Arson (18 page)

“You are so unbelievably naïve. Like I was. Your mother pulled the wool over both of our eyes.”

A scream waited at the back of Arson's throat. He should have said something long before now, said that he'd known all along about the affair, if that's what it was. Regret crept in, building and building. Logic and sense had no place in his mind, not now. Emery would've hated him for it. In past civilizations, Arson was aware that kings and queens killed messengers who dealt out bad news. The news might have destroyed her, the way it was destroying them both now. What a fool he'd been to think a sin like this could be kept hidden.

Joel drained what was left inside the bottle. Reaching inside his back pocket, he grabbed another one and violently broke the glass lip with his palm and cursed as suds foamed out onto the open cut.

“Dad, you should be inside talking to Mom.”

“I've tried talking to her. Been trying for months to get close to her, but she's so far away. She ca-can't even look at me anymore, Emery. She doesn't want to talk. Sa-says we should save that for the lawyers.”

“Dad, she didn't mean it. Mom's just confused. You'll see.”

“This… This has been her plan for a long time. But she never had the guts. Well, now she does. It's my fault…for everything.”

“Dad, you can fix this,” Emery pleaded. “Be a man. You're both upset. I get it. But you've counseled couples in the past. You can get things back to the way they were, right? You can fix this.”

“She doesn't want to fix it!” Joel hung his head low. “I'm not a minister anymore, Emery. I'm nothing.”

“I can't believe you're just going to give up.” Emery looked at Arson. “So much for sunny days, huh?”

Arson was rigid, practically motionless. What could he do? Say? She was in immeasurable pain. He didn't have to see her face to know the depth of the wound. All he wanted to do was hold her, but she ran inside before he could collect the words.

“What do you want me to do, Emery!” Joel yelled as she slammed the door. “What do you all want from a failure like me?”

Joel walked up to the house and pressed his face up against the cross hanging on the door. “Why have you for-forsaken me?” he begged in a defeated whisper. “Well, are you just gonna stand there, Arson? Like some stupid animal? You know, ever since I met you, I've been curious. What kind of a name is Arson anyway?”

Arson quickly responded, “Grandma's called me that ever since I was a boy.”

Joel belched. “It's a weird, ugly name, you know.”

Nod and forget about it
, Arson thought. 
He's drunk
.

“Say something, kid. Call me a phony, a loser.”

Arson's wandering thoughts remained on Emery's well-being, but he couldn't tune her father out. He searched for an answer, but nothing came to mind.

Joel feigned amusement. “Tell me I'm crazy. That this isn't really happening. Do me a favor. I want you to tell that whore in there to wake up. No, I've got a better one. Tell me I'm not a complete failure.”

“Emery loves you, I know that much.”

“One down,” Joel groaned sarcastically. “If this were a test, I'd still be failing.”

“Sorry. I'm not an expert.”

“What are you doing here? Have you come to collect on my sins and watch me suffer? You're as pathetic as I am.”

Arson turned around and, with his head hung low, began walking toward his cabin.

“What's the matter, kid? Can't take a little constr-constr-constructive criticism? That's what my wife used to call it back when she actually gave a d—”

Joel collapsed onto his backside.

Arson turned back around and froze. He listened to Joel drone on and on. As messed up as people were, it was never any one person's fault completely for the end of something beautiful. Blame was easy to shift upon others. All Arson could see was a broken, hopeless man spitting accusations at a woman who was just too flirtatious for her own good. The war could be fixed. Sure, bombs had gone off. But in the aftermath, when the smoke finally cleared, maybe they could build again.

“This doesn't have to be the end, sir,” Arson tried in a low voice.

“She told me she doesn't love me anymore, kid. It sure looks like the end to me. You wanna know why I drink? Everybody judges, but no one has a clue what I'm dealing with. This stuff tastes terrible. But I drink it because it makes everything disappear, if only for seconds at a time.” He made a 
poof
 sound like a magician. “Me and Buddy don't need love or a church or a family. We're miserable all on our own. My wife's been a stranger for months, years probably. I just prayed, hoped that my world could change.”

