Arson (9 page)

Arson's face changed a bit. “And how is subject 3241 doing?”

“Well, we've discovered bowling apparently doesn't exist on his planet, even if luck permits him a strike or two; his ambitions outweigh his logic and, at times, even his sensitivity. But he knows bad music when he hears it, so he gets twenty-five points for that.” She pulled him close and smelled his breath. “He loves nachos, another twenty-seven points. That gives him a grand total of sixty-seven points or something. I'd say subject 3241 was a mild success.”

Arson frowned. “Sixty-seven? That's practically failing in some states. Look, you just cleaned the floor with my pride.”

“Yeah, I know; you didn't even 
let
 me win or anything. Pretty pathetic.”

“You play dirty,” Arson replied.

“I wish you were more of a 
challenge.
 Why can't you be more like”—her eyes got wide—“Michael Bolton. Ha ha. Just kidding.”

Arson's head jerked from side to side. She was playing him.

“I'm not really serious. Michael Bolton's a tool,” she said. “But he writes a mean love song, doesn't he?”

There it was again, her beautiful sarcasm. He could stay in this moment forever if he had to. A sudden sense of happiness sparked inside, his heart racing for a reason he didn't quite understand. And it didn't matter. Emery was staring at him, but he was too stunned to look back. He turned to the bar, where the drunken slob had either fallen asleep or passed out. Nothing to worry about anymore. Flying to Emery's rescue a minute ago had kind of felt good.

But it all faded suddenly as the sound of exploding fireworks miles away carried Arson back to a cold autumn night. He was standing in the middle of the road, his hand hot with fear. The scared little boy who ruined beauty. Every sound seemed louder. He began picturing each device exploding one by one, shattering sight and sound. In his mind, he imagined the voices dying and every smile turning to disfigured horror while he fought to shut out the booms and echoes of the holiday celebration. 
Turn it off
, he prayed. 
Enough
! It was then that he heard it again. A scream, shrill and violent, traveled through time and found him again. He swore it was real.

“Can you hear that? It's so loud.” Panic crawled up his body.

“Yeah, barely,” Emery said. “The fireworks are going off a mile away. What are you, part canine?”

His eyes wandered. 
Killer
! It thundered within him, almost numbing. He was lost, brought to a place in his mind he didn't want to go. Not now.

“Arson, are you okay?”

A glaze covered his eyes.

“Snap out of it.” Emery nudged his shoulder.

The firecracker pops transformed again and again into the screams of a little girl.

“Hey, come back to earth.”

Back to reality.

“What happened?” he asked her in between gasps.

“You started freaking out when you heard the fireworks.”

Arson looked around to make sure nothing was burning.

“Are you all right?” Emery asked.

Arson checked his hands. A chill fell over them. “What? Yeah, I guess.”

“C'mon. Let's go outside. Maybe we'll still be able to catch some of the fireworks.”

“No, that's okay. Never been much for firecrackers.”

“These are the big boys, dummy. Fire
works
, not the lame firecrackers you can pick up at Wal-Mart. C'mon, what are you so afraid of?”

“I just don't want to go outside, that's all, okay?”

“Fine. Why would we want to have fun? It's not like this is a date or anything.”

“It's not, is it?”

“Oh, right.” The mask looked down. “Whatever. PacMan will cheer me up. I don't want to see the fireworks anyway.”

He heard 
firecracker
.

“Let me know when you're ready to take me home and brave the darkness.”  Emery walked toward the arcade games. “Happy Fourth of July,” she mumbled.

Arson retreated to the bathroom to run cold water down his face. Regret flooded in. He didn't mean what he'd said. He liked her, a lot, but admitting something of that magnitude in his current state was too much to bear. A moment of contemplation made him question if he'd ever have the guts to tell her. Perhaps silence would prove the lesser of two evils.

But if he never unveiled his feelings, then she wouldn't be able to reject him or hate him for who he was. For what he was. That way he wouldn't have to explain what he could do or the sin of a past that haunted him still. Then Emery couldn't forget him because it would be like he had never existed at all.

