Lovely Wild (27 page)

SIXTY

“MAMA!” ETHAN SHOUTED.
He was out of the car before anyone else. His sneakers crunched in the gravel, and he ran toward the house, leaving the car door open.

Kendra hung back for a minute longer. Her dad did, too. She didn’t want to get out of the car and watch her parents dance around each other the way Sammy’s parents did. If her mom didn’t kiss her dad and hug him the way she always did, even if she was annoyed with him...Kendra didn’t want to see it.

She’d survive if her parents got divorced. Everyone did. But she didn’t want them to get divorced, Kendra thought. She didn’t want everything to die.

Her dad had twisted to look at her. He looked old and tired. And sad.

“I’m sorry, Kiki. You know that.”

She nodded, unable to answer him.

“Your grandma was wrong to show you that file.”

“I’m not sorry—” Kendra began, when the low, heavy
whump
reached them.

“What the hell?” Her dad got out of the car.

Like Ethan, he left the door hanging open. With the keys still in the ignition, the warning ding-ding chime kept bleating, but he was already running toward the back of the house. Kendra leaned through the two front seats and twisted the key. The noise stopped. The headlights stayed on, but that’s not what was lighting up the backyard. That was a shifting, orange light.

Kendra got out of the car. The smell of smoke hit her at once, and she pulled the sleeve of her hoodie over her hand to cup her nose and mouth. Something was burning. A lot.

By the time she rounded the corner, she could see it was the back of the house. The screens of the porch had blackened, the wooden frames licked with flame. A few had already fallen. The interior of the three-season room was hazy with smoke. Flames hurtled several feet into the air from a big metal garbage can, and the stinky old grill her dad hadn’t been able to get working right was entirely consumed in fire. There was another explosion as she watched.

Ethan wasn’t crying, but their dad was holding him by the back of his collar while he struggled, arms out toward the house. Kendra threw up her other hand to block the glare. Her eyes watered, but she looked as hard as she could through the smoke and shadows, looking for her mother.

She saw a man, instead. Tall, dressed in darkness, more a silhouette than anything else. The mountain man. She knew it without a doubt. As she watched, he disappeared through the back door and into the house.

Her dad turned, his fingers still gripped tight in Ethan’s shirt. “Kendra, stay back! Get back!”

He grabbed her by the back of the collar, too, and was pulling her toward the barn. Away from the flames, yeah, but away from their mom, too. Kendra kicked and twisted, trying to get him to let go.

“Oh, sweet Jesus.” This came from Rosie, who appeared from the barn. “Oh, God! Oh, Jesus!”

Kendra was pretty sure neither God nor Jesus was paying much attention at the moment. Her dad let go of her. She rubbed her throat where the zipper had stung her.

Ethan was still struggling in their dad’s grip. “Mama’s in the house, Daddy. You have to go after her!”

“Oh, Jesus, no! Andrew!” Rosie screamed.

Kendra’s dad looked at her. “Kiki. Call 911. Now.”

She fumbled to pull her phone from her pocket and thumbed in the numbers, but the signal bars went from five to none seconds after she hit Send.

“No signal, Dad!”

“Try again.” Her dad, grim-faced, started toward the house. “Keep trying.”

SIXTY-ONE

MARI HADN’T KNOWN
a fire could be so loud. Not just the crackling, like cellophane being crinkled in a fist, but the creaking and screaming of the house as it’s consumed. This house is old wood and no challenge for the fire.

Each of her children had come home from kindergarten with “stop, drop and roll” instructions, coloring books featuring a friendly-looking dog in a fireman’s uniform. Several times they’d gone to demonstrations at fairs of what to do in a smoke-filled house. Touch the doors to see if they’re hot, cover your mouth with a wet cloth. Most important, stay low to the ground.

All of this information races through Mari’s mind even as it seems useless. Chompsky is surely upstairs in the bedroom, hiding under the bed, and so far the fire has forced its way into the kitchen and living room, but not up the stairs. It won’t be long, of course, but for now she can run along the hall ducking into the bedroom to get on her knees and lift the dust ruffle.

Chompsky’s not there. There’s a chew toy and several stolen socks to prove he’d been there, but now only dust bunnies swirl gently in the breeze she created. The overhead light suddenly flickers and goes out. Maybe the fire’s cut the electricity.

Mari gets to her feet. She can’t scream, her throat hurts too bad for that, so she claps her hands. Over and over. No dog comes. She runs into the hallway, where the smoke has now started billowing up the stairs.

Andrew appears at the top. “You have to get out of here!”

Not without the dog.

He doesn’t see her or doesn’t understand. Or doesn’t care. Andrew lunges for her, but Mari ducks his grip and leaps through the doorway into Ethan’s room. No dog under that bed, either.

The dog,
she signs. The overhead light is still on in here. Andrew can see her. Now he gets it.

“Dog! Here, dog!”

“Chompsky!” Mari calls.

No dog in Kendra’s room, either.

A long, low creaking groan rips up the stairs, followed immediately after by the roar of them collapsing. More smoke. More heat. Coughing, eyes stinging, Mari covers her mouth and nose though it doesn’t help.