Arson grew wary. He noticed Joel staring off into nothingness, a dead glow in his eyes. Lost somewhere. The bottle slipped out of his hand and shattered, beer suds coursing through the rusted nails and wooden splinters of the porch steps. Arson understood what that was like. He'd seen the struggles and pains of normal people—broken, lost souls who'd stumbled around the world in search of something more. But when they got angry, fire didn't breathe out of them; they tried to deal with it the only way they knew how. They lashed out at one another. Cheated on each other. Drank. Or, like Emery, they pretended as long as they could that it wasn't there, believed that it was a lie, when nothing could be further from the truth. When they were hurt, their hands and feet and eyes didn't ache and burn, but their pain was the same.

“I don't love you anymore,” Joel reminisced, getting up only to crash down the steps. Arson tried to grab him before his face hit the dirt, but it was too late. “Don't touch me. This is where I belong.”

“Fine.” Arson shrugged, lying down beside him on the ground.

“What are you doing?”

“Helping you,” Arson said, placing his hands behind his head. “The first session's free.”

Joel roared with laughter. “You're killing me, kid. But what's the point? I can't even finish a friggin' sermon. Can't raise a daughter right. I have nothing left. Look, you can't make someone love you. You can't fix anything. Believe me, I've tried.”

“Have you? You and Mrs. Phoenix are pretty selfish, if you ask me.”

“I didn't.” Joel took a moment to think. He stopped breathing, blinked, the sweat dripping like mud from his forehead.

“Neither of you can see what you're doing to your daughter. She can't stand being with you both. All you do is fight. Emery can't talk to her mother without lashing out, and she doesn't even recognize you anymore. You're blind if you can't see how amazing she is. She's perfect, but you're too focused on yourselves to see that.”

Joel's hands smacked with applause. “Well done. You've cracked the case. Some sophomoric teenager thinks he has all the answers. When you're my age and you've seen the world for what it truly is, seen human beings for what they are, maybe then you'll get it. Life isn't black and white, Arson. It's filled with shades of gray. So don't pretend like you have any idea what it's like, because you don't.”

“I don't have to touch fire to know that it burns, Mr. Phoenix. Just because you don't have all the answers in life doesn't mean you should stop looking.”

“There are no real answers. The sooner you realize that, the better off you'll be.”

“You have a family. You have a wife and a beautiful daughter who are hurting. Why are you out here wallowing in self-pity?”

“I'm not wallowing; I'm self-medicating. I… I was asked to leave, Ars… Aaron, whatever your name is. Aimee doesn't love me. We pledged our lives to each other, only to have everything crumble.” Tears filled his eyes. “God has turned his back on me.”

Joel picked himself up off the ground and stumbled his way toward the road. “I get it,” he screamed at the black sky. “This is payback, isn't it? I loved my work more than my family. Why not? Hell, I deserve to lose it all. Sooner or later, we all pay for our sins, Arson, all of us.” Joel stopped midstride and chucked his beer into the woods.

Soon after, Arson picked himself up and watched hopelessness slip off into the dark.

 

Chapter 33

 

 

GRANDMA WAS PASSED OUT on the living room couch. Drool dripped off the ends and onto the floor, where a photograph of her and her husband lay. 
When will she snap out of it
? Arson wondered, covering her with a blanket to stop the shivers. She hadn't cleaned the cabin, feared the idea of a shower, and refused to change clothes. She smelled. It was as if sorrow were on her bones and on her breath, slipped somewhere under the folds of skin.

Arson had pictured her differently before but never like this. Most days she couldn't recognize him; then others came when she'd call him by his other name. No longer Arson. Never. It still felt strange, but he assumed she couldn't remember his vile ability, how he killed her only daughter by being born.

It had never been a mystery to him why she called him Arson. He had burned her in a way that was beyond healing. He took from her a love so deep, a love he himself could never earn even if he had forever. The frightening divide widening the space between them brought a heavy weight he wasn't ready for. After seeing that she'd become a malnourished recluse, his discontentment turned to pity.

I'm responsible for her condition
, Arson mused the following afternoon behind the cabin. He practiced destroying beer bottles and marmalade jars he'd picked up in the trash. Arson enjoyed watching them melt. Seeing the objects liquefy and then burn and become something else seemed to satisfy the darkest part of him, a part he never wished to accept. He had discovered that with enough concentration, even his eyes could create a spark, manipulate a rogue flame, or reduce creation to black mess. His control was growing.

