Out of the Ashes (4 page)

Most of the people of Little River were pretty engrossed in the whole fire story thing for the next few weeks. The stories got stranger and stranger as time went by, and it was impossible not to hear them.

It's amazing how rumours grow over time, don't you think? Mom had told me about how this can happen, how people take a story and “improve” it so that when they tell it to the next person it's a little more interesting. You'd have thought that the idea that Mr. Taylor was setting fires would be enough for people to talk about, but the stories kept getting weirder and weirder.

The really strange thing was how the rumours branched off into completely different ideas. If they'd all been true, Greg's dad would have had to be half a dozen different people. There were stories about him being involved in organized crime and hiding from the
law in Little River. I'm not sure how that supported the theory that he was setting fires. You'd have thought that a person hiding from the law would refrain from drawing attention to himself, making it unlikely that he'd go around burning places down.

Other stories said that he was wealthy and planning a takeover of the town by scaring everyone into selling their property cheap. There was never an explanation put forward for why he'd want to own Little River.

The most common stories, though, were the ones that claimed he was mentally deranged. There were several variations on that theme. Some folks said that he had killed his wife and had gone over the edge and become a pyromaniac. Others suggested that the fire that killed Mrs. Taylor had been accidental and that he had lost his mind with grief and started setting fires out of some twisted idea of revenge or guilt for not being able to save her.

I knew one thing — the stories couldn't possibly all be true. Whatever the truth was, it wasn't going to surface in all the gossip.

The one really significant thing was actually something that
didn't
happen. I guess that sounds strange, but when people are expecting something to take place and it doesn't, it can mean just as much as something that actually does happen, if you know what I mean.

Anyway, the thing that didn't happen was that Greg's father didn't get arrested. Oh, there were lots of
stories of how he'd been hauled into the police station for questioning. Some said in the dead of night, others were equally certain he'd been “grilled” for a full day. Most people covered this discrepancy by saying he'd been questioned on more than one occasion.

People began insisting that he was guilty and that the police just couldn't prove it.

Greg would have needed to have his head buried in the sand to avoid hearing all the rumours. I was sure he knew what was being said, but there was no change in the way he acted or how he held himself walking around. Usually if someone is embarrassed they'll keep their head down a bit or try not to look anyone in the eye.

Not Greg. He went along just the same as before. I'd see him here and there, smiling and talking to the other kids as if everything was perfectly normal. I have to admit that I admired that a little, the way he refused to be cowed by the stories. I'd have wanted to crawl off somewhere and hide if I'd been in his position.

You could see it in the faces around him too, puzzlement and something bordering on annoyance. It was as if they had been cheated out of the reaction they expected and didn't quite know what to do about it. Really, there was nothing they could do. It wasn't as if anyone could come right out and say anything to his face.

In keeping with my plan to be nice to him, I made an effort to say hello whenever I passed him in the hall.
He must not have known how difficult it was for me to do that with everyone around already talking about us as if there were some sort of romance brewing. In any case, he didn't show any sign of appreciating it much. He'd just smile and answer as if he'd fully expected me to speak to him and would have been surprised if I hadn't.

It took some of the noble feeling out of it for me. After all, I was making a pretty large gesture of kindness by acknowledging him, and he was acting as if it were his due.

Having said that, I have to admit that I didn't exactly go overboard being nice to him. Even though I spoke to him, I did my best to avoid getting into any real conversations. He obviously caught on too, because after a week or two he answered me when I spoke to him but didn't make any effort to take it any further.

Betts was over her snit and we were eating together again. It's comical the way Betts sprawls across the lunch table any time there's big gossip. She starts out by leaning forward and ends up with her arms spread out over the table and her chin nearly stuck into her lunch.

She'd finally accepted that there was nothing to the story about me and Greg, although I know this was a disappointment to her. That wasn't because she necessarily wanted to see me dating him at that point, but I'm sure she must have figured I'd be in a good position to get information out of him if I were his girlfriend.

In Betts's mind, Malcolm Taylor had been tried and convicted, and all that remained was for it to be made official. I did my best to avoid talking about it with her, which was no small feat. As soon as she'd bring up the subject, I'd steer the conversation away by mentioning something about whichever guy was the Man of Her Dreams at the moment. That usually worked, although it was trying for me to have to listen to her rave on and on about the various guys' eyes and lips. When she progressed to how cute someone's butt was, I'd wish I'd just let her gossip about Mr. Taylor!

Well, as I mentioned before, there were no more fires that fall. After a while things settled back to normal and the talk of Greg's father died down, to be resurrected only when things were really boring. There'd been no arrest, and it began to appear that the culprit was going to get away with it. People were unhappy about that. It was a real disappointment to have that kind of excitement fizzle out without the expected drama of an arrest and trial.

Even a great story like the fires can't keep going when there's nothing new to feed it. By the time November had passed, the town's adults had switched to talking about the usual things. I've never understood why it's interesting to old folks, which I suppose would include anyone over twenty-five, to spend their time discussing really boring stuff. The women seem to talk
mostly about who's getting married or having a baby, while the men generally spend all of their time trying to decide whether or not it's going to rain.

As for the kids at school, we were mainly talking about the upcoming school dance. We have one every year, a week or so before Christmas, and it's a really big deal. It's embarrassing if you don't have a date, but some people go alone anyway, just so they don't have to miss out on it. The girls start getting their dresses as early as September, shopping out of town in bigger cities, or sometimes ordering material from Della's Fabric Store on the town square and having them made.

