This time she actually read it. A four-alarm fire, an entire row of homes completely consumed.
No fatalities. Only one serious injury.
She stared at the timeline she’d drawn on her paper.
One of those articles quoted a fireman as saying “this guy has a hero complex.” That the arsonist was setting fires just so he could go in and save the victims.
That didn’t match Gabriel at all.
Or did it? Had he done that exact thing this morning?
She remembered her question from the hillside. Did you hurt someone?
And the haunted look in his eyes. No. Just the opposite.
That seemed to point in both directions.
Her head hurt.
A knock sounded at her door, and Layne turned off the mon-itor before her father could see what she was looking at.
He leaned into her room, looking frustrated. “What time is Simon supposed to be home?”
She glanced at the clock. It was after four. “His first game is today. The activities bus drops us off around five-thirty.”
“His first game?”
“Yeah. His first basketball game.” She folded her arms on the back of her chair. “Though he’s probably not playing.”
“He was serious about that whole basketball thing?”
“Yeah, Dad.” Layne stared at him, feeling sorry for him and wondering if he deserved it. She’d never sided with her mother, but maybe the woman was right about him working too much.
He and Simon never talked, and she’d always thought it was because Simon resented his father.
She’d never really thought about her father making no effort to remedy the situation.
He came into the room and dropped onto the end of her bed.
“Are you going to be all right?”
Layne thought about her scars disappearing. “Yes. I always am.”
“I’m sorry if I seemed insensitive this morning. After hearing you were in a fire . . . after everything we went through when you were little . . .” He ran a hand through his hair, and now she could hear the emotion in his voice. “And then with your mother . . . It was . . . a lot.”
Layne went and sat next to him. “It’s okay.”
“I never liked you going to that barn by yourself, but I always worried about you taking a fall ”
“Dad. It’s fine.”
He put an arm around her and kissed her on the top of the head. “I know it’s not perfect right now. But I’m trying.”
“I know.” And she did. He was trying to keep doing what he’d always done working himself too hard, forgetting to eat, leaving it to someone else to keep dinner on the table and the family in order.
At one time it had been her mother.
Now it was Layne.
“Want to go watch Simon sit on the bench?” she said.
He kissed her on the head again, giving her another squeeze.
For a moment, she actually thought he might say yes.
But he stood. “I hate to leave you alone, but I need to head in to the office. My afternoon appointments were rescheduled for this evening, so . . .”
And she tuned him out.
She was back to square one. Familiar ground.
Alone.
The basketball game should have been dramatic, what with Ryan Stacey confined to the bench and Simon starting center.
Poetic justice would have dictated that the stands be packed, with Simon making the winning shot in the last seconds.
But it was only JV, and the first game of the season, so the bleachers weren’t crowded. The other team sucked and was barely organized enough to move the ball down the court.
But Simon was great. They were in the lead from the first shot.
And they won the game by twenty-two points.
“You said he can’t hear?” said Hunter as they filed off the stands. He’d stayed for the whole game. “You couldn’t prove it by me.”
Gabriel snorted and tossed his soda can into the recycling bin by the door. “Let’s hope the coach feels the same way.”
He’d been worried Hunter would judge him for the fire at the barn, for telling Nick, for something else he couldn’t quite identify. But Hunter had been steady as ever, listening as Gabriel rehashed his morning from a nearly empty section of the bleachers.
And then he’d said what he always did. “You want to stop?”
Gabriel didn’t.
He couldn’t. Even now, even after this morning, he could feel need burning under his skin, like a junkie going through with-drawal.
He wished he had his lighter.
They waited outside the gym to congratulate Simon, kicking at loose gravel as kids streamed through the doors around them.
Mostly students first, finishing up after-school projects and clubs. Then the JV cheerleaders, arm in arm and giggling as they half danced across the parking lot to the activity busses. Then basketball kids, half damp from the showers, but high-fiving over the win.
When the flow of students dropped to a bare trickle, Gabriel wondered if he’d somehow missed Layne’s little brother.
But he hadn’t seen Ryan Stacey either.
Gabriel swore and went for the doors but on this side of the school, the doors were locked to the outside. He pounded, but no one answered of course, since he’d stood here like an idiot watching everyone leave.
“Come on,” he said to Hunter, turning to sprint for the front entrance.
“What happened?”
“Ryan Stacey.”
They tore through the halls, shoes squeaking on tile as they skidded around corners. A teacher yelled at them to stop running, but Gabriel didn’t recognize her and they were well past before the words registered in his brain.
