Jamie looked down at my hand on his arm and covered it with his own. “Are you saying you want a separation?” he asked.
I nodded. The word itself brought me relief. “I’m not sure where I’d go, though.” That uncertainty was the only thing that scared me.
“You’d stay here,” he said, and I knew he’d already thought this through, that he’d been thinking of it for a while. Even planning it. “Sara and Steve have a spare room I can move into. I’ll pay them a little rent. They can use the money.”
I gasped. “Don’t leave Maggie with me!”
Jamie shook his head. “She’d come with me,” he said. “That’s the whole point. You…I don’t know what’s wrong with you, Laurie, but whatever it is, it’s interfered with you being able to be a good mother to Maggie. If I’m staying with the Westons, Sara would be right there to help with Maggie when I get called to the fire station or can’t take her to work with me or whatever.”
It seemed like a perfect solution and I was grateful he’d figured everything out and I didn’t need to do a thing. I was a shitty mother. A shitty wife.
“Okay,” I said, closing my eyes. “Thank you. That sounds good.”
And I rolled onto my side to face the wall.
Chapter Eighteen
Maggie
MONDAY MORNING, I DROVE ANDY TO school and faked like I was going into the building with him, but once he was out of sight, I went back to my car and drove to Surf City. I hadn’t slept all night. It had been more than two weeks since the fire, but those posters from the memorial service were still on the back of my eyelids every time I closed my eyes. Around two in the morning, I got up and drove to The Sea Tender. I sat on the deck and cried, because I couldn’t quiet my mind enough to make contact with Daddy. It’d been so long since I felt him with me! Every time I tried to still my thoughts, those posters popped up again. I wanted to grab that blue-eyed Jordy and that scared-looking little boy, Henderson, and Mr. Eggles, who’d probably saved Andy from getting pulverized by Keith—I wanted to grab them and breathe life back into them. I kept saying, “Please Daddy, please Daddy, please Daddy,” like he could somehow magically make things better. But he wasn’t coming. I finally decided something, though, sitting out there in the dark. I’d cut school today and go to that accountant, Mr. Gebhart, to ask how I could help with the fund-raising. I had to do something besides give money. That was the easy way out.
Mr. Gebhart’s office was on the mainland side of Surf City and it wasn’t open yet. I sat in the parking lot, listening to music on my iPod and trying to read The Good Earth. I was so behind. It was one thing not to be valedictorian, totally something else to flunk out in my senior year. No way I’d let that happen. I had to graduate, because once I was in college, Ben and I could pretend to start dating. Publicly. Mom and Uncle Marcus would freak, but they’d just have to deal. Then maybe after a year, we could get married. I hoped Ben wouldn’t want to wait until I got out of college. We’d never talked about it. I just knew I wouldn’t be able to wait that long. I didn’t care about a big wedding and all that, like Amber. She had it all planned out. The flowers and the music and the color of her bridesmaids’ dresses, and I just wanted to say grow up. Ben and I could elope, for all I cared.
I’d fallen asleep when I heard the tap, tap, tap of stiletto heels walking past my car. I jerked awake and saw a woman unlocking Mr. Gebhart’s office door.
I pulled out my earbuds, drank from my water bottle and followed her inside.
“Hey, honey.” She was making coffee. “What can I do for you?”
“My name’s Maggie Lockwood,” I said, “and I—”
“You related to Andy?”
“Yes, ma’am. His sister.”
She scooped coffee into the filter. “I bet you’re real proud of him.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Unbelievable what that boy did. And wasn’t he somethin’ on the Today show?”
I smiled. “He was.” No one with half a heart could have seen that interview and not fallen in love with my brother. He’d been too cute, all big brown eyes and jiggly knee and his simple view of the world that—as long as you weren’t his teacher—couldn’t help but suck you in. “I wanted to talk to Mr. Gebhart about helping with the fund-raising,” I said.
“Oh, honey.” She pushed the coffeemaker’s On button, then sat down at her desk. “Mr. Gebhart only handles the money part of it. The donations. You need to talk to Dawn Reynolds. You know who she is?”
