No Bad Deed

by Heather Chavez

  “Got everything?” Leo and Zoe nodded, but Audrey peeled away from her brother and ran to me, wrapping herself around both my legs.

  “Mommy?”

  “We’ve got to leave, Peanut. Go with your brother.”

  But she buried her face in my stomach and her grasp tightened, her arms twin bands of tape holding me in place. This was it. This was her limit. Apparently, fire be damned, the only way she was leaving was in my arms.

  I handed Leo the dog and scooped up Audrey, tilting my chin toward the door. Zoe nodded, twisted the knob, held her breath, and threw the door open.

  Outside, the tang of gas was stronger. The flames weren’t yet visible, but I knew they were there, waiting to trace the line of gasoline that led to a puddle on the back stoop.

  I yelled for Leo to be careful not to step in it, the sudden vision of burning pajama legs speeding my heart and my step. Not real. But it easily could be. I pushed through it, forcing myself and my family forward.

  We left a wide berth as we approached the front yard, and now we could hear it. A soft crackling, like the snap of small bones. Still no flames. A beast in hiding, but its breath growing thicker in the air.

  When we turned the corner, we finally saw it: a small pile of what might’ve been rags had been set ablaze in front of the house, though the fire was spreading quickly beyond it. I caught the shimmer of gasoline, a pool on the front doorstep identical to the one in back. Then flames leapt into it. Dancing. Bloating. Consuming.

  I placed Audrey on the ground and pulled the extinguisher’s pin, aiming the nozzle toward the house, where fire licked the exterior wall, and squeezed, but the flames reached with gas-soaked tentacles in both directions. I swept the extinguisher from side to side. It was like trying to stanch the flow from an artery with a cotton ball.

  A small crowd had gathered on the sidewalk, most in nightclothes but some already dressed. I ignored them, my finger tight on the trigger until the last of the spray dripped from the nozzle. A neighbor stepped in with a second extinguisher, another with a garden hose.

  Together, we hobbled the fire. Firefighters were on their way. It was probably enough to keep the blaze from spreading. But I wasn’t sure.

  I dropped the now empty extinguisher and walked toward the charred lump that had been the fire’s source. Closer now, I saw it was a pile of clothing. Most had been torched, but a scrap of denim remained recognizable.

  Jeans, the same wash Sam had been wearing the night he had disappeared.

  I knelt down. On the jeans, I smelled no gasoline, and they had been placed apart from the other items. There was no way for me to tell if the jeans really were Sam’s, but the deliberate way they had been staged made me think they were.

  At the least, they were a message. Shaking and reeking of smoke, I had a message of my own I was very eager to deliver.

  32

  I didn’t wait for the firefighters, or the police. After extracting from Zoe an assurance that she and the animals would find someplace safe, someplace I didn’t know about, I gathered the kids and headed to a hotel across town. Not to stay myself, but to meet a man I hadn’t seen in six years.

  On the way, I called Detective Rico. Dawn had just started to reach across the sky with fingers still more gray than blue, but Rico answered on the second ring.

  “Hello?” If not for the moment he took to clear his throat, I wouldn’t have guessed I had interrupted the detective’s sleep.

  “My friend Zoe’s house was set on fire.”

  “Good morning, Cassie.” He coughed, clearing more phlegm. “So it’s a fire today, is it? Everyone okay?”

  “We’re fine.” I gave him the address of Zoe’s townhome. “After our conversation last night, I didn’t want to be accused of keeping anything from you.”

  “No, we wouldn’t want that.” Any trace of sleep had slipped from his voice, that familiar edge back. In the background, I heard the squeak of coils decompressing as he stood from a bed or a couch.

  “Of course there’s no way to tell for certain, but I’m pretty sure Sam’s jeans were left there for me to find. Near a pile of clothing used to start the fire.”

  “I don’t suppose you’re still at the scene?”

  “Not right now, but you know how to reach me.”

