my throat as I thought of the fire burning the upstairs and how, likely, no one would be living there.

  “But then a dinosaur came and ate a bunch of McDonald’s and then the house,” she added.

  I laughed and wrapped my arms around her and closed my eyes. They snapped open, though, when I heard another set of footsteps coming down the stairs.

  My stomach dropped as I looked at Matt, and his eyes grew wide before he nervously set his coffee down on the counter and started toward the stairs. He only took one step before Julia appeared in the kitchen. She wore black leggings that came down over her ankles, giving her already long, skinny legs the appearance of a ballet dancer. She also had on a bright pink tank top that fit her like a second skin. I remembered Matt had said she was twenty-eight, but that morning, I could have sworn she was even younger.

  Julia stopped suddenly when she saw me, her hands at her sides as she slowly looked from Matt to me.

  “Good morning,” Matt said quickly as he took a few steps toward her, holding out the cup of coffee that he had poured for himself. She gave him a questioning look, but slowly accepted the cup. “Alex had an issue—a fire—at her renovation project.”

  “A fire? Did it get ruined?” Abby cried out from my lap, her bottom lip turned outward.

  I looked at Matt, a different kind of fire in my eyes, and then forced a smile at Abby. “No, honey. It was just a little problem, but Eddie and I will get it all fixed up.”

  �
��Good,” she said as she relaxed back down and rested her head on my shoulder.

  Sorry, Matt mouthed to me, his shoulders slumped forward. He rubbed his face again, and I realized how old he looked, especially next to Julia. I wondered if he realized how they looked together, how people probably instantly had ideas about why they were together when they saw them. And I couldn’t be sure that all those judgments weren’t correct.

  Julia recovered from her initial shock and set the coffee cup down on the island next to me. “Can we help you with anything?”

  I nodded my head slightly. “I’m going to take Abby home. If you could gather her things, that would be great.”

  She quickly nodded and turned and went back upstairs, but not before she shot Matt a questioning look.

  There was an awkward pause when she left, Matt opening his mouth but no words coming out, and me slowly rubbing Abby’s back, happy to have her, as much of a security blanket as the pink one she held in her hands. I didn’t say anything, either, because I wasn’t sure how to process what had happened between us a few moments ago.

  Sorry, for what? kept running through my head like a mantra.

  Moments later, Julia handed me Abby’s suitcase, and I saw that she had put on makeup and brushed her hair so that it fell in waves around her shoulders. Her lip gloss and blush gave me a strange sense of satisfaction. I obviously looked awful, but the fact that she felt the need in some way to fix herself up, to show me how pretty she was, rang as somewhat pathetic. For the first time, I felt sorry for her.

  “Would you like us to keep Abby for another day? Until you get things together?” she asked.

  I shook my head, the silent daggers of “us” landing heavy against my chest. As Abby and I walked to the front door, Julia added, “I’m so sorry about your house. At least you don’t have to fix it up now, right?”

  I placed a hand on Abby’s shoulder and turned to Julia. “Just the opposite. There’s a lot of damage, but I’m not giving up on it.”

  “Well, I admire your . . . persistence,” she said with a smile, yet stupidity rang in my head. “I would just take the insurance money and run. Find something easier to work on, and cut your losses.”