Lil remembers the first time she found the pond. She and Sasha had been playing hide-and-seek, and it was Lil’s turn to hide. She rushed past the barn and dove deeper into the orchard. As Sasha’s counting faded, Lil’s path took her between narrow crevices and hulking roots. She tumbled through the brambles without meaning to and landed beside the pond.
The pond was perfectly round. To her, it looked like a vinyl record sunken in the ground. When she touched the deep midnight water with her finger, it was cold as snowmelt. But what transfixed her was the tree, growing the prettiest pecans she’d ever seen, the bright gold of Grandma’s necklace that Mom kept in her jewelry box. Game forgotten, Lil gathered up a handful and ran to bring them to Sasha and Mom, to show them the miracle.
Mom was in the kitchen fixing breakfast. But when Lil held up her treasure, Mom dropped a plate of eggs and smacked the pecans out of her hand. “Don’t you touch those.” Lil ran to her room and cried into her pillow.
Only later, Mom took her hand while Sasha was sleeping. She led her back through the trees, and sat down with her on the banks of the pond.
“I’m telling you because I don’t want you to be scared,” Mom said, plucking up a nugget of golden manna between her fingers. She stared down at it. “We’re stewards of this place.” Lil hadn’t known what that word meant, but she trusted that Mom knew everything. That’s what a child thinks at five. So she listened.
“This is not a normal pecan tree. We didn’t plant it. Neither did your grandparents or great grandparents. This tree takes care of itself. It has this whole pond to itself, all the water it needs. There’s only one thing we can do for it”—Mom’s eyes went flat—“and that’s to never let anyone in.”
“Why can’t I eat it?” Lil asked. She’d wanted to, had been about to before Mom shouted and the shock of terror on her face had stopped her. “What are they?”
“They’re an offering,” Mom said. “The tree is like an arm that the pond reaches out to us. They’re meant to be a gift. But the gift is too great for anyone to bear. So you must not try.” When Mom told her to throw the golden pecan into the water, Lil did without hesitation.
Today, sitting on that familiar bank, there’s only one golden pecan to find. Lil strokes over the smooth hull of the little treasure. The invitation. The ambrosia-laced trap. Once more people knew about the tree. They tried to sneak over fences to steal a handful of gold, convinced a single pecan could grant their wishes. But now, the center of Lil’s life is forgotten by the world. The old ways are dying, the myths and legends aren’t being honored, and Lil’s guarding a treasure no one even remembers to want. The rules have been passed down so long, and even the full consequences of eating a golden pecan are lost to time. But she knows all too well that they don’t grant wishes.
Lil stands, task done, and hikes her way back out into the main orchard, into the sunlight.
Sasha’s out, as usual, stumbling through her life like some wayward ghost. But before she reaches the house, down the road, she hears the soft tread of a runner. The jogger turns off the highway and lopes up to the fence. Interesting to see him here. Lil walks down to meet him at the gate. He waits for her as she crosses the long yard.
He’s still a little winded when she makes it to the fence line, and he gives her a fierce look. She can smell his sweat, salt and citrus. “Fine,” Jason pants. He’s dressed for a run, hair bronzed against his forehead. His hand wraps around one of the pickets. “Let’s talk about how to save the damn town. I’m suffocating in that house.”
Lil rests her elbows on the fence too. He does look tired, like he’s run the whole way here. “Come inside. You look like you need some water.”
Jason stands by the table, amid the ghosts of his past self, high school Jason daring her to drink hot sauce, postcollege Jason making coffee the way she liked it, keeping quiet so they didn’t get caught—twenty-three was still young enough to be scolded if Mom caught them making out in her kitchen.
“Glass of water,” she reminds them both. “You—you remember where the cups are.” Obviously. The silverware is in the same drawer it’s always been in, the glasses in the cupboard, the cracks in the wall plaster. It’s all the same.
