Arson (17 page)

 

Chapter 31

 

 

“MY LIFE IS A living hell,” Emery groaned, rolling the food cart down the hospice hallway. It felt empty. “I can't take it inside that house anymore. They fight so much. My dad can be so stupid and spineless sometimes. But it's not like my mom's a saint either. I just can't take it anymore!”

Arson didn't feel comfortable being back in the hospital. It was still somewhat awkward spending time with Emery. Part of him was thinking about the little girl. Was she okay? Sure, it wasn't Emery he had run away from seven years ago, but he still had a debt to repay to someone he'd never even met. Emery couldn't forgive him for what plagued him most.

“Are you even listening? Arson?” She stopped the cart and waved her hand in front of him. “Is anyone home?”

He blinked when she snapped her fingers. “What?”

She sighed. “Never mind.”

“What?”

“Is that all you can say?” she grunted. “Forget it.”

 

* * *

 

Room 219. There was a stillness unlike anything either of them had ever felt before. It could be sensed the moment they stepped through the doorway. Cold and transparent, like a veil had been split between peace and misery and this room lay somewhere in between. All they saw was a nurse fixing the bed. She seemed troubled, aware somehow of the questions Emery and Arson longed to ask. But she didn't look prepared to answer anything or maybe didn't know how. She was making the bed with brand new sheets, rearranging the machines in the room, avoiding eye contact with the mask as often as she could.

“We're not lepers, you know,” Emery seethed. “You can look at us.” It came out harsh, but the emptiness and cold within the room were undeniable.

“I'm so sorry,” the nurse said, walking out of the room in a hurry.

“Sorry for what?”

The nurse just kept walking. They knew what sorry meant. They knew that no matter what they said, what they did, that nothing could bring an old, sarcastic man back to life.

“Abe's gone,” Emery muttered almost soundlessly.

The light of midsummer reached in from the windowsill over the vacant bed and spread across the room. The truth hit Emery hard. Unable to hold back the tears for long, she threw her arms around Arson's neck.

He wanted to cry too but didn't. Couldn't. He had to be strong. Life was a war and lung cancer a powerful enemy. He had hoped that Grandpa's death might prepare him for a moment like this, but he was dead wrong.

Arson just stared down at an empty bed in an empty room with empty souls. All Emery could do was cry, and all he could do was tell her everything would be all right. A lie. Someday he'd have to deal with Abe's death, the bitter reality of it all. But not today.

 

* * *

 

“I hate this,” Carlos said, closing the blinds of his office. “I hate sneaking around like we're in high school. We're adults, aren't we?”

She wanted him now more than ever. Aimee imagined his lips pressing into her skin. “We're adults with a past. If you keep buying me lunches, the other nurses and secretaries might get jealous.”

“I told you not to worry about it. They know enough not to crap where they eat.”

“So you're willing to compromise your own position too?”

“I didn't say that. Besides, I'm practically furniture around here. I keep to myself, and I think the rest of the staff knows better than to come between me and my work.”

There was a drawn-out pause. Aimee's eyes shifted. “Work? So this is what, business?”

“That's not what I meant.”

“Joel has been checking my phone calls and my e-mails,” she said quickly. “I've been able to delete most of the ones you've sent me. I feel like a prisoner in my own house.”

“Don't you see, Aimee? He's trying to control every area of your life. Tell me again why you married him.”

“He was different back then.”

“And what happened to us?” Carlos asked.

“
You
 were different back then.” Aimee folded her hands and placed them in her lap. She wanted to hold him right then, to feel his fingertips stroke her body the way they used to. Staring into him again, his caramel skin, that black hair combed back in thick, wavy strands, those beady eyes like hunters that always seemed to find their target. She thought about what their life might have been like if she had said yes to his proposal years ago. If she had only been ready for him then.

“What are you thinking about right now?” he asked.

Her eyes came back, and she got up to leave. Something told her to run from the situation before things progressed. “We can't do this, Carlos.”

“Why do you always run? You ran from me then, and you're running now. What exactly are you running to? If I could figure out what it is that makes you so repulsed by me, I swear I'd never do it again.”

“It's not you. I'm just so confused right now. This is a very difficult time in my life. I love my husband.”

“Do you?”

Aimee shrugged. “I'm not who you remember, Carlos. You don't know me. Not anymore.”

“Nonsense. We were in love once, weren't we? Things may have changed, but my love for you has remained the same. It has taken me all these years to finally see that letting you go was the biggest mistake of my youth. I kept hoping you'd come back to me, and now you have.”

