Home Fires (15 page)

Thomas Devlin shrugged. “Too many other things to do.”

“I know what you mean,” Ned said wisely, in such a man-to-man tone that Thomas had to smile.

“It's nearly time to start the vegetable garden,” Thomas said. “I started some tomatoes from seed, down in the basement, and I've got a big order coming on a boat next week. Lots of spicy stuff this year. Jalapeños, cherry peppers, broccoli rabe, a new purple basil.”

“Pumpkins?”

“Of course.”

“Gardening'll keep you busy,” Ned said.

“It sure will,” Thomas agreed, signaling Bobby for two more beers.

“I was wondering. . . .” Ned said.

“Anything you want to know about pool or vegetables, I'm your man,” Thomas said.

“Actually,” Ned said, “I was wondering whose toothbrush that is. The blue one, all wrapped in a washcloth in the back of the medicine cabinet.”

“Oh, boy,” Thomas said.

The day of Ned's arrival, Thomas had straightened up the house, hiding all evidence of Anne. It wasn't that he intended to keep her a secret; he just wanted to break it to Ned slowly. After Ned had been home for a few days, four or five, Thomas had planned to mention casually that he had a good friend named Anne, and how would Ned feel about having her over for dinner?

“Is she nice?” Ned asked.

“Very.”

“She's the one you were thinking about when we toured the colleges?”

“How could you tell?” Thomas asked, stunned.

“Dad, I'm not blind. There's nothing but hormones gone rampant at Deerfield—I know the signs.”

“I was planning to tell you, Ned.”

“Yeah, I know. I've felt bad for you. You've been so nervous. So, what's she like?”

“Her name is Anne Davis. She's very beautiful, and kind. She's been through as much as we have.” He paused. “I love her.”

Ned nodded, playing with the salt-and-pepper shakers, taking in the news. Maybe Thomas should have held back that last part; maybe it was too much for Ned to handle. He scrutinized his son for a reaction.

“No one could ever take your mother's place, you know that,” Thomas said. “I wouldn't want anyone to.”

“Mmmm.”

“Anne's very different from your mother.”

“Like how?”

“Well, she's small, for one thing,” he said, thinking of Sarah. Sarah had been nearly six feet tall, a magnificent athlete. She had skied in the Olympics, and Thomas could see her now, schussing the chute at Mad River Glen. Then, later, taking it easier (although not much) with Ned in a pack on her back.

“And Anne's pretty quiet,” Thomas said.

“Mom wasn't quiet,” Ned said, chuckling.

“You can say that again,” Thomas said, wishing Ned would laugh a little harder. Ned's laugh was a direct echo of Sarah's. Sarah had loved to sing and talk and laugh, often all at the same time. It was a lot like living with a perpetual pep talk: exhaustingly lovable.

“It's been nice,” Thomas said, “having a friend.”

“I'm glad.”

“How about you?” Thomas asked, thinking maybe Ned wanted to steer them off the topic. “Do you have any special girl?”

“No.”

“Ah. Well, you will. I have no doubt about that.”

“When do I get to meet her?” Ned asked after a moment.

“How about dinner tomorrow night?”

Ned seemed to consider this. Thomas couldn't quite read his face. There was a definite frown. His brows were knit, his mouth slightly downturned. But Thomas would have to call the expression thoughtful, pensive, rather than angry.

“We should make black-bean burritos,” Ned said. “With that green salsa.”

“I'm not sure we can get cilantro at such short notice. We usually have to give the market a head start on special stuff like that.”

“Can you grow cilantro?”

“Sure,” Thomas Devlin said, flushing with love and gratitude for his incredible son. “I'll add it to the list for next week.”

“We should do fire nachos,” Ned said. “With double jalapeños. Does she like hot food?”

“I think so,” Thomas Devlin replied, although actually he was unsure.

“She'd better,” Ned said. “The true test.”

A
NNE
arrived at the appointed hour, ready for dinner. Parking her car, she took her time. She watched the house for signs of someone curiously peeking out, and she thought she saw a shadow fall across the kitchen window.

It had been a very long time since she had dressed so carefully for an evening. She had tried on and decided against black suede pants, a denim skirt, her oldest jeans and a sweatshirt, and a Putamayo black-and-white print dress. Instead, she wore newish black Gap jeans, a chambray shirt, and a tweed jacket. She recognized that she had chosen clothes that would be nonthreatening, but relatively attractive, to a teenage boy.