“We have to get out, Mari. Listen to me!”

And there, at the end of the hall, Mari glimpses a hint of something furry in the shadows of the bathroom. Six running steps get her there. She skids on the tiles—Chompsky in his fear has peed on the floor. Her knees connect with the toilet. Arms pinwheeling, Mari grabs the shower curtain, which tears off its hooks and sends her tumbling into the tub. Right on top of the terrified dog, as it turns out. He snaps, teeth bared and flashing white in the dimness, but Mari was long used to biting dogs and deflects him with her arm. He doesn’t mean it, anyway. She grabs him by the collar and pulls him and herself out of the tub.

Chompsky will not move. She lifts him, staggering. She will not die here.

She will not.

The window in the master bedroom opens directly onto the flat roof over the front porch. There’s a small railing around it, like it was meant as some poor excuse for a balcony, but that just means when Andrew opens the window for her, the dog doesn’t slide off when she throws him out. Mari follows him, but Chompsky runs to the edge of the roof, decides jumping is not for him, and leaps over her and back through the window, into the house, past Andrew who’s got one leg over the sill.

Mari sees her husband’s car. She sees Ryan and the kids. Rosie is there, too. The four of them stare up at her with wide eyes and wider mouths. It’s a short enough drop from here to the ground that she knows she can risk it—better a broken leg than being burned alive.

Yet even as she sees herself rolling herself over the edge, holding on with her hands to lower herself at least a few feet closer, Mari moves instead toward the window. She shouldn’t—she knows she shouldn’t. Her kids are below and she needs to think of them. But something about that dog, his helplessness in a situation far beyond his ability to cope with, drives her need to save him.

Andrew blocks her way. “I’ll get him.”

“No,” Mari rasps.

It’s too dangerous for Andrew to go back inside, just as it would be for her, and as conflicted as she feels about him right now, she can’t allow her brother to put himself in that position. He’s already sacrificed so much for her—she can’t ask him to make the ultimate sacrifice, too. But he’s already pushing her back and closing the window behind him.

“Mari! Jump down!” Ryan’s voice calls her.

Mari looks over the edge to the ground, then over her shoulder to the house. She hears breaking glass and more creaking wood, along with the growing roar of the flames. She sees her kids staring up at her in fear and horror. She knows what she has to do.

She climbs over the railing and grips the rotted wood tight as she rolls off the edge, her belly digging into the edge.

The wood gives way.

She’s braced for a fall, but the ground is still hard. Her ankles twist, both of them, maybe not broken but definitely sprained. Mari rolls into the gravel on her hands and knees, then onto her back with the breath knocked out of her.

Ryan leans over her. “Babe, are you okay? Holy shit.”

She’s still not sure what to think about Ryan, but everything that happened seems diminished with the sight of the house burning down in front of them. They reach for each other at the same time. Then her children are there, too, and while there will always be many things about this whole summer Mari regrets, the fact her children had to see her escaping a burning house and falling off a roof is one of the worst.

She clutches them all to her. Ethan’s soft, sweet cheek. Kendra’s long hair. Even Ryan’s strong arms, holding her. It’s a dream mingled with a nightmare.

The front door opens. Andrew, Chompsky in his arms, staggers out in clouds of smoke. Through the door Mari sees the front staircase, shimmering with fire but not collapsed. The dog writhes free and, yelping, runs toward the barn. Ethan shouts after him and twists from her grasp to follow.

Andrew collapses in the gravel, facedown.

Mari struggles free of her husband’s embrace, her daughter’s clutching fingers. Pain flares in her ankles when she moves. Her hands, too, are stung and scraped raw. So are her knees, her pants shredded.

“Who the hell is that?” Ryan shouts.

Above them, the windows blow out. Glass scatters. Mari has covered Kendra with her arm, but splinters of glass sparkle in her daughter’s hair and some has cut her cheek. Ryan looks unscathed, but he’s dragging both of them away from the house, leaving Andrew behind.

“You have to help him,” Mari says as her husband dumps her and their daughter onto the bit of grass where someone long ago unsuccessfully tried to plant flowers.

“Help him,” Mari insists, pointing toward the still-not-moving Andrew.

She hears Rosie screaming, but the noise is vague and in the background. She ignores it. She would get up and run to Andrew if she could do it herself, but her legs are in so much pain she can’t move. Worse, she must’ve inhaled too much smoke because the world is tipping toward gray. She’s going to pass out.

“You have to,” she manages to say. “He’s my brother.”

AFTER

MARI STOOD IN
her kitchen surveying the mountains of potato salad, the platters of deviled eggs, the baskets overflowing with rolls. Desserts lined the counter—brownies, cookies, cakes, Jell-O layered with whipped cream and fruit. She looked out the window over the sink to the yard outside.

There her boy ran with Chompsky chasing him. Some neighbor kids followed. The screams were shrill and plentiful. The sounds of summer.

The murmur of Kendra’s voice passed by in the hall. Instead of texting or even talking on her phone, she had a flock of girlfriends with her today. Mari thought she caught the name of the new boy Kiki liked, but the giggles overtook any other bits of the conversation. They crossed through the dining room and through the French doors to the deck outside.

