House on Fire

By G. Andy Mather

Cory and Jessie were only twelve, but it was love at first sight. They vowed to marry when they grew up. It was a perfect plan, except his parents adopted her! Now 15, Cory clings to that dream, but his passion for her is dangerous. Incest in another family has the town on edge, and a friend has guessed Cory's secret. If it gets out it could destroy the family. But Dad has a few secrets, too.

• Language: English
• Publisher: G. Andy Mather
• Release date: Jul 30, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310853852

G. Andy Mather

I'm kind of shy and not prone to bios, but please read the interview. Thank you for visiting!

Book preview

House on Fire

A different kind of love story

by Andy Mather

Smashwords Edition--Copyright 2023 G. Andy Mather--All rights reserved.

http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/andymather

First Edition, 02/14/2023

This is a fictional story. The resemblance of any character or situation to reality is purely coincidental.

# # #

Prologue

Even at eleven I understood a lot about people in love; the sparkly glance, the brush of a hand, the subtle smile that can’t hide the desire behind it. The way one drops what they’re doing when the other comes home to their embrace. My parents were passionately in love.

And yeah, sometimes they were noisy at night. The next morning she’d hum, and he’d whistle. Gross to think about but comforting in a way--kinda like insurance. Spaz’s folks broke up and it made him miserable. I knew my parents would never get divorced.

Mom said they married in their hearts long before exchanging vows in a church; that theirs was a love at first sight. I thought that was just a saying--until it happened to me.

It was after school on a Friday, two weeks before Thanksgiving. Gray clouds hung low over Detroit. A cool breeze scraped brown, dry leaves across the concrete yard. Others, bright yellow and red, clung to wet grass by the high chain link fence. The smell of damp leaves always reminds me.

I’d wandered away from Mom and Dad. There were tons of kids on the playground, strangers with hard faces. Some laughed, but it seemed sharp and mean. I was just watching. I didn’t belong there; I was the alien.

One girl stood out. She sat on a step, twirling a plastic rose, just a green stick with some faded purple petals. Her skin was like coffee when you pour in lots of cream, and her hair long and black, but not zig-zaggy like the other girls. I’d never seen anyone like her. Why did she seem so familiar?

That’s not what I mean, though; she sat alone, as if nobody else could see her. An outcast even among orphans. She glanced at me with a flash of what might have been recognition, and then quickly away.

Normally I’d be too shy, but I sat next to her.

I’m Cory. What’s your name?

Jessica, she whispered, and turned to me with just the flicker of a smile.

That’s when it happened. It was like I could see into her, right through her eyes, and knew we were connected in ways that I couldn’t begin to describe. It made my body shiver; I felt thrilled and terrified--like when your rollercoaster goes over a hill and the world falls out from beneath you.

You new. Y’gotta to stay here, too? Her voice was high and sweet. A strand of dark hair blew across her face, and she brushed it away. I tried not to stare but couldn’t help myself.

Um, no, Mom and Dad want to adopt a baby. The idea of getting an infant sister wasn’t exciting, but Mom got dreamy-faced whenever she talked about it. They’d been filling out papers for months.

Oh. Jessica looked up at the gloomy sky. You ever pray?

I guess.

I do. I prayt real hard las’ night.

Why?

Her eyes moved to a group of teenage boys by the high chain link fence. They glared at us, and she looked away.

They’ the ones.

What d’ya mean?

The ones who hurt me at night.

The way she hugged her knees pulled back her jacket sleeves, revealing bruises on her thin wrists.

At night?

She nodded, and after hesitating, Lotsa nights.

I wasn’t stupid and understood what she wasn’t saying. Without even looking I could feel the big kids’ stares.

She gazed down at her feet. I prayt for a garden angel.

Our eyes met again, and it was electric. That scared feeling washed over me again, this time more like panic. It twisted in me; I was way out of my depth and wanted to be back at the picnic table with Mom and Dad and the social work lady. I didn’t know any angels, but I knew a force of nature. Reaching over, I took Jessica’s hand.

Come with me--I gotta talk to Dad.

As I led her across the yard, she said, You an’ me gonna get married, okay?

Yeah, okay. I remember thinking that made sense.

