Arson (16 page)

 

Chapter 29

 

 

ARSON'S EARS BOOMED AS he sank into the lake, waiting for the currents of sorrow to pull him down.

He listened for anything other than the screams, something quieter than the mayhem of an exploding mistake. Under water, he could see Emery's face. It waved and floated away with the tide. He screamed, but the drone of boats cutting through the water stole away the lake's sympathy. Air bubbles popped in and out of his nose, his face a red balloon filled with turmoil.

His eyes burned; everything burned.

 

* * *

 

Emery looked out over the lake and the body that lay within it. It was like déjà vu. Just a few weeks ago she had been here, standing in the same spot, fearing for the life of a complete stranger. What did he find underneath that dark blue current? Was it peace? Or hope?

She watched him diligently. Any minute now he'd come back, right? There wasn't a chance she was diving in after him, not this time. She just stared. Emery didn't even know she was studying the shape of his back while she did it or the undersized muscles that formed the lower half of his triceps, that little bit of ash occupying the flesh of his elbow. She folded her arms, unable to look away as his moppy hair lapped the water slowly. She reminded herself not to panic.

“What are you, part fish?” Emery mumbled to herself.

Enough. She had to talk to him. She huffed, untied one of her shoes, and threw it at his back. The body suddenly jerked. She imagined the expanding and collapsing of Arson's lungs while he wiped his face and pulled himself up onto the dock.

“Is this yours?” Arson asked, tossing her the beat-up sneaker.

She shrugged and placed it back on her foot. Not a gasp, not even a look in her direction. Was she that hideous that he couldn't even glance at her for a moment? Emery ignored the wet and squishy feeling that slipped around between her toes.

“What do you want?” he said, barely audible.

“Do I need an excuse to come by and see you?”

He told her he didn't want to talk, but that wasn't a good enough reason for her to quit. She wondered if he'd actually practiced such a dark, reclusive stare.

“Was last night a mistake?” she asked after a short pause.

Arson chewed his lip.

“I mean, you tell me I'm beautiful, and then you just run away. Are you trying to hurt me? I was vulnerable, Arson, and you took advantage of that.”

“No, I didn't. I mean, I didn't mean to.”

“Try to understand. Underneath this mask, I'm safe, and I don't have to worry about jerks like you running away in the middle of a conversation. I feel like it was a mistake letting you see me like that.”

“I'm sorry.” His eyes were far from hers.

“You can only say it so many times before it loses meaning, Arson.”

Drops of water slid from one side of his face to the other. Dragging his unclipped fingernails across random spots of facial hair, Arson squinted from the sunlight and started walking toward the cabin. “I can't do this right now,” he said from a distance. “I'm sorry. I just can't.”

 

* * *

 

Emery didn't move for half an hour. She cried, though more out of frustration than a crushed ego. She'd had a lot of practice getting treated badly, people looking down on her, if they bothered to look at her at all. But it was different when Arson did it.

Cracking her knuckles seemed to alleviate some of the tension building up inside her. But once that ran its course, she remembered she hadn't yet tied her shoe. The sudden distraction of tying a shoelace seemed to make a lot of sense at the moment. Memories flashed back of when she was six and finally mastered such a simplistic art form. What a marvel it had been back then. How pathetic it seemed now, when everything she had ever wanted was about to slip right through her fingers.

Emery checked her pulse. “I'm still alive.” She breathed, almost reluctantly. Marching up to Arson's doorstep and telling him off seemed impossible. 
Don't be a baby
, she thought. 
Just walk up to him and demand some answers. This world's too small for two weirdos
. She took a step toward the cabin.

What if he says he never wants to see me again
? Frozen in place. After a second to think about it, she said aloud, “No, that's not gonna happen. Pull yourself together, Emery.”

A drop of relief came. Or maybe that was a little bit of sweat sticking to the hair on the back of her neck. Anxious, she took another step. She was a goner; she was sure of it. For a moment, she started walking the other way but suddenly redirected herself once more toward Arson's front door.

Taking a deep breath, she rushed up the porch and knocked. “Arson, I know you're in there. I haven't moved from your lawn for the last half hour. That may sound sketchy, but I need some answers. Why won't you talk to me?”