Jason hesitates, then goes to pull down a cup from the cabinet. It has a faded old Girl Scouts of America logo on it, from way back in Sasha’s scouting days. He fills it, drains it, and then fills it again. “Everything’s the same at my house too,” he says, almost bitterly, as he leans back against her counter. “Like I never left.”
It isn’t constant heartbreak anymore to think about Jason and the way he left, bound for law school, for a bigger world. Enough time has passed that the ache doesn’t follow her the way it did at first, when they were twenty-five and wine-drunk in the middle of the last, greatest fight. The warm light of the kitchen, still smelling of burnt caramel and vanilla creme. Jason flushed with anger and rejection, pleading that he’s not leaving her; he wants her to come to North Carolina with him. Lil snapping at him that if he wants to go, then go, because if he ever knew her, he’d know her roots were set deep, and to leave would be to rip herself in two.
For a long time, she wasn’t able to think of crème brûlée without a current of furious hurt coursing through her. But time went on. At this point, resenting him for it feels more like a reflex than a reality.
“Are you swamped with casseroles?” Lil asks. “Almost every grandmother in this town has a crush on you.”
“So many. Remember Dorothea’s cornflake casserole?” Jason swoons back, nearly knocking his head on the cabinets.
“Isn’t that the one that she always insisted was better served cold?”
Jason makes a face. “Like revenge?”
Lil chuckles. “So you said you want to save the town.”
“I said we could talk about it,” Jason corrects, straightening up. The space feels cramped once he does. “You weren’t exactly subtle on the way to the memorial.”
“I didn’t mean—” She’s almost as bad as Theon, isn’t she? “It wasn’t what I meant to do, bringing it up there. But I’m not sorry.” She leans against the fridge, facing him. “I don’t want to leave. I can’t just sit back and watch my home die, but I can’t do anything about it alone. And this is what happens to small towns, isn’t it? People move away, farming gets too hard, and they die.” She has to be careful; she feels every potential minefield in this conversation. “That isn’t a comment on you, so don’t take it that way.” Is that too harsh? God, this is hard, when talking to him used to feel more like mind reading.
“No, I get it.” Jason refills his water glass, his arm brushing hers. “I always thought I’d come back here after practicing law for a few years and try to get on the town council or something. Hell, run for mayor. But the town can’t even get that road repaired.”
“Do you think it’s possible to change the course of things?” Lil asks.
He considers her, expression wry. “You can’t stop time.”
“I’m not trying to stop time,” she interjects.
His mouth twists. “Or maybe time can’t stop you. Either or. I know I’m not dumb enough to tell you what you can’t do, Lil.”
It makes her glow despite herself, so Lil smirks and teases, “You’re definitely dumb enough. We wouldn’t have fought so much if not.”
Jason snorts. “Yes, that was completely because of my stupidity and had nothing to do with how damn bullheaded you can be.”
A foolish, involuntary smile pricks at her lips. She bites it back. She’s missed this.
“Hey.” Jason catches her hand. “I sort of miss your bullhead.”
His thumb warms the rough calluses of her palm. It’s hard to explain what exactly drew them together that first time, when Jason was concealed like he’s always concealed, beneath his glamour of respectability. But then, and now, and probably always, when Lil allows herself to look, deeply look at him, she sees the burning. Even in high school it was there, the house fire blazing inside Jason Finch. He hides it well, and no one else ever seems to notice. But it always made perfect sense that he worked so many shifts at the firehouse, maybe just trying to quench himself. They are gasoline to each other. The kitchen feels tight, like a closet, and he’s close enough that she could have dragged him against her. His hand would be rough at the nape of her neck, his mouth would be urgent, his body—
“You will not believe who I found in town today and who’s coming to dinner!” Sasha sings, spinning into the kitchen to douse them. She stops hard at the door, nearly tripping over her own feet in a moment of uncharacteristic awkwardness. “Oh.” She glances back, clearly evaluating if escape is still an option. Everyone knows it’s not. “Hey, Jason.”