Mom and Dad sat close together, hugging. They were so mushy. Jessica climbed right up next to Mom and leaned in, showing her the flower. Mom looked surprised, but then she put her arm around the her and got that dreamy look.

Dad’s face was usually hard to tell, except when his forehead looked annoyed, like it was then. I tugged on his sleeve until he finally leaned over. His neck smelled like Old Spice, and his beard tickled my cheek as I whispered in his ear. Dad’s forehead got angry, bad as I’d ever seen it, but he just nodded and went back to listening to the social worker. She was explaining how children should only be raised by a family of the same heritage.

My great-grampa Laine came from Finland, I offered, but she was busy talking. I wondered if any of the orphan babies were Finnish. Probably not.

Slow minutes passed. Maybe Dad forgot. Should I tell him again? But then he said, Jessica, Cory tells me the older boys hurt you at night. Is that true?

Jessica looked over at me, asking if it was safe to tell, so I nodded.

Her voice was small. Uh-huh.

Can you show me where they hurt you, Sweetie?

She looked back at me, so I nodded again. She pointed down where they hurt her. Mom made a weird sound.

Jessie! the lady gasped, Why didn’t you tell us?

They made me scared.

Dad suggested that they head inside and talk to the director. A different woman from the orphanage took Jessie to the hospital. A policeman came and asked me to point out the boys through the office window. The first lady gave him their names. I told the officer about the bruises. He wrote it in a little notebook.

My Dad’s a policeman, too, I told him.

The day before my twelfth birthday we got dressed up and went to see a judge. We had to wait a long time for our turn. Somewhere in all the boring talk, the judge said yes. And that’s how Jessie got to be my sister.

One

When Jessie came to live with us, she was alternately anxious and ferocious. She had terrible nightmares and didn’t like to be touched. I suffered bite marks and scratches learning that. She’d apologize afterward, but I was careful not to surprise her.

One night, I woke to her sitting by my bed, a dark form on the rug. I could see the whites of her eyes, which disappeared when she blinked.

Hey, Cory?

What is it? Are you okay?

You won’t never hurt me, will you?

No way. Why?

Didn’t think so. Jus’ wanted to hear you say it.

I rubbed my eyes. She held that little flower.

I like your mom. She smells like vanilla.

She’s your mom now, too.

Yeah. Sis sat there for another minute and smiled, her teeth bright in the darkness. Cory? Kin I belong to you?

Like how?

Like a girlfrien’.

You’re my sister, Jess. That’s better. You can never break up with your sister.

So, I belong to you?

Yeah, I guess we can belong to each other.

She sat there looking down and away, like I do when solving long division.

The next day as we watched TV, she reached out and held my hand. She smiled at me, and I smiled back. Her eyes didn’t look as scared.

That night Jessie came back to my bed.

I hat a bat dream. Kin I sleep wit you?

Um, yeah, I guess. I scooted over and made room. She pulled my arm around her.

Will you keep me safe?

Okay.

Promise? Always?

Yeah, I’ll always keep you safe. I promise.

Next morning Dad set down his coffee and cleared his throat. Listen, kids, you’re not to share a bed.

Why not?

Only married people are allowed. Stay out of each other’s room.

But that’s not fair.

It doesn’t have to be fair. It’s a rule, and a serious one. Do you understand?

I guess.

Nothing happened last night, did it?

Like what?

Like anything.

Um, I don’t think so. We were asleep. Maybe we missed it.

Mom’s eyes smiled as if I was funny.

Bad news, she said, No apples in your lunch today. I forgot to buy any yesterday.

Aw!

So, I packed Twinkies instead.

Yay! Twinkies were my favorite. Mom, how old do you have to be to get married?

My parent’s eyes met.

You need to be a grown-up. Now hurry, you two, or you’ll miss the bus.

We bundled up against the January wind and shuffled to the corner holding hands.

Hey Jess? Do you want to get married? When we grow up, I mean.

Okay.

I had to stop and catch my breath until that rollercoaster feeling passed.