His touch was enough to cripple her. She wet her lips. Slowly, her hands moved upward to his arms. Then his chest. Suddenly, it felt as if she were no longer in control of the moment. She kissed his mouth and held him.

“I've missed you. For so long I've been afraid, Carlos. If I ever even looked at another man, my husband got angry. How am I supposed to live with someone who treats me like that? He's a failure. He loves everything but me.”

“I won't let you go this time, Aimee. I'll take care of you. I'll love you more than he ever will, more than he ever could.”

She kissed him again, breathing in the same cologne he'd worn the night they made love years ago. He still smelled the same to her.

Aimee drew him closer. “I'm so lonely, Carlos,” she whispered.

“Well, you will never be lonely again,” he replied, breathing into her.

Aimee could taste the old love of their youth, her fingers running messy through his hair. She breathed deep, wanting breaths. She was alive.

Without warning, the door suddenly whined open. “Mrs. Phoenix, Emery wanted to know—,” Arson began, his eyes growing wide. He looked down, almost ashamed, but mostly embarrassed. “I should really learn to knock.”

Carlos pushed her away, waiting for the moment of unexpected tension to pass, but it didn't.

“I'm gonna let myself out. You two look…busy. Emery's question can wait.” Arson quickly backed out of the office door and slammed it shut.

Carlos fell into Aimee's eyes again, noticing her dismay. “It's okay,” he whispered, as if intrusions like that happened regularly.

“What was I thinking? My neighbor just walked in on me making out with my boss.”

“He's just a kid. He doesn't know what he saw. Besides, who would believe him?”

She drew back, standing still for a moment, wondering how lost she'd gotten this time. “I'm sorry, Carlos. I have to go.”

She fixed her blouse and skirt, rearranged her hair, and made for the door, looking down at the floor as she left.

 

Chapter 32

 

 

ARSON'S WORLD WAS CHANGING. What had happened during summer's beginning still left his mind plagued with questions. Before now, he had been sure of three things: that Grandma loved him, that he was going nowhere fast at a job whose sole purpose was torment, and that he was alone. Having Emery around to keep him company helped now and then, but there remained something that separated him from her, if only in his mind.

Prior to stepping into Dr. Pena's office, a stupid endeavor three weeks behind him, Arson had grown callous and familiar with how the world operated. Complications like that were strange and unwelcome. But the world was changing; things were changing.

August approached quicker and softer than other years. With quiet winds, morning fog formed afternoon haze, and the skies began to dim to a powdery gray, inviting gloom. The humidity ended, and warm nights transformed almost immediately to chill. The world was rarely as Arson wished it to be.

Summer remained in the back of his mind, where he kept the image of Emery's mother kissing a stranger. He knew enough to stay quiet, though, refusing to ever bring it up. Mrs. Phoenix was the wife of a minister. They were supposed to be purer, better. They were supposed to carry around Bibles and talk your ear off about something to do with divine providence. Therefore, it was crazy to think that someone like her could be caught locking lips with Dr. Pena. No way she was capable of it.

Let it go
, Arson told himself, regardless of how many times his mind wandered. 
Just let it go.

It was becoming more of a challenge, however, to stay away from Emery for more than a day. Each hour apart reminded him of those nights when he couldn't sense Grandma's presence around him or the immeasurable loneliness intensified only by deeper sorrow of his grandfather's death.

Arson enjoyed being with Emery. The time away from the cabin permitted him to dwell on other things beside the clandestine office scene he'd unintentionally interrupted or about Grandma's deteriorating mind. She was getting worse, skulking around the house naked most days with a blank stare on her face, incapable of saying anything other than “Henry's dead,” right before falling into a disturbed slumber on the living room couch. She hadn't made scrambled eggs in weeks, hadn't hit him, yelled, showed any emotion at all.

One morning, Arson awoke in a fever as the result of a nightmare. In the dream, he had met his father for the first time but couldn't picture the face. Just another ghost, one who abandoned him before he could even utter the word 
Dad
. Arson didn't mention it to Grandma. Maybe, if he tried hard enough, the fire inside might go away, the way pain was supposed to. It seemed like a reality the more he spoke with his new neighbor.

When Emery was near, Arson could glimpse hope for a normal life, free from fire. He wanted to tell her that he was different, how some days he sat behind the cabin and practiced burning up. Tried to turn it on and shut it off. It was hard and painful, but he was sure one day he'd be able to control it purely. On that day, he would tell Emery the truth, when his powers weren't measured by hatred or anger but rather controlled.

