It Burns a Lovely Light (30 page)

"We're not breaking and entering. I'm his niece, stopping by for a long overdue heart to heart."

"Don't do this."

Scanning the room, she took in the rotting garbage and piles
of dirty clothes. She reflected on her uncle's increasingly dark moods and bizarre behavior.

"When did this happen?" she said. "How could things have gotten so bad without any of us noticing?"

"Between William's recovery and the potential loss of Bridge Manor, I'd say we've had other things on our minds. Come on; let's get out of here."

"No, Henry. I want to talk to him."

"Claire specifically said she did not want..."

"I won't say a word about the books. But Ryan is having some sort of breakdown right under our noses, and I want him to know we're
there for him."

"I don't think he's going to like finding us loitering in his living room."

"I'll be the loiterer. You'll be gone; it's better if I talk to him alone."

Ryan's shadow crossed the living room window.

"Go." She shooed him with her hands. "I won't be long."

Ashen-faced, Ryan leaned against the foyer wall.

"You scared me to death," he said, mopping his face with his sleeve.

"I'm sorry," said Farley. "I thought I'd come
by. I haven't been here since..."

"Is William all right?"

"I'm afraid he's getting depressed. We were warned that his recovery would be up and down, but still..."

"I'll visit him tomorrow." Ryan blinked, trying to focus his eyes. "Try not to worry; the kid's a fighter."

Bingo. Farley's voice took on the enthusiasm of a cheerleader. "You know who else is a fighter? You are."

Ryan frowned. I'm either going to pass out or throw up, he thought. I need to lie down. A relieved moan escaped as he stretched across the sofa, indifferent to the god-awful clutter and stench.

Sweeping some trash off an ottoman, Farley pulled it up to
the sofa and sat. The sharp smell of whiskey threatened to overwhelm her, in spite of the room's competing funk.

"I remember when I was depressed," she continued,
coughing a bit. "I didn't care about anything or anyone. I completely let myself go..."

Ryan covered his eyes with the crook of his arm and snickered. And she's off! Blah, blah, blah.

"What?" Farley stopped talking. "What did you
say?"

Farley kicked an empty milk carton on her way out the door.
What did she expect? The man needed professional help. She could
hardly help herself! She should be home with William, not playing shrink to Father Sybil. Stopping, she took a deep breath of fresh air. And another. There we go. In with the good, out with the...

"Fire!" she screamed.

Ryan cursed as he stumbled across the lawn. He could barely see, never mind climb a tower. Of all times for a fire.

Farley pulled the fire alarm, grabbed the extinguisher off
the wall, and started up the long spiral of wooden stairs. As she ascended, her body slowed.
Don't look down. Keep moving.
Ignoring her wobbly legs and the suffocating thrash of her heart, she pushed on.

The door at the top was closed. She pressed her hands
against the wood, testing for heat. Feeling no abnormal warmth, she opened the door. The fire seemed to be coming from the floorboards to her left. Wind gusting through the tower's large stone openings fed the flames.

It only took a few minutes to put the fire out, but she kept spraying until the extinguisher was empty. Finally she dropped the extinguisher on the saturated floorboards. As she tried to catch her breath, a flash of movement - partially obscured by the edge of the large bell - caught her eye.
Stepping forward, she gasped. Ryan had climbed onto the stone ledge, his robes drifting and floating around him like a ghost. Distant sirens wailed as she took another careful step toward him.

"Ryan..." she said, using what she hoped was her sensitive tone. "What are you doing?"

Something about the way he giggled made her hair stand on end. He waved his arms to balance himself. "I'm looking down from on high.
On high
, get it?"

"Please come down. You're scaring me."

"I'm scaring
you
?" His face crumpled. "You're the one who's scaring me."

She shook her head. "I didn't mean to upset you. I saw your house...I only wanted to help."

He let out a frantic laugh. A sliver of drool dangled from his lips. "Some help you are! I'm not the one who died and ruined
everything." He pressed both hands against his temple and squeezed. "People tell me their sins! I hold their souls in the palm of my hand. What more do you want from me, Pauline?"