After Dad graduated Wayne State, he reapplied to the Michigan State Police, but they wouldn’t guaranty him a post in the Upper Peninsula, so he went back to work as a Deputy Sheriff for Delta County. He said he’d run for Sheriff if old Sanders ever retired. We moved into a big cedar house on County Road 80, north of Escanaba, where I grew up. This was before the fire. It was just as well that Sissy and I were already best friends, because no other kids lived nearby.

We were still in sixth grade, so we got Ms. Oathmar’s class. That’s where we met our friends Beth, Jody and Spaz. Beth was nice to everyone. She was sick a lot in fifth grade and had to repeat, so she was a year older. Jody was really smart and always had her hand up. Spaz liked to give his answers while standing on a chair. Ms. Oathmar didn’t find that as funny as I did.

Next to Sissy, Robert Spaetzerkopff was the person I liked the most on the whole planet. Spaz was ten and a half months older than me, a blonde-haired Howdy Doody with wide, bright green eyes. He lived with his mom and three sisters. He liked train tracks and limestone quarries. There was always a bonfire to build or a stream to dam, and he refused to recognize that he wasn’t good at climbing trees. Rough on shoes, scabs, and bikes, he only wore flannel shirts and overalls, to school, to church, and even all summer. He was nuts.

Then there was Janna. She and her younger brother Harrad lived in town. Their dad was Dr. Prakesh, the pharmacist at Drugco. Dad said if Janna was his he’d give her away; she was a whiner, which he couldn’t tolerate. Janna was kind of an oddity like Jessie, so we let her eat lunch with us. I wondered if it made Jessie feel less alone to have somebody else around with darker skin.

I don’t know, she said, I guess it’s better then bein’ the only one. But I never fitted in. In Detroit, I wasn’t never one of the sistahs. They din’t protect me. I wish I had pink skin like you.

Then you wouldn’t be so cute, Jess. I like you how you are.

Really? I don’t. I don’t wanna be diff’rent. I wanna be real twins.

Okay. Next summer I’ll get a good tan.

That made her giggle.

Jessie got teased sometimes in school. Some of it was downright ignorant and racist. Mom warned us about that. But a lot of it was the way she talked. What was normal on Cass Avenue sounded wrong in Escanaba. It didn’t help that she cursed like it was nothing, even in front of adults.

Mom rented a video tape of My Fair Lady. The movie’s about a lady who learns to talk differently to fit in with a new bunch of people. Jess picked right up on the idea.

You gotta teach me that! she told us.

Sis eagerly learned this new language, and Mom made it into games. Sissy practiced lists of words with ing or er at the end, and would chant, Mother, I need some of that nighttime, sniffling sneezing, coughing, aching, stuffy-head, fever, so you can rest medicine. She was smart and worked hard at it. Within weeks she started to imitate the native UP lilt.

It must be like learning a foreign language, I told her.

It’s almost different way of thinking. Like, you guys say thank you a lot.

You don’t think that’s normal?

But Mom thanks Dad for taking out the garbage, and he thanks her for vacuuming. You thank Mom for fixing your lunch. I mean, you do it every day. Ain’t that jus’ their jobs?

Isn’t, not ain’t.

I forget that one. But doncha ever get tired of it?

Not really. I guess it’s like saying I love you and appreciate you. I don’t get tired of hearing that.

Oh, I get it. Then… thanks for explainin’ that to me.

She still swore, though. Mom made a list of words Sis shouldn’t use, and Jess showed it to me. Wow, I didn’t know Mom even knew those words! Some of them I had to ask Jess what they meant.

Okay, I know the f-word. That’s bad, and the n-word is super nasty. Why is count a bad word?

She looked at me, exasperated.

That ain’t how ya say it. I looked at it again.

Oh. What is it?

It’s a mean, worthless girl. I got called it lots. Mom says it means vagina, but that it’s wicked.

Weird. Yeah, I know those. That one means poop. How about this one? Wah-oar?

You so dumb. That mean a girl only good for fu… um, she looked at the ceiling, For having intercourse with. And ya say it like ‘ho’.

I’m not dumb, so don’t call me that. I was just ignorant.

Sorry. I’ll put dumb on the list, too.

It helped that Mom and Dad talked with us as if we were adults. We’d all do chores together, make supper together, telling the stories of our day. It was fun to get Dad talking, especially after dinner when he’d had a couple drinks. He was funny and could argue both sides of any issue.