“Hi, Sasha,” Jason sighs, and his mask falls back on, and the moment is over.
The evening creeps on, the air dusty, the sunset faded. Inside, candlelight burns close and, for Sasha, with a brightness like raw joy. Autumn is back! Here at home! Even the house itself feels pleased to see her, the old spaces sighing with a dwindling evening breeze.
Jason is welcomed tonight too. Sasha notes Lil’s eyes on him as they all sit down to eat. Sasha pours dark wine into crystal cordial glasses, and Lil presses happy kisses to Autumn’s cheeks. They talk about the harvest and Jason’s law practice and Sasha’s survey work for Dale. They reminisce (gingerly) about simpler adolescent escapades, Lil’s smile a slice of warm danger.
Autumn beams, jokes, but sticks close to Sasha’s side. It’s probably the most she and Jason have ever talked; they were in different universes in high school, Jason in student council and every sport, Autumn happy to skate by on average grades. Of everyone at the table, the prom king and the slackers, only Sasha could bridge the two worlds: somehow she was always popular and a total screwup.
“The money-laundering scheme to buy all those kegs for the bonfire was me,” Sasha brags. “No one guessed because I was repeating Algebra 2 for the third time.”
Jason looks tempted to bang his head on the table. “You were the student council treasurer.”
“Exactly!” She pours him the last splash of wine, winking. “The kegger was my major campaign promise.”
Autumn raises her empty, wine-stained glass, cheeks flushed. “Sasha for president! Kegs for all!”
Time turns runny, and midnight closes in on them without Sasha noticing. Jason finally stands and admits he has to go. Autumn, always on baker’s hours, can’t seem to keep her eyes open as she follows Jason out the door. There’s a determined set to Jason’s shoulders as he’s swallowed by the darkness down the steps. He and Lil aren’t even looking at each other, but Sasha feels the tension.
“Lunch tomorrow?” he murmurs to Lil, like he thinks Sasha won’t hear. She does. And she sees Lil’s nod too.
“You sure you don’t want to stay?” Lil says to Autumn as they all walk to the door.
“My place above the bakery misses me,” she replies, and Lil sweeps her into a hug. “And I want to make cinnamon rolls in the morning.”
Sasha grins eagerly. “That’s a good reason.”
“Come back,” Lil demands against her flurry of hair. “Don’t let Sasha hog you.”
Sasha gives the truck keys a chivalrous spin as they all step out onto the porch. “I’ll drive y’all home. C’mon—”
But she pauses. Something has stopped her. They listen. There’s a shushing sound in the air, like the song of river reeds in the wind. Or maybe that’s what the ocean sounds like; it feels like a lifetime since she’s heard that insistent crash of waves.
“Is that the train?” she asks, voice dropping. She searches the night for the source, for a car speeding or just a thatch of rustling grasses. It’s not clear—
“Look.” Autumn points. Sasha squints past her into the blackness, and it takes a moment to even understand the spot of light pricking at the night.
Jason is hoarse. “Fire.”
The house is far enough down the road that it only winks at them through the trees, more road and projectiles of black smoke than visible blaze. But it’s got to the whole house, one of the empty properties, swallowed in an inferno.
Lil palpably shakes off the afterglow of the evening, striding out to the truck. To go single-handedly fight the fire, apparently.
“Wait,” Sasha calls, darting back into the house. “I’ll call it in.”
It takes two calls to connect at the firehouse. “Hey, Cesar.” Sasha hurries out. “There’s a giant house fire out here. Can’t tell which house, but you can’t miss it if you drive out toward the roadwork.” She listens to the scurry at the tiny station. “We’re going out there now to try to slow it down.”
They pile into the truck, Sasha and Autumn crouching in the tailgate with a pile of fire blankets that Lil always keeps there. Autumn presses her hand to her mouth. “I’m too tipsy for this.”