He was with Emery when the thought came to him. He began imagining a conversation, how she might react, what he'd say, but her voice shut reason out. “Let's go for a walk,” she said.

“Now? Where do you want to go?”

She raised her hands, took a deep breath. “Not sure. Let's just walk. I mean, do we need a destination?”

“No. But how will we know when we've arrived?”

“Why do you always have to ask questions like that? You're so weird. Sometimes it's about enjoying the journey, not always about getting someplace.”

Arson nodded as they started out her driveway. He didn't dare reach for her hand. What if she wasn't into the idea? What if she wasn't ready for it? It was a risk he couldn't take.

“The 'rents are killing me,” Emery grunted after moments of silence. “I'm sick of it all. Sick of them both.”

“Wh—,” he tried.

“And I'm forced to just suck it up. My dad drinks, and it's like my mom's on some other planet.”

“Your dad drinks?”

“Where do you think I got the beer for Abraham?”

Arson shrugged. “But he's—”

“A minister, yeah. Was. I've heard it all before. Used to think it wasn't a big deal. But it became a problem. Look, I didn't bring it up because people usually react strangely when I do, like my family's supposed to be saints or something. My dad's an alcoholic, Arson. It's not something you just go out and blurt out to the world.”

The air was bitter. The sound of each footstep, the crunching of the sand and dirt and crushed gravel beneath them, seemed to echo.

Emery continued, “I must sound like a broken record by now. But they're 
always
 fighting. I try to get between them, try to make it better, but it blows up in my face. My mom has some pent-up aggression toward my dad for making us move and whatever else. Plus, he's been drinking out in the open to piss her off. Not to mention, he's been lying to me.”

“About what?”

“Seems to think my mom's cheating on him. Can you believe that?”

Arson raised his eyebrows, not saying a word.

“I mean, why would he make something like that up? Don't get me wrong; my mom can be a total psycho, but it doesn't mean she's cheating on him with some other guy.”

They stopped for a moment. Emery walked off the trail and stared out at the water. Its ripples moved calmly by, lapping up at the stones of the mini beach and rocking a small boat tied to a dock far off. “The water's alive,” she said. “Free. I get it now. Why you'd submerge yourself underneath. I get it. If only I could trade places with the lake just for a moment.”

She thought she understood, but Arson knew how different they both were. He commanded fire with pent-up hate and rage; she always tried to put them out. The peace he sought underneath the currents wasn't real; maybe she just wasn't ready to hear that yet.

The wind jostled her hair around the haunting mask. Arson could hear her holding back tears. “Sometimes I wish the water could take me away.”

 

* * *

 

Emery wanted to get a snack at the pharmacy before heading back to her house, or the
dungeon
, as she called it. Arson led her to one of the Main Street plazas, one near Tobey's. It still seemed awkward walking past the building, but he did his best not to let it bother him too much. It wasn't until Mandy showed up out of nowhere that Arson got nervous.

“What are you guys doing here?” she asked, rubbing his shoulder with a smile.

“She wanted a snack from Rite Aid. Apparently they've got some really good chocolates. And this town doesn't really have all that much else.”

“Really?” Mandy said. “I'm just finishing up a cone from Tobey's. It's not as good as you used to make it, though.” She eyed Arson, ignoring Emery completely. “Heard you got fired.”

“Yeah,” he answered meekly, crestfallen at the mention of it.

“How do you get fired from working at an ice cream parlor? What could you possibly have done?”

“I think it's for the better.” He didn't want to get into it with Mandy, especially with Emery right beside him. He'd messed up once—twice, actually—and was determined not to let it happen a third time.

“Well, whatever. So what's your friend's name? I remember that freaky-looking mask but not the person underneath. I don't think we've officially met. My name is—”

“Mandy,” Emery replied. “Heard a lot about you.”

“Really good things, I hope,” she said with a wide grin.

Arson gnawed at the flesh of his lip. Tension was building as Mandy added, “Let me write down my number for you again. You probably lost it. Boys will be boys.” She glanced at Emery, relishing every chance she got to touch Arson in front of her. “I don't think I need to write down my address. You remember where I live, don't you, Arson?”

He nodded, unsure where this was going.

She reached into her purse for a piece of paper and a pen. Using Arson's back as a surface, she wrote seven digits on the wrinkled page, marking it with her name and a heart. Then she handed it to Emery. Before he could ask why, Mandy said, “Me and a few of my friends are getting together this weekend. A little party on the lake. Parents are out of town. Nothing too major. If you're not busy taking care of old people, you should come. It'll be fun. We can all hang out together, and maybe your friend here can tell us some scary stories.”

