Arson (14 page)

 

Chapter 24

 

 

EMERY SHOULD'VE KNOCKED. She made the mistake of walking into the bathroom unannounced. There she saw her father, tired and unkempt, leaning on the bathroom counter. He was chugging a beer. The look on his face read guilt and shock as he swallowed. Her father told her she shouldn't be barging in on people without knocking. Then he put the beer down and asked her to talk to him for a moment.

“I wasn't expecting you home yet,” he said. “I could've sworn it was locked.”

“Mom's home too. Dad, what are you doing? This isn't what it looks like, right? I mean, tell me that isn't beer in your hand and that you're not drinking it in front of me. Tell me I'm crazy. I'll believe you if you say it.”

Joel hung his head low. “Would you keep your voice down, please? That's all I need is another fight with your mother. She's so…”

Emery shut the door and leaned against it. As much as she wanted to be sympathetic to whatever it was her father was going through, she was still stuck in that hospital room with Abe and Arson.

“Look, Emery, I want to talk to you. For real. Once you hear me out, then I'll let you judge me, hate me, whatever you want.”

She watched him scratch his head frantically, panicking and sighing and flaring his nostrils. It wasn't just stress on his face or even the loss of a job. It looked like failure.

“First of all, tell me why you've been lying to me,” she said.

“This life. I never wanted it. I thought I was so sure about things. I wanted to tell you, I really did, but it's not that easy for me.”

“What's not easy, Dad? The fact that you moved us out in the middle of nowhere or that you swore you'd never take another drink again?” She felt her vocal cords crack. “Or what about Mom keeping this family afloat while you cope with a mistake you made almost two years ago. We lost everything because of you. They hated us. And I couldn't blame them.”

Joel bit his lip. “
I
 lost the church.”

Emery grumbled and folded her arms. “Grow up, Dad. How could you do this to us? To me? I believed you. We can't go through this again. My father's supposed to be stronger. You were my hero, Dad. Now, you're going to be another loser in rehab.”

“I'm not going to rehab, sweetheart. Look, I'm trying to stay calm, okay? It's not like I need alcohol to survive or anything. This is a one-time thing.”

“You've said that before. Do you actually believe yourself when you lie?”

Joel clenched his fists and banged his head up against the wall. “I just need to get my mind out of this mess. Having a drink helps me forget about the mistakes I've made to you and to your mother. I love that woman, but she doesn't even recognize me. I don't recognize me, Emery. This isn't what I want, but I'm hurt. I'm in pain.”

For the first time in a long time, she could tell he was being honest. She'd hated him before for the lies, for the mixed-up priorities. But this time, the man who used to be a minister was telling the truth, and he meant it.

“Dad. I thought when it happened—”

“Just say it again, Emery. When 
what
 happened?”

Dead air crept into the room.

“I thought when you lost the church things would be different. I mean, they called you a drunk, a loser. Don't you think that hurt me?”

“I know it did, sweetheart. It nearly killed me. I wish I could change everything, but I can't. This is the way our life is now. Things 
are
 different. But your mother isn't making it easy.”

“Can you blame her?” Emery grinded her teeth. “I hate you for making me side with her.”

“I never asked you to pick a side.”

“You never had to; it just happened. And newsflash, it's starting to happen between you and me too. Is this what you want?”

“Emery, try to understand.”

She had problems to call her own, and she didn't need his dumped on top. Didn't he care that people were worse off than he was? People like Abe or Genevieve. “Understand what? You lied to me. And to Mom. Most of all, you lied to yourself.”

“Emery, it's only a beer.”

“No, it's not only a beer. It's everything. It's you, Mom, our screwed-up family.”

“Our family?” Joel said, smirking. “I lost our family long before I lost the church.”

Emery stared at him a while and saw him as the weak and fragile human being he'd become. The way his failure glared out from his eyes. She shut her own and thought of a time when he made her smile or held her while she slept. Few memories like those existed, but she held tight to them because that was the man she wanted to remember; that was the father she needed now.

Emery grabbed the bottle of beer from the bathroom vanity and walked downstairs to the kitchen, leaving her father to sob on the toilet seat. The lights were off. She could see shades of the moonlight sliding along the countertops and cabinet space. Outside the window, she saw a sky full of bright light and unity. She closed the blinds and wept. 
Be strong
, she told herself. 
Be stronger
.

Emery began pouring the bottle out into the sink. The slow chug as it emptied brought back images of her former life as a quiet pastor's daughter with a perfectly flawed family.