When he wasn’t at work, Dad would just do what a man normally does, and include us in it. He’d have us help fix things like the leaky faucet or a burned-out headlight. He taught us how to clean the tile floors, how to sew torn clothes, and how to make a bed. Correctly. He said those were the first three things he learned in the Army.

Dad thought exercise was important, so we played outside a lot, even when it was bitter cold. Indoors, we had contests for push-ups and pull-ups. Jessie always won. Dad taught us the fireman’s carry, so Sis and I lugged each other around on our backs. I got to four minutes once before I had to set Jessie down. Then she had to carry me for five, just to prove she was stronger.

Mom enrolled Jessie in karate lessons. It gave her a healthy way to focus and burn off all that emotional energy. She was fast, strong, and balanced. Mom asked if she wanted to join a gymnastics club, too, but she had no interest in that. She was a warrior.

Every Wednesday Mom would take Jessie to a therapist, to help her deal with the stuff that happened at the orphanage. Sis asked if I could go with her, but Mom said no. It didn’t matter; Jess told me everything anyway, in vivid detail.

Mom said Jess might try to work out some of that stuff with me physically, and if she did, I was supposed to say no and tell Mom about it. I didn’t, though. I was curious and didn’t want to get Sis in trouble.

If I didn’t do it right, she told me, Or if I cried, they’d hurt me. They said it was my own fault.

How could you not cry when it hurt?

After a while it was like part of me went away, like I wasn’t all there. She twirled her flower. Do you love me, Cory?

What? Yeah, of course.

Those boys said they loved me.

They lied.

I mean, I believed them. I thought that was what it meant.

Love feels happy, it feels safe. It makes you feel respected. Did they make you feel that way?

No, but it’s confusing. I kind of liked the attention. It made me feel special.

You don’t have to do that stuff to be special. Not with me.

I know. But I like when you touch me. That feels like love.

Hug?

Uh-huh.

Mom took a picture of us on the couch. At first glance, you just see two twelve-year-olds smiling at each other, me with my skinny lips and little teeth, and her with that wide, bright smile. But if you study it, the expressions look more like an old couple who’ve loved a lifetime and are content just to be in each other’s presence.

That would have made perfect sense to Jessie and me. We had our secret plan. When we played house, Mom said we were adorable. She said we made the perfect couple, just destined for each other.

That was the only thing I ever heard Dad be cross with Mom about. His forehead would gather like a storm cloud, and he’d call Mom Emma. He growled that it was wrong to encourage us; that it could only lead to trouble later.

But look at them, Mikael, she’d answer, Don’t you see it? It’ll be fine. Trust me on this. Then they would make smoochie-face and he’d call her Dear, and the argument was over.

As for the fantasy of marrying Jess, I guess it was just a passing phase that never passed.

Two

Thinking back, I kind of took Mom for granted. No matter what I did, she’d always forgive me and love me. It was a given. Dad scared me a little; he was the one I wanted to impress.

He was a big man, and his soft, deep chuckle came easy back then. If you got in trouble, he’d help you out. If you made trouble, he’d straighten you out. There wasn’t a question whether anyone should mess with him--you shouldn’t. He set clear limits and made sure we knew the rules--and the consequences for breaking them. Those were constant, and strictly enforced. He was willing to negotiate, but once a deal was struck, it was law. There were no excuses and no time off for good behavior.

Dad knew everything. It was impossible for me to hide something from him and get away with it. He’d look at me with those piercing blue-gray eyes and raise a bushy eyebrow, and I knew I was caught. Fortunately, it was my nature to be disciplined. It was easier to follow the rules--and petition for changes as needed--than to try to bend or circumvent them. Jessie, on the other hand, broke rules all the time, and didn’t seem to care if she got in trouble.

Dad could be strict, but there was never a question of whether he loved us. He loved his family more fiercely than a lion. I learned something about that fierceness during our first winter back in the UP.

I wrote a great story in class, but Ms. Oathmar marked me down for poor penmanship. I was still angry about it before dinner, and when Mom asked me to set the table I swore at her under my breath--a word from Jessie’s list--and Dad heard me.