No fatalities. Only one serious injury.
She stared at the timeline she’d drawn on her paper.
One of those articles quoted a fireman as saying “this guy has a hero complex.” That the arsonist was setting fires just so he could go in and save the victims.
That didn’t match Gabriel at all.
Or did it? Had he done that exact thing this morning?
She remembered her question from the hillside. Did you hurt someone?
And the haunted look in his eyes. No. Just the opposite.
That seemed to point in both directions.
Her head hurt.
A knock sounded at her door, and Layne turned off the mon-itor before her father could see what she was looking at.
He leaned into her room, looking frustrated. “What time is Simon supposed to be home?”
She glanced at the clock. It was after four. “His first game is today. The activities bus drops us off around five-thirty.”
“His first game?”
“Yeah. His first basketball game.” She folded her arms on the back of her chair. “Though he’s probably not playing.”
“He was serious about that whole basketball thing?”
“Yeah, Dad.” Layne stared at him, feeling sorry for him and wondering if he deserved it. She’d never sided with her mother, but maybe the woman was right about him working too much.
He and Simon never talked, and she’d always thought it was because Simon resented his father.
She’d never really thought about her father making no effort to remedy the situation.
He came into the room and dropped onto the end of her bed.
“Are you going to be all right?”
Layne thought about her scars disappearing. “Yes. I always am.”
“I’m sorry if I seemed insensitive this morning. After hearing you were in a fire . . . after everything we went through when you were little . . .” He ran a hand through his hair, and now she could hear the emotion in his voice. “And then with your mother . . . It was . . . a lot.”
Layne went and sat next to him. “It’s okay.”
“I never liked you going to that barn by yourself, but I always worried about you taking a fall ”
“Dad. It’s fine.”
He put an arm around her and kissed her on the top of the head. “I know it’s not perfect right now. But I’m trying.”
“I know.” And she did. He was trying to keep doing what he’d always done working himself too hard, forgetting to eat, leaving it to someone else to keep dinner on the table and the family in order.
At one time it had been her mother.
Now it was Layne.
“Want to go watch Simon sit on the bench?” she said.
He kissed her on the head again, giving her another squeeze.
For a moment, she actually thought he might say yes.
But he stood. “I hate to leave you alone, but I need to head in to the office. My afternoon appointments were rescheduled for this evening, so . . .”
And she tuned him out.
She was back to square one. Familiar ground.
Alone.
The basketball game should have been dramatic, what with Ryan Stacey confined to the bench and Simon starting center.
Poetic justice would have dictated that the stands be packed, with Simon making the winning shot in the last seconds.
But it was only JV, and the first game of the season, so the bleachers weren’t crowded. The other team sucked and was barely organized enough to move the ball down the court.
But Simon was great. They were in the lead from the first shot.
And they won the game by twenty-two points.
“You said he can’t hear?” said Hunter as they filed off the stands. He’d stayed for the whole game. “You couldn’t prove it by me.”
Gabriel snorted and tossed his soda can into the recycling bin by the door. “Let’s hope the coach feels the same way.”
He’d been worried Hunter would judge him for the fire at the barn, for telling Nick, for something else he couldn’t quite identify. But Hunter had been steady as ever, listening as Gabriel rehashed his morning from a nearly empty section of the bleachers.
And then he’d said what he always did. “You want to stop?”
Gabriel didn’t.
He couldn’t. Even now, even after this morning, he could feel need burning under his skin, like a junkie going through with-drawal.
He wished he had his lighter.
They waited outside the gym to congratulate Simon, kicking at loose gravel as kids streamed through the doors around them.
Mostly students first, finishing up after-school projects and clubs. Then the JV cheerleaders, arm in arm and giggling as they half danced across the parking lot to the activity busses. Then basketball kids, half damp from the showers, but high-fiving over the win.
When the flow of students dropped to a bare trickle, Gabriel wondered if he’d somehow missed Layne’s little brother.
But he hadn’t seen Ryan Stacey either.
Gabriel swore and went for the doors but on this side of the school, the doors were locked to the outside. He pounded, but no one answered of course, since he’d stood here like an idiot watching everyone leave.
“Come on,” he said to Hunter, turning to sprint for the front entrance.
“What happened?”
“Ryan Stacey.”
They tore through the halls, shoes squeaking on tile as they skidded around corners. A teacher yelled at them to stop running, but Gabriel didn’t recognize her and they were well past before the words registered in his brain.