The suds oozed out the lip of the bottle. But before it was empty, an idea crept into her head. She'd wasted enough. Immediately, she looked for another container, one a little less conspicuous. Once the bottle was empty, she rinsed it out and placed it in a bag in her room. She'd dispose of it in the morning. No need for her mom to freak out too. Not yet, anyway. Maybe her father needed more time.

She rushed upstairs with a plan and prayed for tomorrow.

 

Chapter 25

 

 

ARSON ARRIVED TO WORK late again. He swore he'd woken up on time, remembered setting his alarm clock, but it never went off. Normally, he didn't rely on the alarm to wake him up, but volunteering with Emery was taking its toll on him. Ray's threats to have him fired had become routine. Arson tried not to let them bother him. Instead he remained quiet and simply did as he was told.

He brushed his hair to the side, rushed to the back, threw on an apron, and got to work. “Can I help you, ma'am?” he asked a middle-aged woman, holding the scooper in hand. His face, still sweaty from the swift bike ride, was glowing red.

“I'll take one scoop of chocolate chip ice cream in a sugar cone, please.” She had a Julie Andrews type of accent. Despite having to wait more than ten minutes to get her cone, she still managed to call it magnificent.

The next customer paraded down the line rudely and then asked for three scoops, all different flavors, complete with the works, and two vanilla milkshakes to go. “I'm on a tight schedule,” she gasped, her cheeks so plump he thought they'd pop if he didn't complete the order before she counted to five.

Arson noticed Chelsea and Jason moving purposely slow, taking one customer for every three he helped. Arson knew what they were doing but ignored it. The two of them made remarks like, “Pick up the pace” and “Why are you always late?” between serving sundaes.

During lunch break, he worked. Scrubbing up sticky residue off the tile floor, washing windows, and rearranging the merchandise items were among the few tasks he completed while Chelsea talked to Ray about a raise due to her impeccable attendance record. Jason had to make an emergency call. But the minor setbacks didn't stop incoming customers. Arson dropped what he was doing to serve them, and Ray took pleasure in watching him panic to get everyone taken care of.

Once he had a moment to breathe, Arson dropped his eyes into the sink, where he watched his reflection drown with the soap and the ice cream toppings he'd cleaned off from his hands. When he looked up again, he was startled to find a mask staring him in the face.

“Good afternoon, kind sir,” Emery said. “You're not still getting scared because of this thing, are you?”

“No, of course not.”

“So this is where you work?”

“You found me,” Arson said.

“Don't sound so excited to see me.”

“Sorry. I've had one of those days.”

“Looks like you need a break. I know you weren't planning on volunteering today, but I've kinda got this thing planned. Wanted to run it by you. When do you get off? Maybe we could volunteer together. Or, you know, we could wait 'til tomorrow if you're too busy.”

Mandy walked in suddenly and made him nervous. Her skin shimmered in the afternoon light, and with every step closer, Arson felt as though his heart might literally leap into his throat. More panic rushed in.

“Hey, Arson,” she said, avoiding Emery altogether. Her lips toyed with the wad of gum in her mouth. She tilted her head, letting most of her golden hair cascade down onto the mask.

Discomfort climbed up Arson's spine.

“Excuse me!” Emery said.

Mandy turned toward the mask. “Sorry, I didn't see you there.”

“So, Arson,” Emery began, stepping to the right, “when can you help me volunteer again at the hospital?”

“Hospital?” Mandy said, arching her toothpick eyebrows. “Since when do you volunteer at a hospital, Arson?”

“Oh, I'm really confused right now,” he said, avoiding eye contact with either of them.

“Since I asked him to,” Emery replied quite matter-of-factly. “We've been doing it for a few weeks now.”

“Oh, that's nice,” Mandy said. “I never understood volunteering for things. What's the point of doing something if you're not getting paid for it?”

“So what flavor do you want, Mandy?” Arson said, jumping in before a catfight broke out.

“Oh,” Mandy replied, “I'll take two scoops of double chocolate chip, handsome.”

Arson felt his cheeks fill with blood. All Mandy had to do was mention their bedroom rendezvous and everything between Emery and him could be ruined.

“What do you do when you volunteer anyway?”

“We take care of people in the hospice unit,” Emery sneered. “It's got something to do with being compassionate.”

“I was talking to Arson,” Mandy said.

“It's not that bad,” he interjected. “We've met a really cool guy.”

Mandy recoiled, apparently offended by their constant use of 
we
. “I couldn't go near my grandfather after they moved him into one of those homes. Spending time with old people who are about to croak freaks me out.”

Emery couldn't hold her mocking laughter at bay.

Arson looked down whenever he could. But Mandy's pink shirt, half unbuttoned, made him sweat. He felt guilty for being curious.