“Sure thing,” Emery said, biting back fury.

“Right on. Well, I'm on my way to Shaw's; gotta pick up a few last-minute goodies for the part-ay.” Mandy put on her sunglasses and slurped a portion of the cone before walking away. “Ciao.”

 

* * *

 

Emery reached for Arson's hand on the walk back home, and he casually acted like it was okay, at first startled and then willingly accepting. Slight conversations came out roughly every five minutes. Arson acted as if Emery's fidgeting with the paper in her hand didn't bother him.

“Sorry about Mandy,” he said. He felt guilty for the unexpected third-party intrusion.

“Hmm,” Emery replied, leaning her head up against Arson's shoulder.

“I wish I could know what you're thinking about.”

She hugged his arm. “You.”

“Really?”

A smile.

Their eyes met.

“It's been a long time since I've had fun.”

“I had fun too, Arson. It appears you weren't a failed experiment after all. The other scientists will be thrilled.”

“Mission accomplished,” he said with a light chuckle.

The night air breathed still, and they continued down the half-lit road. Emery's palm felt different from Mandy's, purer. Passing under a street light, he felt obligated to look at her again, find her eyes deep within the mask. He wanted to kiss her. But when the light was no longer above them, he lost all fortitude and resilience. It seemed like more of an opportunity for disaster and regret than for him to spill his guts.

“Looks like it's going to rain,” he said when the dark sky crashed.

She lifted her head upward. “Yeah, I think you're right. I hate the rain.”

“Why?”

“It makes me depressed, like something bad's going to happen. Think about it; more car accidents happen on wet roads. Picnics always get ruined. You could leave the car windows down and the interior will get all messed up. Bottom line: rain sucks.”

“That all makes perfect sense, but that could happen to anybody. Everybody's had a bad experience with the weather. But it doesn't mean you have to hate it.” Arson paused. “Let's say, for instance, it's sunny out, and a guy comes home and his wife is in bed with someone else. Is that guy going to hate every sunny day for the rest of his life?”

She replied coyly, “Possibly.”

“What is it really?”

A moment expired before Emery could force the words out. “I guess it just reminds me of what happened. That night after the bonfire. I don't know. It's stupid.”

He stopped. “It's not stupid. You're perfectly normal to have feelings like that. Memories don't die easily.”

“Yeah. The 'rents don't seem to think it's perfectly normal, though. ‘It's just a phase.' Forget I said anything. I've got to get past this anyway.”

Arson was awed.

“You know, you're smarter than you look,” she said.

“Is that an insult or a compliment?”

“For now, let's stick with compliment. When we met, I thought there was something different about you.” Emery slowly reached her arms around his back to hug him.

Arson hadn't even noticed that they'd already walked all the way from Main Street to her house. He had hoped for more time with her. The last thing he wanted was for the day to end. Not yet.

Maybe this was the beginning. Maybe this was the part of the story where he confessed how he felt to a girl he loved more dearly and innocently than anything. A million different sentences scattered his brain, some creeping up to the tip of his tongue, waiting for release. But how could he confess his secret ability? What would she say? He'd seen people employ this kind of bravery in movies, but this was different. 
She
 was different.

Arson breathed in the smell of her skin, the natural flavor of her hair and neck with his eyes closed. It was now or never.

“Emery?”

The mask looked up at him.

“I—”

The door to her house suddenly swung wide open and slammed shut, exiling an unkempt man from within. The man nearly tripped down the porch steps.

“Dad?” Emery asked, running to her father. “What happened?”

Joel sucked down a long drag of beer then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Arson. It 
is
 Arson, right?”

He nodded.

“Don't get married.”

“Dad, what happened?” Emery asked again, this time louder.

“I'm mar-married to an adulteress,” Joel said, burping and slurring his words. “Your mother's cheating on me.”

“Oh, not this again. I don't want to hear any more of it. It's a lie.”

Joel's breath reeked of alcohol. “Emery, I have proof!”

Arson watched her choke up.

“Your mother thought I didn't know, but I checked her phone calls. And the e-mails.”

Wrinkled pages dropped at Emery's feet; some scattered with the wind. “I'm not a liar, and I'm not crazy. I didn't imagine it. It's right there in front of your eyes. She's been lying to us this whole time. Oh God, how could I have been so stupid?”

Emery studied the individual pages. “Maybe you're overreacting,” she said. “Who knows? He's her boss. I mean, there must be some kind of mistake or an explanation. Something.”