Oh, yeah. Unfortunately. “Yes, ma’am,” I said. “I was hoping Mr. Gebhart could tell me what I could do, since I’m here right now.”
“Well, he won’t be in for another thirty minutes, and he’s really not the one who knows what’s going on,” she said. “You go talk to Dawn, honey. You can find her at Jabeen’s Java. She’ll give you more work than you’ll know what to do with.”
I sat in my car across the street from Jabeen’s for twenty minutes, trying to figure out what to do. Maybe there was some other way I could help. There were still six kids in the hospital—four at New Hanover and two at the burn unit at UNC in Chapel Hill. The elementary schoolkids had made cards for them and Amber and I’d volunteered to take them to the hospital in the next day or so, which I knew was going to really upset me but I had to do it. Still, that just wasn’t enough.
I saw something move inside Jabeen’s. Just a flash of white by the window. Someone’s shirt or something. Suddenly, though, I spotted Uncle Marcus on the corner walking toward the café. I held my breath until he reached Jabeen’s door and pulled it open. Yes! Instant courage. I wouldn’t have to face Dawn alone.
I got out of my car and crossed the street.
“Hey, Uncle Marcus.” I stopped behind him at the counter where Dawn was pouring coffee into a cardboard cup.
“Mags!” He grinned and gave me his usual one-armed hug. “What are you doing here?”
“I took off school this morning so I could talk to Dawn about volunteering.”
Dawn looked up when she heard her name.
“You know—” I forced myself to look her in the eye “—for the Drury Memorial Family Fund.”
Dawn snapped a plastic lid on the cup. “Well, bless your heart, Maggie,” she said, handing the coffee to Uncle Marcus. “I can use all the help I can get.”
I’d seen Dawn plenty of times, but not this close up. She was pretty, with reddish hair and freckled skin, but there were crow’s-feet at the corners of her eyes and I realized I didn’t know how old she was. A whole lot older than seventeen, that was for sure. The thought of Ben having sex with her made me feel nauseous.
“You know,” she said, “I was hoping your high school would get involved in some kind of organized way, but so far, nothing.”
“Maggie’s gonna be valedictorian,” Uncle Marcus bragged. “Maybe she could organize something at Douglas.”
“I’m not going to be valedictorian, Uncle Marcus,” I said, trying to get him to shut up.
“No?” He raised his eyebrows.
I shook my head. “I haven’t told Mom yet, though, so—”
“My lips are sealed.”
A woman next to me asked for a latte, and Dawn rang up the sale.
“Doesn’t matter, sugar,” Dawn said to me as she handed the woman her change. “You’re going to graduate, right? That’s what counts. But what d’ya think? Could you get something going at Douglas High?” She started working on the latte.
I liked the idea. I’d be doing something useful without having to actually work with Dawn. Douglas was great at car washes and pancake breakfasts, but maybe I could come up with something more original.
“Yeah, maybe,” I said. “I’ll talk to some of my friends and a couple of teachers and see what I can figure out.”
“You’re a doll!” Dawn said. “Call me in a few days and tell me what you’ve come up with.”
Uncle Marcus’s hand was on my shoulder. “Have a few minutes to sit?” he asked.
??
?Sure.” I knew he was curious about the valedictorian thing. It was going to have to come out sooner or later.
We walked toward the table by the window, but before we got there, Reverend Bill came through the door and we had to do one of those move-to-the-left, move-to-the-right maneuvers as we tried to pass him. He didn’t say anything and neither did we, and it felt really bizarre.
Uncle Marcus rolled his eyes at me as we sat down. “Reverend Personality,” he whispered.
“Sara told Mom he orders some kind of giant fattening drink here every day,” I whispered back.
“That must be all he has.” Uncle Marcus looked down at his pager, then back at me. “So, Mags.” He drew out my name. “You upset about not being valedictorian?”
I started to answer, but Reverend Bill suddenly walked up to our table and just stood there, skinny as a flagpole, not saying a word. We looked up at him.