Gathering up the things she had brought the Devlins to go with dinner, she took a deep breath and headed up the sidewalk.

Thomas opened the door before she could knock.

Anne sensed the awkwardness of the moment. She wanted to embrace him, as she always did when arriving, but she held back. She didn't want to step on Ned's toes. Thomas stood on the doorstep, towering over her. She came up to about his waist. Their eyes, too busy darting around for Ned, hardly met. Thomas leaned down for a ridiculous nose-bumping kiss, and finally they laughed.

They'd caught each other in the act of overthinking the game.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” she said, handing him the bag.

“What have we here?” he asked, peering inside. But the moment of discovery was short-circuited as Ned entered the room.

Even if Maggie hadn't pointed him out on the ferry the other day, Anne would have recognized him instantly. From looking through the photo albums, she saw his resemblance to both his parents. His eyes and mouth were the same shape, and had the same far-off Irish sadness, as Thomas's. But when he smiled, as he did now, his face took on the look of Sarah.

“Ned,” Thomas said, clapping his son on the back. “I'd like you to meet Anne Davis,”

“It's a pleasure to meet you,” Anne said, shaking his hand.

He didn't say anything right away. He was too busy blushing and figuring out his handshake. It started off bone crushing, faded out, and came back just right.

“I saw you on the ferry,” Ned said, a bundle of high color and twitches. Anne could tell he was shy, that it took great effort to look her in the eye, as he'd been taught.

“I saw you, too. Maggie Vincent's my niece.”

“Oh.” If anything, his color increased.

“Maggie and Ned were beach pals,” Thomas said. “Back before he went to school off-island.”

“Yeah,” Ned said, frowning.

“She's something, that Maggie,” Anne said, trying to feel her way along. Everyone felt so awkward, each person trying to make sure every other person felt comfortable.

“Is she a junior?” Ned asked.

“Yes. A year behind you,” Anne said, letting him know that she knew about him. That she and his father had discussed him.

“College next year,” Thomas said, smiting Ned's upper arm.

“Yeah.”

“Congratulations on Dartmouth,” Anne said. “I hear all the colleges want you.”

This prompted a new round of blushes. Ned tried to frown, but he couldn't help smiling.

“Thanks,” he said.

“Hell, what kind of hosts are we?” Thomas asked. “Anne, can we take your jacket? Would you care for a beer? A glass of wine?”

Anne slipped off her jacket, feeling Thomas touch her shoulder blades as he took it. She shivered, and smiled.

“Whatever you guys are having,” she said.

“Beer,” Thomas and Ned said at once.

“Great,” she said, grinning.

They went into the kitchen, and Anne stood aside while the men prepared dinner. Ned seemed very mysterious as he popped a cookie sheet into the oven, shielding its contents from Anne's sight. The aroma of simmering black beans filled the room, and she watched Thomas assemble burritos. Sipping from a bottle of Dos Equis, she enjoyed the musky flavor of Mexico while being waited on by the two Devlin men.

After a few minutes a timer rang.

Ned pulled the cookie sheet out of the oven. He transferred nachos, sticky with melted cheese, to a serving plate, and set out a bowl of chilled salsa. He glanced at Anne, and she caught a devilish little smile.

“That smells delicious,” she said.

“Please, help yourself,” Ned said, passing her the plate.

Anne ate one nacho in two eager bites. Fire from the jalapeños shot down her throat and up her nose, but she loved the flavor. She took a sip of beer.

“Do you like it?” Ned asked.

“Oh, yes,” Anne said, reaching for the bag she had carried in from the car. “I hope you won't be offended, but they're just a little mild for me. Would you mind if I added a few of these?”

Ned pulled the jar out of the bag: General Estada's Four Alarm Mouth-Burners, aka Chili Peppers, Eat Them If You Dare. Ned glanced up, puzzled, then caught the smile on Anne's face.

“You like hot food,” he said.

“Love it.”

He nodded, smiling.

When Thomas had warned her that dinner would be spicy, she had told him one of the three things she missed about New York City was the availability of super-hot food. New England did many things right, but south-of-the-border wasn't one of them.