 

Chapter 15

 

 

JOEL CLOSED HIS EYES and breathed deeply. He thought about his life before the move, before the accident, before he'd made a complete mess of his marriage. The thoughts came in slowly and found a way to drag with them the bitter moments of his twenty-two-year failed endeavor. The times when he'd come home late, too tired to even greet Aimee with a kiss. Like their first anniversary, when he told her he didn't have time to be the husband she needed him to be. She'd get so angry if he didn't eat dinner with them or if he was out taking care of the elderly in his congregation or counseling some couple too horny to push back the wedding date but hard-pressed to remain virgins until they exchanged vows. He'd bless the marriages but deep down always thought they'd fail.

The things that scared him the most were nights of wondering. Questioning. The way Aimee really felt. How Emery might react to everything around them. Those members of the congregation who'd never accept her. Did they have any idea what it was like to raise a monster?

No, she wasn't a monster.

He begged forgiveness for even thinking it. He loved his daughter, his wife, but for some reason feared getting too close. Wanted to, but never crossed the river to reach them. Instead Joel filled his schedules with writing long-winded sermons, playing paintball with the youth group, and planning mission trips while he watched his family shatter to pieces—pieces he couldn't pick up or even find.

What a failure I am
, Joel thought, clenching his teeth. 
I miss my wife. I miss my Emery
.

Joel stared down at the ring in his hand, the new ring he'd sized for his wife. He'd searched for hours and hours to find it. It had been in the back of his mind for so long. It was like one he'd told her on their wedding day he couldn't afford to buy her. It had always been Joel's intention to someday recommit himself to their marriage, renew their vows, and perhaps he'd finally have the chance. Maybe his wife could learn to love him again. Maybe this ring was hope. Maybe it was redemption staring back at him. He didn't care which as long as it fixed everything. He didn't care for how long.

“It's perfect,” he whispered to himself, almost crying.

Joel tucked it away in his jacket pocket. The time would come when he'd give it to her. Not yet, but soon. He rubbed the back of his head, wondering if bashing his skull into the dashboard could erase the man he'd been for the past few years. But he knew that wouldn't placate a burdened conscience. There was only one thing that could. He could taste the flavor in his mouth, longed for it, even now.

He swallowed hard and eyed the clock glowing on the dash. It was getting late, but he still had time before Aimee grew suspicious.

 

* * *

 

Emery walked ahead most of the way back to their street. The evening had gone better than anticipated, the first part, anyway. Then the fireworks came and ruined everything. It had been a long time since she had felt safe, so able to lower her guard, if only for one night. This stupid boy had something about him she couldn't quite put her finger on, but whatever it was brought her warmth. This stupid, inconsiderate, and pathetically cute boy called Arson.

Their driveways rested right around the next street corner. Emery wanted to speak. Enough was enough.

“I forgive you,” she mouthed, her voice coming out muffled.

“For what?” Arson snapped. “I didn't do anything.”

Did he just say that? Clearly this whole forgiveness thing was flawed. Because if he couldn't see himself being a complete blank, then maybe it 
was
 all hopeless.

“What is it?” she asked, frustrated.

Arson kept walking, saying everything with his eyes and nothing with his lips.

“What is it about me that you don't like?”

“Other than that hideous mask or those nerdy-looking shoes—”

“These are classics, but I wouldn't expect you to know anything about fashion.”

“Ouch, that one stung,” he said with a smug grin.

“Good,” she said. “How does it feel?” Immediately, regret sank in and forced her to apologize.

“I guess I made a bad second impression,” Arson mumbled. “I'm sure you'll go home and write about me in your little diary.”

“Why are you being such a jerk?”

Arson walked faster.

“Wait, I didn't mean that.” She jogged toward him; her house stood only yards away now. “Well, you are being somewhat of a jerk, but would you just wait up and talk to me?”

“You're not making any sense.”

“I know. Sometimes when I meet new people…it gets complicated.” She couldn't believe what was coming out of her mouth. What did she have to be sorry for other than honest feelings? 
He
 was the one being unreasonable. Where was his apology? Nevertheless, whatever this was, it had gone too far. She wasn't ready to forfeit the subtle connection existing between them. “I had fun tonight, and it looked like you did too—even though I was totally kicking your butt—and that awful Michael Bolton song was playing, and you had your arm around me, and…I thought for a split second—”

“What?” he said, rolling his eyes.

“You might like me, I guess.”

“It's a little early to start throwing around your feelings like that. We just met. I barely know you, and you—you don't want to know me.” He looked at her as her shoulders sank. “Besides, what can one date really show you about somebody?”

As they neared her porch, Emery fixed her looming posture and turned to him. “So it 
was
 a date.”