Footsteps approached. Suddenly, a thousand wilting flowers began to bloom inside of her. Then an old woman opened the door.

“Henry's dead,” the old woman said. There was a brief pause. “Who the devil are you?”

“Um,” Emery began, startled by the naked old woman in front of her. “I'm looking for Arson. I need to talk to somebody.”

“Then get a shrink. Didn't you hear me? My Henry's dead. Now who are you?”

“My name is Emery Phoenix. I live in that house over there.” She pointed, trying to blot out the image of saggy skin, the wiry gray hair in awkward places. “We've met before. Don't you remember?”

“Oh yeah, the freak with the mask.”

“Grandma!” Arson yelled from the kitchen. “What are you doing?” His shadow rushed toward them.

“Hi,” he mumbled weakly, looking at Emery.

The mask nodded.

“Grandma, please go put some clothes on,” he suggested, trying to cover her up with his body.

Kay formed a smile and began walking away but turned back to say that Henry was dead one last time.

Arson waited for her to disappear behind the staircase. “I told you I can't do this right now.”

“Is she all right?” Emery asked.

Arson sighed and answered after a long moment. “I think it's finally starting to settle in.”

“What?”

He leaned on the door, half his body inside, half outside. “The fact that my grandfather passed away. It's been two years. I guess everybody crashes and burns sometime, right?”

“Whoa. Your grandfather's dead? But she said—”

“It's a coping mechanism. Her mind never really accepted it, I guess. Grandma's been denying the truth for so long. I just couldn't take it anymore. I had to say something.”

“Arson, I'm so sorry.”

“Yeah, well, life happens. Look, Emery, this isn't really a good time.”

“When would it be a good time?”

“I don't know. Never?”

“I know you're avoiding me, but we need to talk. Last night…you just took off. What got into you?”

“As you can see, I've got a lot on my hands. I lost my job, my grandmother is freaking out, and now you. Maybe we shouldn't hang out anymore.”

“Arson, what's wrong with you? I'm sorry for being slightly overbearing. But if you weren't so sensitive, we could talk this out like rational people.” She paced the porch floorboards. “You know, for someone who so desperately wants redemption, you're not very quick to offer it.”

Fear dripped down his spine. “I think it might be better for both of us if you forget you ever knew me.”

“I can't do that. We live next door to each other, for heaven's sake. Besides, you've kind of grown on me.”

Arson's eyes were distant.

“Look at 
me
. Why won't you look at me?” Emery shoved him in the chest. “Am I disgusting? Am I that hideous? You can't even look at me.”

Arson grabbed her by the arm and pulled her close. “You couldn't possibly understand. Every time I look at you, I'm reminded of it. My regret.”

“What are you talking about?”

Arson finally looked deep into her eyes. “Seven years ago, we lived in Cambridge. My friend and I were bored, and we wanted to play a game. He dared me. Emery, it was an accident. I swear we never meant to hurt anyone.”

She listened but was confused.

“I was just a stupid kid who should've kept to himself. I never thought… It was only a game.” He looked out over the lake. The current moved violently. The sky bled gray.

Arson turned around. “It was a firecracker, Emery. I didn't want to do it. It all happened in a blink. I'm there again. I can hear it. I can hear the little girl. You, Emery, it's you. No one was supposed to get hurt. You believe me, right? It was an accident.”

“Arson, I'm confused.”

He locked gazes with her.

“Look, that's terrible what happened. Was the girl okay?”

His eyes were wet, his mouth dry, and his body rigid. “I don't know, you… Wait, what?”

“The girl. What ended up happening to her?”

“Emery, don't you see? I did this to you. Your face. I hurt you, and now I can't bear it. I jump in the lake sometimes to try to forget, try to cope. Hoping that one day I'll find forgiveness somehow for what I've done. What I am.”

Emery whispered something to herself. Looking up at him, she placed her hands inside his. “They're warm,” she said.

He didn't respond.

Touching his chest, she could feel his heart beating. “It's a little crazy inside too, huh? Arson, I'm sorry that you had to suffer that conviction for so many years. It's simply awful what happened to that little girl. But it wasn't me.” A faint smile split her lips. “What happened to me wasn't your fault.”