He took me to my room and knelt on one knee, so his face was level with mine, just inches away. He didn’t raise his voice. In fact, it was barely above a whisper, but that made it scarier.

Okay, Son, he said, his voice like distant thunder, Let me explain this to you, man to man. Do you think I’d hesitate for a moment to die for you?

I shook my head.

That’s right. I’d die for you, and I’d die for your Mom. I’d kill for her, too. I truly believed that. I nodded meekly.

You know I was in the Army. What you don’t know is that I learned to look a man in the eye and use all my muscle and weight to thrust a nine-inch steel bayonet right through his clothes and into his guts. I learned to twist it sideways and rip it out under his ribs. I was good at it, and I started to like it.

The gentleness of his voice clashed with the violence of the words. There was no doubt in my mind he was physically capable... but he liked it?

"That’s why I left the infantry. That part of me was taking over.

"We all--all men--have some of that savage passion in us. I know you do. You and me, we’re the bulls of our species, and bulls can be dangerous. We have to respect each other’s pride and territory.

Son, he said, pausing between each word. "Don’t, ever, mess, with a man’s wife. A man will protect his woman tooth and nail, with a thrust, a twist, and a rip. Understand? That woman in the kitchen is not just your mother. She’s my wife. My wife, he hissed. Do you get it? Don’t disrespect her, and never, ever, harm her. Not with your fists, not with your words."

Then the Dad I knew was back, the fury contained and his arms around me.

I love you, Son. I don’t want to be your enemy--don’t make me one. Don’t provoke me again. Now go out there and apologize to your Mom. And not just some wimpy, sniveling excuse. Stand tall, admit you were out of line, tell her that you won’t do it again, and ask for her forgiveness. We’ll talk more later.

Judge Franks told me that the job of being a kid was to test and find the limits, and that knowing the limit was security. Dad made sure I was very secure. When Mom died, that glimpse of his violent passion for her helped me understand his barren and ruthless grief.

Three

The cedar house was old and weathered silver-gray, with an attached garage off the kitchen. Mom parked her Chevette on the far side, away from the kitchen door. Dad’s old Chevy crew cab was too long, so he left it in the driveway. Instead, he used the garage space to build a workbench with a vice, shelves full of jars of screws, cans of paint, and all his tools hung up on a pegboard. It was really cool, and I was allowed to use it, just not the power tools.

It was a Friday night in March. After dinner, Dad left to drop off some film at the drugstore in town and then visit with his friends. Mom said I could stay up late and work on my boat model, but she and Sissy went to bed.

I wasn’t supposed to use the kerosene heater, but it was cold in the garage, so I did anyway. When I was done, I swept up the wood shavings, took off my sweatshirt, and went inside to use the bathroom. I smelled something like hot plastic, so I washed up quickly and ran back to open the kitchen door.

The work shelves were on fire - the heater! I knew what to do. I dug for the extinguisher under the kitchen sink and ran back. I pulled the pin and emptied the container toward the base of the flames. But the extinguisher was too small; it ran out in seconds and the flames spread way too fast. A jar of varnish exploded into shards of glass, spewing a hot orange fireball toward the rafters. The gas can by Dad’s snow blower shimmered in the heat.

Thick smoke poured into the kitchen. Wallpaper pealed and burned near the doorway. I should’ve closed the door, but the knob was too hot. My hands shook so bad it took three tries just to dial nine-one-one.

Delta County dispatch, what is your emergency, please?

Our house is on fire! 55215 County Road Eighty. Hurry!

Are you in the house now? Are you alone?

Am I alone? Jesus. I threw the receiver on the kitchen floor and ran upstairs, hollering for Mom.

Somehow, the fire had already jumped to the second floor. The sooty, acrid smoke scalded my eyes and lungs. Flames in Mom and Dad’s room dimly lit the hallway. I flipped the light switch, but nothing happened. I stumbled over Mom and fell onto Sis, who was coughing hard.

I hesitated--I had to choose--then hoisted Sis up in a fireman’s carry, just like Dad taught us. My head got giddy, and I fell, maybe passed out. I don’t know how long it was. I got back to my feet and got Jessie up again. It was so hot!