“Wait a second.”

“Nope. You said it. It's out there. Can't take it back.”

“Goodnight,” Arson said, walking away before the moment demanded an explanation.

“That's it? Goodnight? Missing fireworks on the Fourth of July wasn't enough? Now you're bailing on me?”

“What were you expecting? I don't know the first thing about how to treat a girl, much less a girl like you.” He paused to rethink. “Look, that's not what I meant. It was just one date, and a crummy one at that.”

“Keep digging.”

“Tell me you don't want to see me again,” he spit out, shrinking back. “That's what we both want, right? Then we can pretend like this disaster never happened.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

“I thought you said I was a jerk.”

Her voice lifted suddenly. “You are. But what if I let you make it up to me? Volunteer with me tomorrow.”

Arson shuffled his feet. “Yeah, as fun as that sounds, I have work.”

“All day? I told my mom anything before three just wouldn't be possible. C'mon, Arson. Promise I won't be a nagging girlfriend…friend…I mean, neighbor,” she tried.

“Fine,” he reluctantly agreed. “But this is a one-time thing.”

“Deal,” she replied.

“Goodnight.”

“Bye.” Emery entered her house, pressing her spine up against the door as it shut. 
Third time's a charm
.

 

Chapter 16

 

 

“I'M NOT COVERING FOR you!” Chelsea spat once she and Arson were without an audience. Arson had asked her to cover for him upon arriving at Tobey's earlier in the morning, and Chelsea had agreed to have a sensible conversation about the matter when she had a sec, but according to her, talking and maliciously hollering at each other were one and the same. And both resulted in spiteful, resounding nos.

“Why not?” Arson asked with hung shoulders. “I cover for you all the time. And that goes for you too, Jason.” He flared his nostrils, eyeing them both. “Look, you guys hate me; I get it, but it's kind of an emergency. I need coverage. Besides, Ray's waiting for any excuse to fire me.”

Chelsea placed one arm inside the other and glared at him with beady eyes.

“Arson, this isn't some lame high school elective. You can't blow it off and hope for a passing grade. This is the real world. Don't expect everyone to always cover your back.” Leave it to Jason, a kid who barely passed phys-ed, to try to mix morality and real-life ethics in order to defend a crappy minimum-wage job.

“Thanks for nothing.” Arson grabbed a broom and started sweeping; Jason went to the bathroom, as was his routine when there was work to be done.

After Chelsea removed the chocolate sprinkles from her fingertips, she said, “Why do you need coverage so badly? What, do you have plans with your grandma? Is the old bat finally ready to come out of her cave and face the real world?” A vindictive laugh followed.

Arson ignored her.

“No, seriously, Arson, what could you have to do that is so important on a Saturday afternoon? It's not like you have friends or anything.”

He chucked the broom against the wall and walked outside. Studying the busy street, his eyes hopped from plaza to plaza, careless passersby, to speeding cars, one with a bumper sticker that read, 
Proud parent of an honor student
. Arson tried to imagine what it would be like to have Grandma driving around with that statement, true or not, stuck to the bumper. But he didn't dare dwell on what it would've been like to have proud parents, ones who drove Volvos or spoke highly of their freak child.

Suddenly, a pewter-stained pickup raced by, wildly swerving in and out of traffic. The maniac pulled into a Citgo station, a recently remodeled building that sat beside Governor's Tavern, one of East Hampton's most lucrative Main Street restaurants. After shoving a pack of smokes into his pocket, the guy in the dilapidated pickup sped off, and Arson noticed a number of tacky bumper stickers obnoxiously bombarding his rear windshield. He managed to only focus in on one of them. It read, 
How's my driving? Call (1-800) Eat-Crap
.

“Figures,” Arson said under his breath.

Maybe Grandma was right to keep to herself, smart not to venture out this far. Maybe her fear of escaping the cabin was justified because of the way the world was, its lack of empathy, even compassion. How it revolved around the coldest natures. Oblivious sidewalks littered with souls who walked up and down it without a care in the world. Restaurants catering to fleeting cravings and insatiable hunger. Drug stores sedating the lost and the numb. Arson was starting to see more clearly the colors of cruelty and malice, ways of getting ahead and stealing time. The human painting was filled with splashes of menace and impatience and blind ambition. Drivers too calloused to consider those around them. Co-workers managed by spite and unkindness.