“Here you go,” Arson said, handing Mandy the sundae.

“Thanks, Arson,” she said, taking a lick of the ice cream. “You really know how to do it.”

He folded his lips together. “Um, five fifty,” he mumbled. It seemed awkward charging her for the ice cream, but he noticed Ray's vicious glare out of the corner of his eye.

Mandy had a shocked look on her face but began digging into her Prada purse, looking for change.

“Arson, I feel like such a ditz. I left my wallet in my other purse. Is there any way I could pay you back? You know I'm good for it.” She winked at him, slowly licking the top layer of the ice cream before it started to melt.

Arson swallowed hard. A lump hung in his throat. He glanced at the back office, looked at Emery, then Mandy. His hands felt sticky and sweaty all of a sudden, and in the back of his mind, he could hear his own conscience, in all of its teenage wisdom, shouting 
Mayday
!

He caught another glimpse of Mandy's thick lips and her pencil-thin features he imagined might one day grace the cover of 
Maxim
. His mind wandered back to the night he'd spent with her.

“Okay,” Arson sighed. It was inevitable. He was weak. Practically paralyzed. He couldn't refuse her even though he wanted to. Even though he knew he should. His shoulders sagged, exposing the weak boy that he was, a boy who cared more about his hormones than his job or the girl whose feelings he knew he had just crushed.

Mandy left quickly. Reaching into his pocket for a five-dollar bill and some change, Arson heard Ray call out his name from the back office.

“And the Lord shall smite the wicked,” Emery sighed, seeming more disappointed than angry.

“Pray for me,” Arson replied before rushing to the back to receive retribution. Part of him wanted her to wait until he returned, but as soon as he blinked, she was gone too.

 

Chapter 26

 

 

GRANDMA WAS WALKING ON glass, her feet cut up and covered in blood. Arson couldn't tell what it was she was doing or why, only that fear was written on every wrinkle and crack in her face. Blood and life itself completely drained from those white-washed pores. Stone-cold and heartless eyes. Tears streamed down her chin, and as soon as he arrived, she began trying to fix the mess she'd made of the kitchen.

Wine glasses and splintered wood littered the floor. Her gray, wiry strands of hair stuck to parts of her face like thick pieces of burnt thread. White lines created boundaries between her nose and parched lips. She was cloaked in bed sheets and rested her head on the antique hutch that stood perpendicular to the kitchen entrance and the hallway.

Arson looked around the room with shock. The crunch beneath him gave off an eerie feeling, which rested right at the center of his gut. He swallowed and observed Grandma for a long moment. It had been a while since he'd seen her like this. He'd seen bits of fingernails stuck in the wallpaper where she'd scratched and then bled. His first instinct was to help her clean up, but Grandma started to attack him.

“Get out of my house!” she demanded. “You're a villain. A creep trying to steal from an old woman. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“Grandma, don't you know who I am? What happened to you?”

“Oh no,” she kept saying. Her eyes were like a child's. “Unhand me, you pervert. What would you want with an old woman, pig?”

“It's me,” he said frantically. He blocked her incoming strikes, shutting his eyes when her fingers weren't stuck in them. “It's me… It's me!”

She was stronger than usual. Every time their eyes met, Arson was afraid. Grandma had lost the sense of perspective, of reason. This was the creature Arson feared the most, the one without conscience or feeling. The dead one who lived inside of his grandmother, imprisoned for a time. The one who beat him and said hurtful things or took pleasure in ensuring his pain. A woman ruled by fear and bitterness.

“Grandma, I want to help you.” Arson fought her as best as he could without hurting her. The sheets slipped off during the struggle, revealing a naked body underneath. Weathered skin dripped off her bones. Sun spots plagued certain areas of her flesh, and countless wrinkles fell over her kneecaps and thighs. His eyes noticed things he'd never seen before. Tortuous veins running down her legs like green spider webs. Teeth missing and the cracked skin of old age. He tried to cover her up, but she refused him with strikes to the face.

“Grandma, it's me. Please let me help you. What's the matter?”

“Why bother? Take a good look, pig. Take a photograph while you're at it. The whole world out there is full of perverts like you. Henry? Henry?” she called out.

“Grandma, it's me. Don't you recognize me?”

“Go ahead, get your jollies out.” She made a fist and struck him on the nose. Her eyes lit up when blood poured out.

“Please just tell me what's wrong.”

“Why do you keep calling me Grandma? I don't know you. Henry?” She walked around the kitchen, glass and ceramic plates slicing into her heel. “Henry, come save me from this…this menace.”