Come on Mom--we have to go!

She stared at me from the hallway floor.

I had to carry Jess over Mom to reach the stairs.

I’ll be back for you! I yelled.

But I missed the top step, lost my balance, and we plunged down the stairway. When we hit, Jess’s weight across my shoulders dove my face into the living room floor. I was pinned under Sissy’s limp body and my left arm wouldn’t work--it didn’t hurt yet, but a bone was sticking out. My panic tasted like steel.

It took minutes to get untangled. I smelled my hair scorching away. Cinders flew around us, some burning right through my tee-shirt and sweatpants. I was taking way too long. The kitchen was full of flames, and the back of the couch was on fire. When I stood, something white-hot fell on my face and I screamed. The smell of burning flesh fed my terror. I couldn’t tell if Jessie was breathing; the edge of her long flannel nightgown was smoking. My lungs felt scorched.

The whole room was going to flash over; the front door was our only escape. With a strength I’d never had, I lifted Sis with just my right arm and half-dragged her to the door. I set her down and grabbed the doorknob. My palm sizzled, but I held on and pulled hard.

Jessie was in my arm again--I don’t remember lifting her. I couldn’t feel my hands, only the intense heat on my back and the cold night air on my burning face.

Outside, a distant siren wailed. I dragged Jess across the porch, and we tumbled onto the yard. There was still some snow on the lawn, but the drifts had turned to slush in the heat--the wilted grass underneath was cool and wet. It sucked the pain from my skin. I gasped and choked, desperate for the smoky air.

A truck ground to a halt in our gravel drive, its yellow light dancing crazy circles, pale against the fire’s glow. That was fast. Wait, how long had it been? Fifteen seconds? Fifteen minutes? My head swimming, I rolled over to soak my back in the icy slurry. I inhaled hard as I could, but it wasn’t enough. I shivered violently.

Jessie moaned. She’s alive. What if she doesn’t make it? Where’s Mom? The questions slipped away--I couldn’t think of anything but the pain.

The siren got louder, closer. A man from the truck ran toward us.

Then, after forever, the ambulance... I was so grateful for the oxygen.

The rest was a blur; faces hovering over me, Jessie shrieking, the thick taste of burnt skin, the searing pain, the wail of the siren, and my own screaming... then more hovering heads and Dad’s hard face, grim and unreadable... and finally the dizzy, nauseous decent into nothing.

Four

Awareness wove in and out around me. The world blazed in time to my heartbeat, the sheets damp with sweat. A wall clock clicked. The fluorescent light flickered over my bed.

It hurt to inhale. The nauseating stink of sweaty flesh, old coffee, rubbing alcohol, and carts of steaming hospital food seeped into the oxygen mask. I salivated as a wave of nausea threatened to take me. My diaphragm twitched, sending waves of agony through me.

Out of one eye I spied Dad slouched in a chair, a paper mask over his face; I could only see his worried forehead and his eyes, sunken and hollow. Behind him was an empty hospital bed, and beyond that, a large window full of glowing red clouds. More fire? No, a sunrise or sunset. What day was it?

My heart stopped as it hit me: the other bed was empty!

Alarmed, I turned my head to see clearer. My face and shoulder screamed with pain. Dad noticed the movement and sat up.

Overwhelmed by fear and hurt, I gasped for air, my body shaking with terror. He stood beside me, his hand on the rail.

No words would form in my mouth. It seemed like days before I finally squeaked out a raspy, Dad?

He looked down at me and winced.

I’m here, Son.

Where’s Jessie? I closed my eyes, bracing myself for the answer.

Across the hall. She’s going to be okay.

My chin trembled and I choked. Sobs wracked my body, sending waves of searing heat over my flesh. She was alive. Across the hall. Of course. They wouldn’t put a girl in the same room with a boy. Dad stroked my damp head with his large, calloused hand. Where was my hair?

Can I see her?

Not yet. Maybe in a couple days.

Days? Is it bad?

No, she’ll be alright.

I didn’t really have to ask the next question. I knew from Dad’s eyes.

Mom?

I’m sorry, Buddy.

I was a mess. Needles under my skin delivered antibiotics and fluid to replace what seeped from my wounds.