A cold world. The real world.

 

* * *

 

The afternoon drifted past. Arson's gaze shifted to the dusty clock on the wall. He watched its skinny fingers tick and tock. 
Funny
, he thought. It was a merciless machine, doing what it was designed to do, and it could silence his cravings, his wants, with a mere flicker of time. There wasn't much to be grateful for during the hours stuck behind a sloppy countertop with an ice cream scooper in hand. But beyond the occasional smiling customer and the stupid tasks of the parlor, the afternoon granted him one unexpected thing worthy of stealing his eyes away from trivial musings, if only for a few moments.

“Arson, I didn't know you were working today. How've you been?” The inflated buoyancy of Mandy's voice weakened him, but he took pleasure in it. No matter how often he heard her speak, her voice somehow always possessed a sliver of seduction.

“Oh, I've been busy.”

“Working?” she asked, swinging back her hair, allowing the sunlight to reflect each golden strand.

He nodded, still captivated and still nervous.

“That's cool, I guess. You're braver than I am. Wouldn't be caught dead working in a place like this. So, what flavors do you have today?”

Just then an impatient man behind her—a bald, odd-looking Wal-Mart employee type—tapped her on the shoulder.

“Excuse me,” he barked. “I was in line first.” He sought to chew her up as if he were a pit bull or something.

She pretended not to notice him, seemingly able to find gratification in watching Arson melt.

“Hey,” the pit bull barked again, “I'm a paying customer, and I've got someplace to be. This isn't a beauty pageant. So step aside.”

“Sir, I'll be with you in a minute,” Arson replied forcefully. “Mandy, what would you like?”

“Oh, I don't know.” She blushed. “There are so many to choose from.”

Arson shrugged, noticing Chelsea and Jason spying on him from the break room, refusing to offer any help. He could hear snickering but was too captivated to care.

“I always do this,” Mandy said. “I guess I'm indecisive.” Her illustrious white smile shimmered behind wet lips. Every time she licked them, his neck hairs stood up.

The pit bull was starting to show teeth. “Would the beauty queen mind hurrying up? I don't have time for this. I came in here for an ice cream sundae, not to hear 
her
 talk about how indecisive she is. If you're looking for an emotional audience, miss, call Oprah.”

Mandy's bright eyes drew Arson in like morning sunlight. He didn't hear a word.

“I'll take a soft serve chocolate ice cream cone, please, with extra chocolate shots. Thanks so much, cutie.”

Arson didn't know what to say, so he simply got to making the cone.

“Do you have any plans for tonight?” she asked after a moment's hesitation while he shuffled around behind the counter.

Arson remained tight-lipped. His smile faded as he ignored the unease crawling up his spine. He knew he should tell her. Wanted to. But he couldn't get the words out.

“No, I, uh, I don't have any plans. You?”

“Really?” she said, licking her ice cream, letting some slip onto her chin.

This was his chance to recant that stupid lie and suddenly remember that thing he had to do with that girl he'd just met.

“I'm free tonight,” he said rapidly enough for it to sound rehearsed. “Pathetic, huh? I mean, what kind of kid doesn't have plans on a—”

“So, Kim, you remember Kim, right? That flighty little brat blew me off to go hang out with her new boy toy, and all of my other friends made plans, so forget them. But I'm curious… Did you want to come over?”

Arson froze. This couldn't be happening. No, it wasn't happening. 
Wake up, Arson, you're dreaming
. “Um…how does this work?”

“Well, the process usually involves me writing my number on your hand,” she answered with a chuckle.

“Uh huh.” Arson nodded, hands in his pockets, confused by what had recently come out of her beautiful mouth.

Mandy rolled her eyes. “Or I could use a napkin.”

That smile, those eyes, her perfect body.

Mandy began writing her number down. Awe and disconcertment rushed him all at once, followed by exhilaration and a nervous stomach full of rats.

“Here you go. That's my cell. You can call me or just stop by at five.”

She was flawless. He watched her playfully bite her lip. He didn't even care that he wasn't supposed to clock out until five. But it wasn't every day that Venus walked into an ice cream parlor looking for a scrawny, ash-haired firestarter to have dinner with.

“O-okay,” he managed.

“'K. Ciao.”

“Okay.” Arson knew he sounded like a stuttering idiot.

A stuttering idiot with a phone number.