“Reverend.” Uncle Marcus nodded his head toward the third seat at our table. “You wanna join us?”
Reverend Bill hates my family, so I was totally shocked when he pulled out the chair and sat down. “I’m actually on my way to talk to Pete,” he said to Uncle Marcus. “But I think you need to hear what I have to tell him.”
Uncle Marcus looked like he was trying not to yawn, but he said, “And what’s that?”
“Well.” Reverend Bill lifted his cup and swirled the drink around a couple of times. “I went up to the hospital at UNC yesterday,” he said. “As you know, one of my parishioners, Gracie Parry, is in the burn unit there, along with Keith Weston.”
“Right,” Uncle Marcus said. “How’re they doing?”
“Gracie’s being transferred to New Hanover tomorrow and she’ll make a full recovery,” he said, then added, “except she’ll have some scarring on her—” he motioned toward his chest “—her torso.”
“What about Keith?” I asked. I was afraid of what he would say. I loved Sara and although Keith could be a total asshole, I wanted him to get well.
“Keith Weston’s improving, thank the Lord,” he said.
“Glad to hear it,” Uncle Marcus said.
“Yes, he’s better.” He sipped his drink. “But he’s in a boatload of pain. That poor child was burnt mighty bad.”
Uncle Marcus frowned. “Isn’t he still in a coma?”
“They brought him out of it yesterday morning.” Reverend Bill’s lips curled up a little, like a twitch, then flattened out again. “He’s able to talk now.”
“Good,” Uncle Marcus said. “I bet it was a comfort having you to talk to.” He actually sounded like he meant it.
Reverend Bill looked at Marcus from beneath his bushy gray eyebrows. “I think it’s the police he should be talking to.”
I didn’t like the way he said it, like he was saying Nyah, nyah.
I know something you don’t know.
“Well, we’ll be interviewing him,” Uncle Marcus said. “Did he give you some information about the fire?”
“Yes, he did,” Reverend Bill said. “That’s what I need to talk to Pete about.”
“Spit it out, Reverend,” Uncle Marcus almost snarled. I felt hot and sweaty all of a sudden.
“He told me about that fight he had with your nephew.” He looked at me. “Your brother.” Up till that moment, I wasn’t sure he even realized who I was. “And he said that shortly prior to the fight, he happened to look out the window and saw Andy Lockwood walking around outside the church.”
“He wouldn’t have been outside,” I said. “It was a lock-in.”
“You haven’t heard all I have to say, Miss Lockwood.”
God. What a snotty freak this guy was.
“So, go on,” Uncle Marcus said.
“That’s a right sick boy in the hospital there,” Reverend Bill said. “I don’t see as he has much cause to be making things up.”
“So what else did he say?” Uncle Marcus was getting impatient.
“Just that he didn’t think anything of it at the time, since your nephew’s known for doing strange things. But when the fire started, he couldn’t help but wonder if Andy had something to do with it. Since it started outside and all.”
“What’s this about a window?” Uncle Marcus asked. “The windows in the church are stained glass. How’d he look out of them?”
“My job wasn’t to interrogate the boy,” Reverend Bill said. “It was to provide comfort. But since he volunteered that information, I thought it important the investigators have it. I’ll leave a message for Pete and Flip Cates in case you choose not to tell them what I’ve told you.”
Ouch. “Get off it, Rev,” Uncle Marcus said. “I’ll not only tell him, I’ll make sure we talk to Keith ourselves today.”
“Maybe you should stay out of it. You’ve got a bias, don’t you think?”
“It’ll be taken care of,” Uncle Marcus said.
Reverend Bill scraped back his chair and stood up. “Good day.” He nodded to me.
As soon as Reverend Bill was out the door, Uncle Marcus got to his feet.
“I’ve gotta run, babe.” He bent over to kiss my cheek. “Don’t worry about that whole Reverend Bill thing. I’m sure it’s nothing.” He headed for the door. “Love ya,” he called over his shoulder.