I didn’t have any really big burns, but there were dozens of smaller ones. Some spots, like my face, were seared right through the skin. The middle of those didn’t hurt because the nerves were gone, but the second-degree burns? Each one felt like a twisting bayonet.

Morphine dulled the pain a little, just taking the edge off, and it never lasted long enough. I watched the clock, praying for the next injection, for relief to flow into my veins. Hurry, hurry, hurry! It hurt the worst those last few minutes before the shot. Sometimes the nurse was late. When that happened, I’d struggle not to cry out. Even after she finally came, it took another hour just to get back to mere agony.

They couldn’t use a cast on my left arm because of the blistered skin, so I had this stainless-steel armature thing instead. My right hand was ruined from the doorknob, so I couldn’t have fed myself even if allowed to. Instead, a tube went up my nose and down into my stomach for food and more liquids. It hurt and made me gag to have it in the back of my throat. Another tube pumped oxygen into my mask. A catheter drained into a bag of pee hanging off the side of the bed. The pungent smell of dark urine made me want to vomit when they’d measure and empty it out.

Even sleep was no relief. My dreams... Sometimes Mom was on fire, or just a skeleton, screaming, begging... Other times she’d say it was okay. That was worse, knowing the fire was my fault. I’d startle awake and the pain made me cry, which hurt even more. Eventually, exhaustion sucked me into the next nightmare.

Reverend Adams came to pray over me. I didn’t deserve it and pretended to be asleep. When he finished mumbling, he sat down next to Dad.

How are you holding up, Mikael?

Seconds ticked by before Dad answered. Not so good. Another long pause. I should’ve been there.

It’s not your fault Mike.

You’re wrong. I was out playing poker for Christ’s sake!

You were with your friends. You had no way of knowing…

But I should have known. I should have been there! I could have…

You could have died with Emma and orphaned your kids.

You don’t know that. Maybe I could have saved her. Or at least…

What? Died in her place?

Yeah. In a heartbeat

And left her with the pain of going on without you? Would you really want that?

The silence was stifling. I ventured a peek. Dad’s held his face in his hands.

Then he sat up.

No. No, of course not. But my God, Fred, it just hurts so deep…

I didn’t want to hear this. The guilt was like a million bugs burrowing into me, tearing my heart out.

I feel like I’m dying.

Mike, I know you. You’re strong. You have to be strong for your children. They need you.

I couldn’t bear it anymore. I had to make them stop talking.

Dad?

Look who’s up. How are you feeling? Do you want some ice chips?

I…

What, Son?

The fire…

What about it?

I…

I needed to tell him I was sorry, that I’d been careless, that I burned down our house and left his wife to die. But the shame was too much. I tried, I really did, but I just couldn’t say it.

Um, sure, some ice.

Every morning the nurse unwrapped the bandage on my face and picked off the dead tissue. I wanted to be brave, but usually ended up screaming with the pain. They’d flush the wound with a saline solution and then pick at it some more. This went on and on and on. And then they’d finally wrap it back up… and start all over on the next burn. Then the next, and the next. There were so many.

But even that wasn’t the worst part. I’d hear Jessie crying across the hall as they did the same to her. I’d weep, knowing what she suffered, knowing it was because of what I did.

After the first few days she could visit my room. Her face spoke of terrible pain. Her left calf and ankle were severely burned, and a row of wounds revealed where each of the plastic nightdress buttons melted onto her skin. Fortunately, the cotton flannel was thick and flame resistant, and mostly protected her. Her beautiful hair had burned within inches of her scalp in places, and they had to cut most of it off.

She’d wheel her pole of intravenous bags into my room and lean her head on Dad’s chest. The bag of pee hanging off the side of my bed was mortifying, but Jessie made fun of it. After that it was okay between us. Nobody said much, but I liked seeing them near me.

Daddy? Can we go visit Mom?

She’s not here, Bug.

Where is she?

Dad pulled his mask down. There was something in his face I’d never seen.

She died in the fire and went to heaven, Sweetie.

When will she be back?

I’m so sorry, Bug, but she can’t come back. She’ll wait for us there.

Oh. Jessie didn’t say