There was music out there, muffled by the windows and doors, but as the girls went out, the music came in. Some boys from the high school, including the one who has her daughter pink-cheeked and flustered, are playing in their rockabilly band. It was supposed to be a block party, but most of the action centered at Mari’s house because of the long, sloping yard that made the best set-up for the boys’ band.

There was so much food nobody could possibly eat it all. Everyone had brought dishes to share. Mari snagged a deviled egg and ate it without a plate, licked her fingers, pulled more lemonade from the fridge to set on the table.

“Hey, Mari, where’s your powder room?” Evelyn asked. “Great party, by the way.”

“Thanks.” Mari pointed. “Down the hall. You’ll have to jiggle the handle.”

“Got it.”

Evelyn had hired Mari to work in her coffee shop three months ago. Mari had never had a job before, but now she worked. And she liked it—the sense of independence it gave her.

Left alone again, Mari made sure nothing else needed to be set out. The sliding glass door onto the deck slid open, allowing Ethan, the dog and the gang of kids to spill inside. They attacked the food, swarming it. Her son paused with a plateful of brownies in one hand to give her a one-armed hug but didn’t linger long enough for her to squeeze him back. He was out with his friends before she could do more than touch his hair.

Through the glass doors she could see Ryan reigning over the grill with a beer in one hand, tongs in the other. They’d been talking about him moving back in. The counselor who’d been seeing them both had said it was the next logical step in reconstructing their marriage. Mari had not yet made her decision but she thought of what choice she would make every night when she went to bed by herself.

A lot had changed in the past year.

With a platter of cupcakes in her hand, she used the other to slide open the glass door. A neighbor from down the street helped her, closing it after. She was greeted with cheers. The platter was taken. She was handed a bottle of something cold and sweet but with the bite of liquor underneath it.

“Burgers will be done soon,” Ryan said.

“Sounds good,” she said.

The music from the band got suddenly louder. There was cheering, and when she looked across the lawn, she could see groups of teens dancing on the grass. The younger kids were still playing tag. Some older folks pulled up lawn chairs. Only the teenagers were rocking out.

There was another person in a lawn chair, set a small distance from the others. Ethan ran past, swiveled, darted close enough to say something to the man sitting there while the dog offered up what was surely a slimy, slobber-covered tennis ball.

“Be back in a few minutes,” Mari said to Ryan, whose attention had already been recaptured by the importance of cooking meat.

She crossed the line, being called out to or calling out to party guests. She paused by the man in the lawn chair, who turned to look up at her. Andrew’s hair had grown back. He had a few marks on his face, though she knew beneath the long-sleeved shirt and long pants he wore even in the heat, he was covered with scars. Andrew walked with a cane but was grateful to be able to walk at all.

“Yeah. I’ll tell her. Talk to you soon.” He disconnected the call as Mari walked up. “Beth says hi.”

Beth. The sister neither of them had yet met in person, though they were planning a reunion for later this summer. Mari handed him a bottle from the same cooler hers had come from. “I brought you a drink.”

“Thanks. Great party.” Andrew lifted the bottle to his lips and sipped. Sometimes he could look her in the eye. He was getting better at it. “Thanks for inviting me.”

They still had to dance around what had happened between them. Mari supposed it was something they would never forget but would never talk about. She hadn’t told Ryan. Not even the counselor. For Andrew, she knew it was shame. For herself, it was a matter of forgiveness.

“Food’s ready, if you want some.” She didn’t offer him help in getting up. He was sensitive about feeling helpless, a matter she respected. She did hold the chair steady for him, though, when he pushed himself up and made sure he was sure-footed before he set off toward the house. She watched her brother greet her husband, both of them friendly enough though she doubted they would ever be really close.

Sometimes the past snuck up on her with creeping, quiet feet. She couldn’t put the life that came before completely from her mind and wasn’t sure she wanted to. But here, watching friends, family, coworkers, seeing how much had changed in just one short year, Mari felt completely centered in the life that had come after.

After betrayal. After shame. After everything, including the truth. None of it had broken her, and she didn’t pretend she wasn’t proud of that.

She let her feet glide through grass that was just a little too long and enjoyed the brush of it on her toes. Down the sloping hill, past the band, the swing set, beyond the garden shed. The battered lawn chair was gone, tossed in the trash. The trees that had marked the line between her yard and the field beyond still stand, but the field itself has been torn up and replaced with a new development of big houses on tiny plots of land. She didn’t particularly like it, but that was part of living in the suburbs. Neighbors and houses and people around.

She looked up toward the house, but nobody paid attention to her way down here. Mari closed her eyes. She breathed.

The music allowed no quiet, nor did the sound of voices and screams of running children. Mari opened her eyes and then opened the shed door to pull out the marshmallow sticks. Later, they’d have a fire in the pit and make s’mores. That’s what people liked to do at parties. Well, she liked it, too.

Mari looked for one more moment back toward the trees, then, sticks in hand, she climbed the hill toward the deck, back to the party.

* * * * *