“You, too.” I stared after him, thinking about Keith. I knew his arms and half his face had been burned. What did that feel like? When I was a kid, I touched the handle of a hot frying pan. It was a small burn. Mom cut an aloe leaf from the plant she kept on the windowsill and rubbed the juice onto the burn, but it still hurt enough to make me cry. How could anyone tolerate pain like that on so much of his body? My eyes filled, thinking of Keith going through that. I didn’t want to cry in public. Especially not in front of Dawn. I got up to leave, but even outside in the fresh air, Keith was still stuck in my mind.
Why would he lie about Andy being outside? And why would Andy be out there? I didn’t believe it; he knew the whole point of a lock-in was to stay put. I was afraid, though, that Keith might screw things up by spreading lies about Andy…and even more afraid he could be telling the truth.
Chapter Nineteen
Marcus
DAMN, IT WAS HOT IN KEITH’S HOSPITAL ROOM.
I’d driven the three hours to Chapel Hill with my pickup windows down. Sucked in fresh air like I was storing it. I knew what it would be like at the burn center. Sure enough, the smell of bleach and ruined flesh nearly knocked me over when I walked into Keith’s room. I’d forgotten, though, about the heat. Ninety degrees at least in there.
Keith was asleep. His arms and hands lay above the covers in massive bandages. Five surgical pins protruded from the bandage covering his left hand. Thick gauze padded the left side of his face, though the right side looked nearly untouched. Just like he’d sat out in the sun too long. An IV ran beneath the covers, probably to a port in his chest.
I pulled a chair close to his bed. Breathed through my mouth. Sat there without saying a word until I was sure I could speak without a catch in my voice.
I leaned forward. “Keith?”
Nothing. I was ready to say his name again when he made a humming sound and his right eyelid slowly opened. He turned his head toward me, flinching.
“You,” he said.
Me, what? What did I hear in that one word? Disgust? Disappointment? Or was I projecting my own feelings on him? How many times had I asked myself, What if we’d gotten there one minute sooner? What if we’d had one more firefighter? Would it have made a difference?
“How’re you feeling?”
“Like shit.” His words were slurred. “How’s it look like I’m feeling?”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I know you’re hurting bad, but I have to tell you, I’m glad to see you awake and talking.”
He closed his eyes.
“Reverend Bill told me you remembered some things from the night of the fire. If you’re up to it, I’d like to hear what you remember.”
He groaned, shifting a little on the bed.
“No, you wouldn’t.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Your nephew, is why,” he said, his eye still shut. “He started the fire.”
“What makes you think that?”
“He was…walk around church…just before it started.”
“Keith?” I moved my chair until my knees were up against his bed. “Try to stay awake for a few more minutes, all right?” No response. I kept going. “My understanding is that you and he were in a fight just before the fire started, so that would place Andy inside right before the fire.”
His eye fluttered open. “Place him?” It came out like playsh um? “Is that investigator talk?”
“I get that you’re angry,” I said. “You have every right to be angry at what happened.”
Tears pooled in his eye. “Why me?” he asked. “Why the fuck me?”
I took a tissue from the box on the nightstand and blotted his cheek. “I know,” I said. “It doesn’t seem fair.” How much did he know about the other kids at the fire? I wasn’t going to be the one to say he was lucky to be alive.
“I saw Andy outside,” he growled, “just before the fight, which started because he came onto Layla.” He sniffled and started to lift his arm like he wanted to wipe his nose, till he remembered. “Shit,” he said. “I can’t do nothin’ for myself.”
I reached toward him with the tissue again, but he turned his head.
“No,” he said. “Don’t.”
“Where were you when you saw him outside?” I lowered the tissue to my thigh.
“Inside.”
“What part of the church?”
“By the window.”
“Which window, Keith?”
He hesitated. “In that office or whatever—” he winced, hunching his shoulders for a second “—back of the church. I looked out the window and there he was.”
I remembered the small room at the back of the church. It was for brides to primp in. That sort of thing. It did have a clear-paned window or two. Or at least, it used to.
Snot was running toward his lips now, and when I reached with the tissue again, he let me take care of it.