Ned opened the jar and lifted a Mouth-Burner into the air. He dangled it over his open mouth, made sure Anne was watching, and popped it in. He shuddered, as if he'd just done a shot of tequila. Then, an obvious challenge, he handed the jar to Anne.

She looked him square in the eye, took a long drink of beer. She reached into the jar.

The pepper juice stung her fingertips. On contact with one cracked cuticle, it made her feel like shouting out loud.

“Go for it,” Ned said.

Anne nodded. She shook the extra juice off a Mouth-Burner, licked it once, and swallowed it down.

“Wow,” Thomas said.

Anne couldn't see through the flames. She daintily sipped her Dos Equis, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She wondered whether she had just killed all the nerve endings in her lips, but she smiled anyway.

So did Ned. So did Thomas. The night was under way.

For dinner, Thomas brought out lanterns Ned had made over the years. Most were shaped vaguely like coffee cans. Several were ceramic, swirls of clay forming van Goghlike patterns, with space for candlelight, coated with glossy black, blue, and silver glaze. Others were made of metal, with punched-out perforations through which the candle flames shone.

Ned made sure Anne had enough salsa, sour cream, and Mouth-Burners. He brought new beer when bottles were emptied. Anne asked him about Dartmouth, and he told her all about its English department, the hockey team, winter carnival, the medical school.

“Do you want to be a doctor?” she asked.

“I think so,” he said.

“Really?” Thomas asked, and from the surprise in his tone, Anne could tell that this was the first time he'd heard it.

Anne waited, eating the delicious dinner they had made. She listened while Ned told about reading William Carlos Williams in English, thinking he'd like to be a doctor
and
a poet.

“Ned's a real poet,” Thomas said to Anne.

“I know,” she said, wondering whether she should say that Thomas had shown her Ned's poems, that they were some of the most beautiful words she had ever read.

“Anyway,” Ned said, scowling again.

“Enough about you?” Thomas asked.

“Yeah.”

“This is a great dinner,” Anne said. “I haven't had food this good since I came back to the island.”

“Where'd you live before?” Ned asked.

“New York,” Anne replied. Thomas had told her that he'd said almost nothing to Ned, that he'd wanted Ned to find things out for himself.

“This must be a pretty big change,” Ned said.

“Well, I grew up on the island.”

“Still, New York is awesome.” He smiled at his father.

“Ned and I saw
Tommy
in New York last Christmas,” Thomas said. “Our first time there together in a long, long time.”

“The time before was with Mom,” Ned said.

“Right,” Thomas said.

“We had lunch at Rockefeller Center,” Ned said. “At that restaurant right on the ice. It was Christmas then, too. The tree—”

“Did you skate?” Anne asked.

“Yeah. Mom and I.”

“That must have been nice,” she said, thinking that this was the winter she had been planning to take Karen ice-skating at Rockefeller Center. She, Matt, and Karen—three years old—had had lunch at the same tourist restaurant that Ned remembered, and it had been one of the high points of Karen's life. She had never stopped talking about it. The memory made Anne feel very close to Ned.

“So,” Ned said, “how did you meet?”

“Meet?” Anne asked, still thinking of Karen.

“You and Dad.”

“Well, we—” Thomas began.

“He saved me,” Anne said. “My family's house was on fire. He pulled me out.”

“He saved you from a fire,” Ned said, staring at Anne. His words were a statement, with hard edges, and they made her uncomfortable. Just then he blushed and looked away, and she realized what must be going through his mind.

“Ned, I'm a fireman,” Thomas said, his voice deep and steady.

“I know.”

“What's the problem?”

“Nothing.”

Ned shuffled a few plates together and carried them into the kitchen.

“I'm sorry,” Anne said.

“Don't be. It's the truth. He has to know.” Thomas covered her hand with his.

They sat at the table, watching the lanterns flicker, listening to Ned in the kitchen banging the plates louder than necessary.

“Maybe you should have told him before,” Anne said.

“I honestly didn't think about the parallel,” Thomas said blankly. “It's what I've done for a living. I try to pull people out of burning buildings.”

“I know,” Anne said, giving his hand a squeeze.

They heard Ned leave the kitchen, walk down the hall. The water ran in the bathroom; they heard music coming from his room.

When he returned, he seemed as awkward, as uncomfortable, as when Anne had first arrived. He shuffled his feet and didn't want to meet her eyes.