  “You’re currently number three in my contacts.” I wasn’t certain he was joking. “Just don’t go changing it again.”

  The way things were going, I couldn’t promise that. “Did you get that video I sent you from the coffee shop?”

  “I did. You got that photo for me?”

  “About that . . . I’m not going to be able to drop it off after all.”

  “Oh?”

  “It’s at Zoe’s house.”

  Though the photo was evidence, and though I hoped the fire hadn’t breached Zoe’s threshold, part of me wanted the photo to burn.

  “I think we need to talk in person.”

  “Probably, but it can’t be now.”

  Somewhere in Rico’s house, a child laughed. I was suddenly jealous, wanting that levity for my own children.

  “Can you drop by the station at nine?” Rico phrased it as a request, but I could tell it wasn’t one.

  “I’ll see you at nine.” If I can make it.

  He picked up on my hesitation. “I really need you to be there, Cassie.” A pause, then, “And bring Leo.”

  I started to ask why he needed to talk to Leo, but Rico cut me off. “Gotta go.” Suddenly distracted. “See you and your son at nine.”

  Intuition told me it wasn’t his family that pulled him away. The detective’s behavior reminded me of Sam’s the morning he’d gotten that call from Brooklyn. I tried not to dwell on how that particular situation had turned out.

  A bank of gray clouds crawled across the sky, and a frigid wind had started to blow. Despite the chill, I stood outside the door to my father’s hotel room, unable to knock.

  “I’m cold,” Audrey said. Still in her pajamas, the jacket I’d grabbed for her was too thin for a November morning. She burrowed into Leo, using him as a windbreak.

  On the way to the hotel, the kids had asked questions about the fire, but they had quickly realized I had no answers. Once at the hotel, I hadn’t been sure whether to leave the kids in the car, unaccompanied and vulnerable, or bring them inside to meet a grandfather Leo barely knew, and Audrey didn’t know at all.

  After a minute’s hesitation, I had decided the greater threat was to their physical rather than emotional well-being, so I had led them up the hotel stairs to the spot we now stood.

  I finally rapped on the door, and it swung open immediately. I stared into the face of my father.

  Red McConnell’s hair had thinned in the past six years, and the crevices under his eyes had grown more pronounced. He moved forward as if to hug me, but something in my face pinned his arms to his sides. He nodded in greeting instead.

  Audrey stepped forward. “You’re my grandpa,” she said. “The other one. Not Daddy’s. His name was Frank, but he’s dead.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “We went to visit him on his farm when I was little. Grandpa Frank grew beans, but he also had chickens. Can I watch your TV?”

  “Of course.”

  Audrey grabbed the remote off the bedside table and jumped up onto the bed, creating a nest for herself out of pillows. Leo dropped himself in a chair, earbuds in, eyes attached to his phone. They both gave the appearance of normal, though I noticed the signs: Audrey’s voice, an octave higher than usual, and Leo’s stare, glazed and distant. They hadn’t cracked, but they were close.

  “I tried calling your cell,” Red said.

  “I have a new number.” I gave it to him, with instructions to call only in emergencies, and even then from a pay phone.

  He raised his eyebrow at that, and I could tell he wanted to ask. I was grateful he didn’t.

  Red watched his grandkids, and I could guess what he was thinking: How much should he say in
front of them? The silence between me and my father grew more awkward the longer we both pondered that question.

  I spoke first. “You didn’t have to come.”

  “You needed me. Where else would I be?”

  I bit my tongue to keep from asking: What about when Audrey needed you?

  He answered the unasked question anyway. “I know there have been times I could’ve done more, and I’m sorry for that. You smell like smoke.”

  “Long story.” I planned on telling him—I’d come primarily to warn him and tell him he was safer at home—but I couldn’t yet find the words. “Did Sue come?”

  “I suppose she might have, if we hadn’t broken up three years ago.” Intended as a joke, the words instead served as a reminder of all the time lost. Even Red couldn’t work up a smile.

  “Seeing anyone new?”

  “Not really.”