“Yes it is. I was stupid. I was afraid. I don't deserve to know you. Not after what I've done.”

“Arson, it's not your fault. I'm sorry for the girl in your story, but I swear it isn't me.”

He stepped back.

Emery walked toward the bench at the far end of the porch and sat down. “This is crazy. I never thought I'd have to tell you this. My cousins and I decided to have a bonfire behind my house one night. They were much older than me. My parents went out for the evening; they hadn't been on a date in months.”

Her voice broke into pieces as she tried to laugh. “They left my 
responsible
 cousins in charge. Didn't know there'd be drugs. So Kyle and Tyler invited their girlfriends to the house, and then they got stoned while I tried to amuse myself for three hours. I just wanted s'mores, you know?”

Sobs invaded her thoughts. “They were playing football near the fire. Suddenly, I see Eric rushing for the ball, and in no time he's crashing into me. I couldn't see much of anything except the fire. I remember the way it felt as it burned my skin.”

Arson wasn't sure if words were enough. Thoughts sure weren't. He still couldn't wrap his brain around the idea that when it came to Emery, he was innocent. He wasn't responsible for ruining her life. But he hated seeing her so distraught and torn. He wanted to make it right, fix the broken parts of her if he could. If she'd let him.

“The next thing I know,” Emery continued, “I'm waking up in a hospital bed with bright lights and gauze on my face. After that, it felt better to just keep it all hidden. My parents knew it was an accident, but they were a mess. Never trusted me alone with anybody. Our families became estranged. It's funny. One night can change everything.”

Arson blinked. Suddenly, it was air in his lungs that he was breathing and not regret. He pulled Emery close and held her tightly. He could've held her forever. 

 

Chapter 30

 

 

EMERY HAD NEVER HEARD her mother say the word 
divorce
 before. The word meant an end, a separation, a mistake. It opposed everything they believed, everything she was holding onto. Her mother wanted to end things, wanted something better.

The fights Emery often overheard before bed or the ones her parents tried to keep discreet by passing vindictive glances across a dinner table rarely led to cursing. But the fights were taking on a whole new shape. Nothing said “welcome home” like screaming parents. Every room she walked into told of a fight, betrayed the afternoon's disagreement, spoke of discontent and depleted love.

Emery cradled her head in her hands, waiting for her father to say something bold, something right, anything to calm the situation and make sense of it all. But he didn't.

She counted the minutes, the seconds, the milliseconds. When would it stop? 
Divorce
 kept playing in her mind like a bad recording. Repeat. Stop. Repeat. 
Divorce
. Rewind. Repeat.
Divorce
. It was real.

Emery moseyed up the stairs. She crawled to the corner of her parents' bedroom door, beside the dust collecting on the floor moulding. Emery found a place to listen and to cry.

“Sweetheart, what is so important? I'm trying to talk to you, and all you care about is checking your voicemail. Expecting someone special to call?”

“Don't be ridiculous, Joel,” her mother snarled. “Get away from me. I can't talk to you like this.”

“Can't or won't? Aimee, what's happening?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, what is happening to you, to this family? I make you breakfast, you refuse to eat. I try to spruce up the house, and there's always a reason why you can't help me or a piece of furniture that doesn't quite match the décor you had in mind. It's like we're finding new ways to avoid one another. I want what we had before all of this.”

“Please. What we had before wasn't all that special either.”

“You're like a stranger, Aimee. Can you even remember the last time we were intimate?”

“So that's what this is about?”

“No, that's not what this is about.”

“Yes, it is,” she said. “You're upset because we haven't been intimate enough with each other. How can you expect me to be intimate with someone as selfish or as stubborn as you?”

“Selfish?”

“I'm not some object, Joel, put on this earth to satisfy your every need. I can't help it if I'm not always in the mood.”

“It seems like you haven't been 
in the mood
 for a long time,” he said with air quotations.

“Maybe you're right,” she spat.

“Baby, that's not the point. I love you. All I want is for us to try. Can we talk for five minutes?”

“Talk? You want to control me. I know this game. You want to spy on me in the middle of the night, check my phone calls, my e-mails. Imagine your innocent little wife in some sort of manipulated conspiracy. You're not my father, Joel.”

“I never wanted to be. I love you. Why would I want to control you? I want to be with you, hold you. You're my wife.”