When the bottles were destroyed, their remains dissolved. But there was no peace. He'd imagined the phone ringing dozens of times even though it was just the sound of the television droning in the background. He'd been sitting in anticipation all morning and had suffered through a restless night. He desperately wanted Emery to call, let him know everything was all right. 
She isn't ready
, he thought, staring out at the lake. Maybe she needed more time, like Grandma.

 

* * *

 

The scratching sound of rocks against his window called Arson out of sleep. With a yawn, he drew himself out of bed and moseyed toward the boarded window. A crack in the wood allowed him to peek down at the masked figure standing with arms crossed. He stared down, confused and excited all at once. Emery was below. The boards Grandma had hammered across the windows made it difficult to focus on her, though. With all his might, Arson dug his fingertips underneath the wood and clenched his teeth. A sliver took some blood, but in an effort to remain quiet while Grandma slept, he managed to create more of an opening. Finally, he broke one of the boards enough to get the window open.

“How romantic of you,” he called from above.

She told him to shut up. “Just come down here,” her voice demanded.

Arson quickly put on a shirt and a pair of sneakers and raced down.

As soon as the door to the cabin opened, Emery walked toward him and slapped him. “How long have you known?”

“Nice to see you too,” he said.

“Don't screw around with me, Arson. This isn't a game.”

“No, it's definitely not,” he replied, getting back his breath. His right cheek stung. “You were a lot nicer yesterday.”

“A lot's changed since then,” Emery said. “How long?”

“Do you really want to talk about this right now?”

“The first one was just practice.”

“Okay, okay,” Arson said. “Emery, I never wanted this. This wasn't supposed to happen. Your mom, she… I didn't think anyone would find out.”

“Will you just tell me the truth? Can someone tell me the truth for once? How long have you known about my mother and Dr. Pena?”

“A few weeks, maybe.”

Emery threw her hands up indignantly and kicked a hunk of dirt.

“You have to believe I was doing it for you. I didn't want you to get hurt. Your father wasn't supposed to find out. I thought—hoped—no one would find out.”

“That scumbag called today looking for my mom. My dad answers the phone. His face says everything. The e-mails, the midnight text messages. My dad was right. Way to go, 007. Secret's out.”

Arson drew close; she moved away. “Please, I know how much your family means to you. If I'd said something, you'd hate me, and then you'd hate your mother.”

“You're right. I do hate her. And now I'm mad at 
you
 for lying to me.”

“I didn't lie.”

Emery's voice got louder. “The sin of omission.”

Arson felt like a reluctant psychiatrist. He had never asked to be the dump site for everyone's emotional baggage, but here he was, the only one around when the trucks came rolling in. The rage boiled in his palms, spreading to his chest, the pulsating flame coursing through his veins. 
Control it
, he thought. 
Control it
.

“How could this have happened?” she cried. “We were supposed to have a new life. Things were supposed to be better. Instead my mom hooks up with some scumbag, and my dad drinks like he's a fraternity loser. Who are they? I feel like I'm the only one acting like an adult. I feel so alone.”

“I get it,” Arson said. “My grandmother walks around the house naked, crying, staring at herself in the mirror. She just keeps saying the same thing over and over again. To be honest, I don't know what to feel other than rage. Can't help but think that maybe ignorance really is bliss. I mean, if I hadn't reminded her what happened, I don't know, maybe she'd be happier.”

His voice grew hoarse, a tear sliding off his eyelid. “She was cruel to me growing up, told me I was a little demon, a mistake. Someone only she could love. She said she loved me, but I never felt it. Now it's like time is repaying her for what she's done to me, and all I can think is that it's my fault. I love her. And I don't even know why.”

Emery let out a long-winded sigh.

Arson looked into her eyes. “I'm sorry for bringing my baggage to the table. Just thought I'd remind you that you're not alone. There's a ton of crap in this world and a bunch of people who make it worse. I don't want you to view me as one of them.”

She dried her tears and came closer to him. “I'm sorry for freaking out at you. I still can't believe this is happening. I mean, growing up, I saw kids' parents splitting up, saw how it messed with the kids' heads. It's totally different when it's you.”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Emery, I swear, hurting you was never part of the plan. I thought if I didn't say anything it would be like it never happened. Thought it would go away, but I was wrong. So wrong.”

“Life isn't supposed to be this hard,” Emery groaned, cradling her head in her hands. “We're not meant to suffer like this, are we?”