She swung a piece of glass at Arson, but he ducked down to the floor, cutting up his palms. “I'm not a criminal. I love you. Can't you see that?”

“Henry, this pervert means to harm me. Save me from this place, Henry. Save me.”

Arson tried holding her, but she wouldn't let him. She reached for a piece of glass from the floor and threatened to cut him. “What are you doing, Grandma?” Arson said, moving backward.

He watched Grandma shake, blood from her hand slipping out onto the tile. “I swear, I'll cut you if you don't tell me who you really are.”

“Arson Gable. I'm your grandson. Remember your daughter? She died giving birth to me because I'm different.” Arson could feel the rage pumping through him. He was angry enough. With painful effort and struggle, the fire obeyed him. A spark lit up his palm. “Remember?”

“You're lying,” she spat.

He moved closer, trying to get the glass out of her hand. His heart wanted to explode. The thought of life without her made him nearly sick. His grandmother screamed, exposing the jagged shards of metal that were her teeth. Carefully, Arson took another step toward her. “It's okay,” he told her. “I'm here for you, Grandma.”

Quickly, Arson quenched the small spark and rushed her, stealing away the piece of glass. She yelled and fought him. He struggled as she seized his wrist with her teeth. It stung, but he suppressed the pain. Grabbing the bed sheet off the floor, he collided into her frail body and wrapped her in his arms. She hit her head. Signs of bruising appeared above her eyebrow beneath the strands of gray wire. She was a ghost.

“Stephen?” she asked softly.

Arson stared into her. He hadn't heard her call him that in many years. In fact, he swore he didn't even recognize that name. He moved away from her, partly afraid, partly uncertain. Relief traded for questions.

“Stephen, it's you. My daughter's child. I remember you now.”

The fire hadn't worked to convince Grandma who he was. It wasn't enough to show her he wasn't a villain. 
She had to see it in my eyes
, he thought. 
She had to know it was me, if it's me at all
.

Arson fought to look away, but everything inside of him led him back again. “Yeah, it's me, Grandma.” He still couldn't believe what he was saying. Still couldn't believe that was his name. She called him Arson, but his name was Stephen. He remembered now, but he prayed he could forget.

“Where's Henry?” she said, clawing at his shirt. “He didn't save me. Where's my Henry?”

Arson gathered his wits. He had sworn he would never say it. Sworn he never could. But in this moment, he knew it was the only thing he could do. “Grandma, he's dead.”

“No, he can't be.” Her voice cracked. “I went to bed with him last night. He's up there waiting for me right now. I'm sure of it.”

Arson struggled getting the words out. “No, he's not. Grandpa died two years ago. Heart failure. ‘Some hearts just aren't strong enough.' That's what you said when he died, Grandma. Remember?”

She sobbed and fell into him. “He's dead?”

Arson held her close and never wanted to let go. The image of his grandfather lying lifeless in his bed returned for the first time—a rush of pain, bitterness, and grief storming the shores he'd kept guarded for two years. Embracing her made him recall what it had been like touching the dead body before the medics carried it away. He remembered the cold and dreary day of the funeral; he was the only one standing beside a lonely grave. Grandma was too broken to bear it.

“He's dead,” Arson said again with tears in his eyes. And it became real to him.

 

* * *

 

Arson laid her in bed and listened to her breathing for a few moments until she fell asleep. He hid his face in his hands. The blood from his nose had already begun to dry at the top of his lip, so he grabbed a towel. With hands still trembling, he walked downstairs in silence.

As he stepped into the kitchen, flashes of his grandmother so weak and angry flooded in. He tried hard to reorganize it the way he remembered, but his memory was a mess. The picture frames, the hutch with broken china inside, the table covered with newspaper shreds. He wanted this scene placed back in the dark of his mind where it belonged, but it wouldn't stay. He watched his grandfather die over and over again.

He went to the closet to get the broom and the dustpan. While Arson swept the broken dishes and glass fragments into a pile, he wiped away hot tears, but they kept coming. 
This is me
, he thought, 
broken dishes and shards of glass
. It hurt, but he had to be strong for her.

Much of the glass from the hutch had been shattered. Fragments still stuck inside the oak frame came loose with enough pulling. As he ripped and struggled with the wood, the thought of losing his job earlier that day hit him. He wouldn't tell Grandma, couldn't. She'd freak out. The money left over from Grandpa's life insurance would have to be enough, at least until he could clear his mind again and fix things.

Arson rearranged the picture frame within the hutch, the one that held the three of them at Mystic Aquarium. He remembered that day. But even then he hadn't smiled. None of them had. Maybe none of them could. Nevertheless, a picture like this let him forget for a brief moment in time what he was.