Pauline
. Farley's heart began to race.

"No!" she gasped, as he shifted his weight. One more shuffle backward and he would be gone.

"You said you'd always be there for me," he snarled, gritting his teeth. He wobbled, then righted himself. "You lied.
You didn't even
try
to get out of that car!"

The door flew open and two firemen advanced, cautiously testing the charred floor with each step.

"Stay where you are!" screamed Farley, waving them
back. As she turned back to Ryan, she unconsciously gave her hair a Pauline-style flip. "I made a mistake, Mutt. I wasn't thinking clearly. I'm sorry." Raising her voice, she pointed to the floor. "Now come
down off that goddamn ledge before you kill yourself."

While Claire spoke to someone from the clergy, Henry and Farley watched as Ryan was loaded into an ambulance.

"I should never have left you alone with him," said Henry. "His house practically screamed 'breakdown.' I must have been blind."

Exhausted, Farley shook her head. "No. I'm the one with
blinders on. Claire's meeting with loan sharks right under my nose." She gestured toward the ambulance as it pulled out of the square. "And each time I saw that poor man, his behavior was more bizarre than the last."

"All right; you win. You're blinder than I am."

She gave him a shove. "You're just saying that to be nice."

Lest she find any more trouble to get into, Henry and Claire
squished Farley between them in the van.

"What's going to happen to Ryan?" asked Farley.

Claire sighed. "After he's released from the hospital, he'll go to a place called The Sanctuary. It's a sort of rest home for priests.
St. Xavier's is making the arrangements, and they've assured me he can stay as long as he likes."

Farley yawned, then rested her head on her aunt's shoulders. "Is crazy hereditary?"

"Let's hope not, hon. That sounds like a question for William."

Sweet William. Farley smiled. "It seems like an eternity since I saw him this morning."

Henry consulted his watch. "Believe it or not, it's
just now three-o-clock. Veda Marie is probably waking him up as we speak."

"I'm sorry," said William, his breathing jagged.

"Shhh." Farley smoothed his hair off his forehead. His ashen skin was cool to the touch. "You're going to be fine, kiddo."

He swallowed. "Nothing hurts, I promise."

Dion pressed her index and middle fingers over his small
wrist and stared at her watch. His blood pressure was faint and steadily dropping.

"How many pills did you take?" she asked.

"Just enough for the pain."

Claire and Veda Marie hastily packed William's small suitcase. From the kitchen, the measured tap-tap-tap of Mr. Winston pacing the floor with his walking stick, along with the murmur of Henry's somber voice
reciting the address of Bridge Manor.

"...all the way to the top of Overlook Trail," he said, his voice cracking. "It's urgent. Please hurry."

William reached for Farley's hand. "I'll watch over
you."

"Don't you dare," she said, angrily swiping her tears away. "Stop talking like that."

He closed his eyes, no longer able to keep them open.

"I love you," he murmured.

Farley put her face right up next to his.

"Open your eyes!" she demanded.

Suddenly, a gentle wave of oblivion seemed to wash over him.
Even as he floated into unconsciousness, the sweetest remnants of his smile lingered.

Henry ran outside, as if he could somehow hurry the ambulance up the hill. Dion continued searching for William's vital signs. Clare and Veda Marie cried in each other's arms, while Mr. Winston wrapped a
protective arm around Farley. But all she could do was stare at her brother's face.

For the first time since before his vicious beating, William's face was peaceful. Free of fear, and worry. Free from the unbearable pain he'd
endured for so long. Free. She pressed her forehead against his, the way their father used to do.

"All right, kiddo," she whispered. "Go ahead. Fly."

And like a brave and daring superhero soaring through the atmosphere, William Justus James gave a final sigh and drifted...up...up...and away.