She cringed. “All you do is preach. Don't you see, 
baby
? Your church didn't want to listen to you. They were sick of being lied to. No one likes a hypocrite.”

Joel sank into himself. A look of defeat ran across his face. Brokenness. With a lost stare, he wandered the room. He glanced at the half-painted, naked walls, the nightstand photograph of a happy couple turned on its face, the cardboard boxes they never unpacked, pieces of a past life buried inside.

“I feel like I don't know you anymore,” he said. “I'm lonely when I'm not with you, and even lonelier when I am. Baby, I just want to talk. Let's work this out. I can be better. I can change. We can change.”

“I don't want to listen anymore. For years I've listened, putting up with all your garbage, your lies. Watching you break promise after promise, forcing us to move because you screwed up.”

“Aimee, how did we get here? We're a family. Is it too much for me to ask my wife to stand by me?”

“I was only ever there to absorb the blows. Emery and I are done taking the blame for you. We're drowning, Joel. Can't you see that? This isn't a marriage.”

He gasped. “After everything we've been through, how can you say that?”

“It's 
because
 of everything we've been through that I can say that. You're a better liar than a pastor. A better drunk than a husband. You have loved everyone and everything more than you have loved us. More than you have ever loved me.”

“That's a lie,” he denied emphatically.

“Oh, really?” She rushed to the vanity and opened the top drawer. She pulled out three empty beer bottles. “Found these in your study, along with countless others scattered around this dump.”

“I can explain,” he said, raising his hands.

“Why don't you put it in that sermon you've been working so hard on? You know, the one taking time away from you getting a job. Relive the glory days. Maybe one day, someday, you can lie to another congregation, manipulate them for a while. That's 
if
 they can't smell your breath.”

Emery wanted to grab both of them by the necks and shake them until they loved each other again. She wanted to throw herself in and tell them how stupid and childish they were being, tell her mother how lame she sounded. Scream in the face of that once preacher and let him know that her dreams died too, that this wasn't only about him, and how weak he came across.

But there was no use. Nothing she could do. She decided to go get changed. The pressure inside of her was filled to the breaking point. Any longer and she'd explode. Emery swore under her breath and rubbed her face. Listening to them fight made her body ache, the shrill sound of her mother's voice cutting through her.

“Once a drunk, always a drunk. You know, they say you marry someone just like your father. I guess the world was right. He lied to me too. What's next, Joel? Are you going to start hitting me?”

“I would never hurt you!” he screamed.

“Too late.” She walked around him, one hand on her waist, the other on her hip. “Do you want to know what's happening to this family, Joel? It's dying.”

“I made a mistake! For heaven's sake, can't you forgive me? I've done my best for you and Emery. I've always supported this family.”

She grinned. “Would eating leftover Chinese food in the living room count as your husbandly contribution? What about getting drunk in the middle of the afternoon?”

“You want the truth!” Joel hollered. “I can barely get up in the morning. I go to bed so afraid of waking up because I know that when I do, I'm going to have to face everything. Face you, our daughter, my failures. You think I don't care about this family? You think I don't know how torn apart my life has become? I never wanted to move either. I am afraid, Aimee. Look at me; my hands never stop shaking.”

She ignored him and looked away.

“You can't even look at me. How can you expect me to go on living as if nothing's changed?”

“People get divorced every day.”

“But not us. How many of those people lost their church? How many of them are so consumed with fear that they can't find hope in crawling out of bed in the morning? Tell me how I am supposed to feel, Aimee.”

“Numb,” she whispered under her breath.

“Emery and I are growing further apart. It kills me inside. I can't take this anymore. I'm not invincible! I screwed up, and I'm willing to spend the rest of my life trying to fix it.”

“Joel, you can't fix this. You're a liar and a drunk.”

“No, I'm not,” he replied weakly. “I'm a minister.”

“It's time to wake up. This is reality. You did this, not me. You lost the church; you have the drinking problem.”

“I'm not perfect, baby, but neither are you.” He handed her the cell phone and walked downstairs to his study.

“I think there's a bottle left in the top drawer,” she called down. Aimee dialed a number into the cell phone and put it to her ear and then closed the bedroom door and locked it.