  Another pause in the conversation. Mentally, I prepared my best small talk—it’s probably colder here than Arizona, right?—but before I could speak, Red said, “I didn’t fly seven hundred and ninety-eight miles to talk about my failed relationships or the weather.”

  Parents were sometimes telepathic like that.

  “Seven hundred and ninety-eight miles, huh?”

  “I Googled it.”

  For the first time since entering the room—and maybe for hours before that—I smiled. “You would. You probably prepared a speech too.”

  “Wrote it on a napkin on the plane.”

  “Practiced it?”

  “My seatmate pretended to be annoyed, but I think he really developed a secret crush on you.”

  “That must be some speech.”

  “I might’ve also shown him photos.”

  I thought again of the time we had lost. “I’ve changed a lot in the past six years.”

  “Not so much, and the photos were more recent than that.” When I arched my eyebrow in query, Red said, “Sam emailed me photos of you and the kids at the beach last year.”

  Sam had been in contact with my father? Before I could ask him to elaborate, Red asked, “About Sam . . . do they know?” I strained not to look at Audrey and Leo.

  “Some.”

  For most of my childhood, it had been just the two of us. While it felt good to fall back into the familiar rhythms, talk of Sam and his secret conversations with my father sobered me. It reminded me of how I had felt looking into an infant Audrey’s jaundiced face after Red told me he wouldn’t be tested because he hated needles and, besides, Sam or I would probably be a better match anyway.

  “I’m still angry with you.”

  “I know. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be here for you now.”

  I glanced at Audrey in her nest of pillows. “She was really sick.” She had nearly died. But I couldn’t add that last part, especially in light of all that had happened in the past couple of days. It seemed dangerous to release that thought into the universe.

  “If you had been that sick as a baby, I wouldn’t have survived it,” he said. “You’ve always been stronger than me.”

  I didn’t feel particularly strong. I felt as if one misplaced footstep would drive me to my knees. “Apparently, since I don’t mind needles.”

  He winced at the jab. “Fair.”

  “Sam really sent you pictures of me and the kids?”

  “I think since his own parents are gone, he’s more keenly aware of what I gave up and what our distance might cost you.”

  His phrasing surprised me. “What you gave up?”

  Red moved closer but didn’t touch me. “I can say I’m sorry or that I handled it badly, but we both know any apology wouldn’t be enough. What I can do is help you now.”

  “I miss him,” I said, my voice low. “I’ve heard some horrible stuff about him in the past couple of days, but I still miss him.”

  “Whatever you’ve heard isn’t true. Sam is a better father than I’ll ever be, and I’ve never seen a man more in love with his wife.”

  I looked for signs he meant what he said, because I wanted to believe in the Sam he described.

  “So are you going to tell me why the kids are still in their pajamas and you smell like a campfire?”

  I grabbed Red’s hotel key card off the table and led him outside. Once the door was closed, I told him everything. I might have been angry at him but, other than Sam, there was no one I trusted more—which was why his betrayal six years before, and Sam’s now, left me so unsteady.

  After I finished, I said, “I need to find him.”

  “Like the police said, most married men leave voluntarily.” He was quieter now, less on Sam’s side. Understandable.

  “So you believe he was having an affair?”

  “Don’t you?” Though he had been certain of Sam’s fidelity before hearing my story, he had doubts now. “But that doesn’t mean he won’t come back. I know better than most that men can be idiots.”

  “Even if he was cheating, that doesn’t mean he left voluntarily.”

  “In which case, the police are looking for him.”

  “I get the impression that they’re looking less for him than at us as suspects.”

  “If they’re searching for suspects, then that means they think there’s been a crime. They’re not going to ignore that.”

  “I know Sam better than they do.” Did I? My father’s doubt was contagious.

  “I’m sure you do.”

  I couldn’t be certain Red believed what he said, but the words nevertheless gave me comfort.