It seemed like the entire city turned out to say goodbye to you, my sweet William. The entire staff from Freeman's. The Frosty Devils.
Even some of your 'nice boys from Pittsburgh.' Dr. Hugh, Nurse Becky, most of your physical therapy team. A man who looked a lot like Mr. Winston turned out to be his brother, Leonard. All the teachers and faculty from The Significant
Me, and many of your old classmates. Marcus Shultz told me you kept him in snacks for years. I never knew that.

After the service Henry hosted a small dinner for our Bridge Manor family. We cried and eventually laughed as we shared magical
William stories. When we finally went to bed, Henry held me close as we slept...almost as if he knew.

I crept out of bed without waking him. The barest hint of sun was coming up as I took the hillside steps. Tiptoeing up to my room, I
pulled out my old backpack and camera case.
That's when it hit me, kiddo.
Suddenly and absolutely, I knew you were happy - and that you were watching over me.

I didn't see you, but I felt you in my heart.

Chapter 43

"Those buildings weren't even there when we first came to Bridge Manor." Farley pointed to the left. "And the old glass
factory is a park now. Hard to believe, isn't it? It's like the whole city started over."

Henry got off the table and stood between her legs, his arms looped around her neck. He spoke slowly, giving her neck a gentle shake to
emphasize his words.

"The city didn't start over. It adapted. And over time, things got better."

She clutched his arms. "For the first time in my life, this isn't about starting over. It's about starting the next phase of my
life."

He pressed his forehead against hers. "But not here."

"I'll be back. I promised Claire and Veda Marie I'd come home at least once a year. And Dion threatened to hunt me down if I'm not
there for her graduation."

"And then you'll leave again."

Instead of answering, she brushed the hair from his face.

"I hate the thought of you out there, alone," he
said, squeezing her face in his hands. "Even if you are brave and daring."

She smiled; her tears making it hard for her to see. "I love you, Henry."

"I know it."

They were quiet for a long time, memorizing each other's faces. He kissed her. Without having to say a word, both knew this would be their goodbye.

"What is she doing now?" said Veda Marie, as Mr. Winston moved the curtain aside and squinted.

"Still sitting on the lawn," he said, heading to the kitchen door. "Staring into space, looking miserable."

Knees popping and creaking, Mr. Winston lowered himself onto the grass and wrapped his arms around her. Farley rested her head on his shoulder and together they sat; watching the night sweep in around them.

Legs folded on the cement entrance to the greenhouse, Colette watched Henry spread charcoal around the outer circle of the grill. He put an empty tuna can filled with water on the top grate, then put his hickory
chips in a bowl of water. Then he rubbed the inside of the turkey with half of a salt and olive oil paste.

"The salt paste helps the moisture to stay in the turkey while it's smoking," he said. "You want your bird to be moist,
but not salty."

"It's quarter after two in the morning," she said.

After trussing the turkey and slicking it down with more oil, he went to work on the basting mixture. To the rest of the salt paste he
added parsley, minced onion, red wine vinegar and finely ground black pepper.

"Do you want to talk about it, Henry?"

He sprinkled the hickory chips over the coals, placed his
bird on the greased grill. After checking to be sure the cover was on tight, he opened the vents. Then he stuffed his hands deep into his pockets

He continued staring at the smoking grill, even as she kissed the back of his neck.

"I'm here for you," she whispered. "If you want me."

The night before she left, Farley slipped down to Freeman's. Safely obscured by the dark shadows of the greenhouse, she watched Henry through
the kitchen window. Amid the chaos of constant bodies in motion, he moved smoothly from pan to pot to oven and back again. She wiped the condensation from the window and pressed her forehead against the glass.

"Farley?" Colette closed the greenhouse door, a basket of cut herbs in one hand. "What are you doing out here?"

"I don't know." She squinted as Henry disappeared and then re-appeared from a cloud of steam. "God, what a beautiful
man."

"Have you changed your mind?"

She shook her head, her eyes never leaving Henry. "I leave in the morning."

Collette set down her basket and joined Farley at the
window.