"It was open," Renee said. "You already said that."
Davidson nodded again, the stub of head dipping, the facial features as inflexible as a rubber fright mask. "That's right. I forgot. I'd better write all this down."
The fire chief leaned forward and pulled a small composition pad from her back pocket. A tiny scrap of paper fell from the wire rings of the pad. Renee stared at the scrap, which fluttered to a rest beside Davidson's left foot. She almost leaned over and picked it up, but didn't want to come near the fire chief's leg.
"So you're down the stairs and outside," Davidson said, marking in the pad. "Then what?"
"I ran into the yard and looked up at Mattie's window. I couldn't see anything, and by then the fire was too hot for me to go back inside. I ran to the car-"
"There were two cars in the driveway. Was yours the SUV or the Subaru sedan?"
"Subaru. I grabbed my purse-"
"Your purse. You leave your purse in an unlocked car?"
"It's a safe neighborhood, like I told you. And I hardly ever carry much money. But I figured I needed my glasses or I'd be useless, I wouldn't be able to help Jacob and Mattie when they came out through the window. I carry an extra pair in my purse."
"Did you see anything unusual?"
"Besides the house on fire?"
Davidson's lips pressed together like those of a meditating toad. "Please, Mrs. Wells. I know this is difficult, but I'm only doing my job. Did you see anyone around?"
"No. Some of the lights came on in the houses down the street and I believe some dogs were barking. But all I can remember is the sound of the fire, the wood snapping and the walls creaking and the glass breaking. Then I started screaming and the scream turned into a siren and you guys showed up and I was scared because Jacob should have been out by then. The roof caved in a little and the firemen were beating on the front door with axes and I think I went crazy because all I could do was scream and Jacob and Mattie still didn't come out and they still didn't come out and they're still in there."
Renee realized she'd forgotten Davidson and found herself staring at the wall as if a film of the event had been projected there.
Davidson stood up, folded her pad and tucked it away. "I'm sorry, ma'am. This is the hardest part of the job, believe me. I'll let you know if we need anything else."
Renee glanced at the scrap of paper and followed the fire chief to the door. Davidson stood on the porch a moment, looking out over the mountain ridges. "She's home with the Lord, Mrs. Wells. It was a hard way to get there, but the getting there is the main thing."
Renee nodded, eyes bleary, wanting the awkward moment to end. Catholicism had failed her when she needed faith the most. She'd viewed Mattie's death through the lenses of a dozen philosophies and religions, yet all of them blurred into the same dead end. The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step, go toward the light, ride the karmic wheel, take the stairway to heaven. None of them made sense. And none of them lessened the pain.
She closed the door and went to retrieve the tiny scrap of paper from the floor, putting what she had of a home into perfect order.
CHAPTER FOUR
Littlejohn Hospital lay on the edge of town, the shining bridge between Kingsboro's urban future and its rural past. A shopping center and cluster of medical complexes were islands in the sea of asphalt leading up to the front entrance, while a cow pasture sprawled to the rear, waiting for the right developer to come along. In the street three stories below Jacob's room, Memorial Day traffic hissed in pointless conflict. Someone in the hall spat a tubercular laugh full of fatalistic cheer.
Jacob sat up and stared at the black screen of the television. The tubes were gone now and the burns had mostly healed, though portions of his body still received twice-daily applications of silvadene ointment. He was taking multiple courses of antibiotics, and the worst was over, according to Dr. Masutu. But the doctor was an optimist. The worst had only just begun.
Jacob looked at the tray on the table beside him. A fly landed on the scrambled eggs and tracked across the rubbery yellow surface. As a toddler, Mattie had called them "home flies," a cute corruption of the phrase "house flies." He watched the fly reach the tar pit of pancake syrup. It struggled, broke free, cut a lazy circle in the air, then lit again in the same sticky spot.
Renee entered the room. "Knock, knock."
Jacob closed his eyes and sank against the pillows. The darkness behind his eyelids was far too inviting.
"I hear you'll be going home in a few days," she said.
"Home," he said.
"You know what I mean."
"The wonderful Dr. Masutu explained the formula to me. One week of hospitalization for every ten percent of body burn."
"Then you should have been released last week."
"The burns feel better," he lied. "They're trying to fix the stuff that's broken on the inside."
"I took an apartment. The insurance company gave me some money until they sort things out. Donald set me up with one. I tried to pay but he said M amp; W would absorb it, since you own half of it."
"Which apartments?"
"Ivy Terrace."
"Nice. We only opened them last year."
"I didn't know you built them."
"Didn't build them, really. I got a commission on the land sale, subdivided a few lots, went in as a silent partner. M amp; W just collects the rent."
"I got a two-bedroom unit," she said, as relieved as he to avoid conversation. She opened a National Geographic.
Jacob let his gaze crawl back to the window. He'd trusted his partner, Donald Meekins, to take care of her until he got out. Donald had phoned his hospital room but Jacob had refused to talk to him. He was afraid of what he might say. The cash flow would be tight for a couple of months, but at least they had insurance.
He counted the houses on the hillside opposite the hospital. There were at least two good-sized tracts that were prime spots for development. With Kingsboro Hospital opening a new cancer wing and cardiac care facility, more wealthy seniors would be moving from Florida and New York to the North Carolina mountains. Those seniors needed homes, preferably close to health care services. M amp; W had built a country club outside of town, complete with an eighteen-hole golf course, but those homes had all been sold. New homes were needed for all the future cancer victims. Abnormal growth was a growth industry.
"It's too quiet in here," Renee said.
He heard a click and the television came on. One of those stupid morning shows, Early NBC or ABC Sunrise or whatever. He opened his eyes. At least he could focus on the screen instead of Renee. A man in a blue suit was interviewing a woman who kept pulling at the hem of her short skirt, wanting to show off her legs while still projecting wholesomeness and modesty. Cut.
"I really like this commercial," he said. On the screen, a lizard spoke in an Australian accent, trying to entice the viewer into buying a particular brand of car insurance.
"About the insurance," she said, as if the commercial had triggered an opportunity to bring up the subject. "I didn't want to do too much without you. But I needed a roof over my head."
"She was worth a lot, wasn't she?"
"You bastard. Don't start that again. We're going to have to deal with some things, and we may as well be civil about it."
"The money, you mean."
"Shut up. All I'm asking is that you sign the papers and let's get on with our lives. Whatever we can salvage, that is."
"We probably saved a ton on the cremation, since the job was half-done when you turned the body over to the aftercare vultures."