My mom was making mine, a deep blue formal gown with a glittery sash. She insisted on fittings every time I turned around, but I didn't really mind because that just meant it was going to fit perfectly. Even when it wasn't done, I felt special with the soft, satiny material flowing down around me.

Naturally, I'd been hoping that Nick Jarvis would ask me to be his date. Well, by the first week of December there was no sense in pretending that was going to happen. He'd made it official with Jane Goodfellow by then and asked her out. Jane was telling everyone that her gown was going to make the others look like country frocks. Did I mention that I don't like Jane Goodfellow?

Still, there were a couple of other guys at school who would have been pretty acceptable dates, even if
they weren't Nick. I waited and prayed and turned down a few offers, hoping that one of them might come through. By the week of the formal, it was clear that I'd made a big mistake. Everyone worth going with was taken, and there I was with a dress and no date.

I know it's no excuse for what I did next, but I was desperate.

You're probably thinking that I accepted a last-minute invitation from Greg, but it's way worse than that. You see, Greg didn't actually ask me. I'd been thinking he might, but he never brought it up.

What happened was that, in a moment of panic,
I
asked
him
. To say he looked surprised is an understatement. It must have been a shock all right, after the way I'd basically been avoiding him.

He was outside waiting for his bus, standing off to one side with a faraway look on his face. Greg is like that a lot. You can see that he's drifted away from whatever is going on around him, which I have to admit I do too sometimes.

I got looking at him and thinking that he really wasn't all that bad. He's not a geek or anything, and even though he's not exactly handsome, he's at least passable. All of a sudden he seemed like a reasonable solution to the dance problem. Actually, by that point in time, he was pretty much the
only
solution.

“If you're going to the dance, and you don't have a date, I was thinking maybe we could go together.” I'd walked up beside him and blurted it out before I could change my mind.

His astonishment was evident, but he pushed it aside quickly.

“I hadn't been planning to go,” he said quietly. “It's formal wear, isn't it?”

“Most of the guys are just wearing suits.” I felt like a total idiot. It seemed almost as if I was begging him. “It's not like you need a tuxedo or anything.”

“I guess I could find something.”

He smiled then and agreed to go. It was obvious that he was happy about it, but I went home with mixed feelings. While I was relieved that I wouldn't be one of those girls who can't get a date, I also partly regretted that I'd opened my mouth.

I was as casual as possible when I told my mom that I was going to the dance with Greg, but it's darned near impossible to hide anything from her. The way her head snapped up as she looked at me made it clear that I was going to have some explaining to do. So when the first thing she did was ask
why
I was going to the formal with Greg, it didn't come as a surprise.

“It's just a date,” I said sullenly. I was in for “a talk,” and I knew it.

“Well, let's see.” She got that look on her face, the one that says we're going to get to the bottom of this and there will be no worming out of it. “You've told me how he embarrassed you and how you've avoided him ever since. Now all of a sudden you're going to the school formal with him. Tell me what I'm missing here.”

“He's not that bad.” This sounded lame even to me.

“He's not that bad.” Mom repeated my words in a way that made it sound like the most ridiculous statement in the entire world. “And you feel this is a good reason to date someone.”

“I'm not dating him. It's just a dance.”

There was an uncomfortable moment then. Well, uncomfortable for me. She sat looking at me as though she couldn't quite understand what I'd said, as though I'd asked her a really hard question and she was figuring it out.

“Shelby, are you going with Greg just so that you'll have a date for the formal?”

It was useless to deny it. She had me, and we both knew it.

“I guess. But it's not like I'm doing anything wrong,” I insisted. “We'll both get to go and have a good time. He wasn't going to go at all otherwise.”

“I'm afraid I disagree,” Mom said with disappointment on her face. “You're treating someone's feelings carelessly, and that's always wrong.”

“You'd rather see me go alone and feel like a moron and have a terrible time,” I snapped back accusingly, even though I knew it wasn't fair or true. For some reason, I seem to get angry when my mother points out something that makes me feel guilty.

“That's quite enough of that kind of talk.”

“I'm sorry,” I mumbled half-heartedly, “but you don't know how it feels.”

“Don't I? Are you sure about that?”

Here we go with the “I was young once too” stories, I thought. How can you compare the way things were years ago when my mom was young to how they are now? It doesn't make sense. The world has changed a lot since then.

“As a matter of fact, Shelby,” Mom was indeed launching into the past, but at least it would take the interrogation light off me for a minute, “when I was just a few years older than you, there was a couples' picnic out at Hawks Point. Everyone was going, but I didn't have a date until the last minute.”

“Did you ask a guy you really didn't like much just so you'd have someone to go with?” In spite of myself, I was getting interested in her story.

“No, I didn't. But I wasn't there very long before I realized that's exactly what my date had done. He wasn't the least bit interested in being there with me, which was clear by the way he left me standing by myself while he made a fool of himself over another girl.”

I felt my face getting hot and wondered if I was blushing. Was it possible that Mom had seen through me? Could she have figured out that I'd secretly been hoping that once I was at the dance, in my elegant gown, Nick might notice me?

“You must have felt pretty bad,” I said, drawing myself back to her story.

“Sure I did. I went home that night and cried myself to sleep. And it wasn't just because of the way he'd treated me, it was because his actions proved he was completely indifferent to how I felt. I just didn't matter.”

That really got to me. I realized that I hadn't stopped, not even for a second, to think about Greg's feelings. He was a means to an end, a convenience. It wasn't a proud moment for me.

“Do you think I should call off the date with Greg?”

“I don't think that will make things a whole lot better, do you?”