  “If it had been Sam on the trail that night, he would’ve stepped in too,” I said. “He would’ve gone in with a clearer head than I did, and he would’ve tried to talk it out even though the guy was nuts. But he wouldn’t have hesitated.”

  “I know. Sam’s a great guy.” The admission came grudgingly. I knew firsthand it wasn’t easy to forgive the person who had caused your child pain.

  “That’s not it.” I knew I wasn’t explaining it so Red could understand, so I searched for a memory of Sam that would illustrate my point. I had dozens to pick from, but I chose the day I had realized I loved him. “A few months after Sam and I met, we came across this man and his son at a gas station. The boy must’ve been about eight, and his father pushed him, complained the boy was moving too slowly. Then he punched the boy in the back.

  “I was weighing options—get the gas station attendant, call 911, step in. Though it was only a few seconds before I made the decision to call 911, Sam was already on the ground. He’d been knocked out. He’d stepped in and the father, who outweighed Sam by at least thirty pounds and was obviously more accustomed to using his fists, hadn’t much liked the interference.”

  Remembering Sam like that brought fresh pain.

  “By then, the gas station attendant had come out, the police had been called. I’m not sure what happened to that man, but Sam ended up with a nasty bruise. The first thing he said afterward, ‘Better me than the boy.’”

  “You feel obligated to do right by Sam because he wouldn’t hesitate to do right by you?”

  “Obligated isn’t the word I’d use. And there’s more to it. When Audrey needed a liver, Sam didn’t ask about the risks to him. Not once.” I touched Red’s arm for the first time. I needed him to hear what I was saying. “That’s not a jab at you. That’s just how it went down.

  “Having lived through my teen years, you may think I can be reckless, and maybe I can be. But I think before I act. Sam doesn’t. He believes good people should prevent bad things from happening. Always. A moral obligation, he calls it. In his mind, that’s just the way things are.”

  Red nodded in understanding. “You think this moral obligation may have gotten him hurt.”

  “Yes.”

  “I admire Sam, but I live by a different code, and it has a single imperative: keep you and the kids safe.”

  “Like six years ago?”

  Red’s face went ashen, and I instantly regretted my words. When I had imagined myself a pastr
y chef in middle school, my father had eaten pies made with too much sugar, cookies made with too little, and cakes either charred at the edge or swampy in the middle. Often both. I never did get the hang of it. My father had swallowed every bite. This was a man I should’ve been able to forgive.

  He grabbed my hand and squeezed it. “There’s more to that story, more that I couldn’t tell you then.”

  This surprised me. “Tell me now.”

  “Like I said, my main concern will always be keeping you safe, and distraction can be dangerous.”

  “Go ahead—distract me.”

  “It’s not important, not now.” He shook his head. “You and the kids can stay with me.”

  “We can’t. And it is important. It’s more of a distraction not knowing what the hell you’re talking about.”

  “I know you’re angry, but please—stay with me. Let me help.”

  “You used a credit card, right? Checked in under your own name?” When Red nodded, I continued, “It’s not safe for us here, and isn’t that what you want most—our safety?”

  The words had more bite than I intended.

  “We can find another hotel,” he said.

  “They’ll still keep records.”

  “A seedy one where they don’t ask questions. Or we could go camping somewhere. I bet there are a lot of places to camp around here.”

  As much as I wanted to lean on my father, I couldn’t.

  “You don’t trust me,” he said.

  “I do. As much as I’m able.” Trust had become a fragile commodity in the past couple of days.

  He stepped closer, and I thought he might embrace me. But he only moved closer to whisper, as if his next words might be overheard by someone who intended my family harm. “Where are you going to go?”

  I started to say I didn’t know, but then the idea hit me. “I can’t tell you that,” I said instead. “But thanks for coming. After I find Sam, I’d like to catch up and hear more about why you didn’t want to help save your granddaughter’s life.”

  Red cringed, and I was immediately sorry. “Isn’t it enough to know I had a good reason?”

  “Maybe,” I said. “If you’d offered that explanation six years ago.”