Lil drives, her truck coughing with every pothole that sends them jostling against each other. It’s such a dark haze out on that country road that the headlights barely cut through to the next tree. The horrible rushing sound grows, and soon they turn down a gravel drive. The house, all alight, beckons them down the road with a gaping grin. Kudzu clinging to the sides writhes in glowing tangles. As they pull up as close as they dare, a half-hung porch swing blazing on the rotten deck collapses, hitting the ashy timbers below with a thunk.
“Cesar is on the way,” Sasha reminds them as Lil cuts the engine. “We don’t have to save the day or anything.”
Jason rolls his eyes once again at this repeated news. He and Cesar have apparently never gotten past their various rivalries. The noise here and the light are so intense that they’re cut off from the dark road, from any approaching siren.
Even the orchard itself, barren as it is, even seems to lean away, leaves choked in smoke. Jason takes charge, and for once, Lil allows it without a fight, letting him direct their movements. He dives in closest, dragging away the debris that’s most likely to catch, while the others brace themselves at the far edges, ready to smother any stray sparks. Lil glares down the fire, between it and the trees as if her will is enough to stop it, fear only showing in the way her mouth trembles.
It’s like staring down a demon. Sasha loses sight of Autumn around the side of the house. Sparks flare dangerously close in the grass and she pounces with her blanket, stamping them out. But it’s startlingly stubborn, hot even through the blanket. Jason drags a dead tree branch out of the way, silhouetted against the flames.
And then—the sound of an engine cuts through the roaring fire.
Sasha turns, waving at the fire truck as it cruises up the road. It’s moving slow—potholes, maybe—and finally, it turns onto the dirt driveway of the property. Lil dashes to Sasha’s side, face bright with relief.
For a moment, the truck idles. Then it shuts off and Cesar is the first to step out in full gear. The driver, Shiloh, hangs out the window, frowning.
“Lil?” Cesar calls over the distance, bracing his hands on his hips. “What are you doing out here?”
“Your job,” she yells back, turning back to the house. “Which you should be—” She cuts off. Silence rings in her ears. “Sasha,” Lil breathes, yanks at her shoulder. “Sasha, look.”
Behind them, the house crouches, decrepit in the darkness. Only it isn’t burning. Autumn is sprawled on the ground in front of her blanket, staring up with huge eyes at the intact wood frame. Jason’s hands are still grasped around an old tire. Bewildered, he tosses it aside. The porch swing, still haphazardly aloft, creaks.
Cesar joins Sasha and Lil. “Yeah, we, uh, followed the sound of shouting.” He pulls his gloves off, folding them into his belt. “Pretty…big fire.”
“This is wrong,” Lil murmurs. “It was—it was on fire a second ago. We all saw it.”
“We saw it from the orchard,” Sasha snaps, dropping her blanket. “We drove out here; we’ve been fighting it.”
“Well it looks like you got it.” Cesar’s face is pinched. He pulls Lil aside. “Look, I don’t know what this is,” he whispers, close to her cheek. “Is this some kind of joke?”
“It’s not a joke,” Lil insists. She rakes her hands through her hair, smudging soot against her forehead. “Cesar, do you think I would joke about something like this?”
“Technically Sasha called,” Cesar points out. “Hi, Sasha.”
Blandly, she raises a singed hand to him.
“If you’re going to blame her, at least do it far enough away that she can’t hear.” Lil yanks away. She’s the one on fire now, flaring toward the house.
Of all of them, Jason looks most lost, his arms slack. “What the hell,” he breathes.
“Jason.” Cesar sniffs, stands a little taller, his size putting Jason to shame, if Jason felt things like shame. “Are you in on this too? Wouldn’t have thought you’d find something like this funny.” His eyes dart between Lil and Jason.
Somehow, even in deepest distress, Jason manages a haughty glance past Cesar at the fire truck. “Took y’all forever to get out here,” he says, more to Shiloh in the truck than to Cesar. Jason trained Shiloh years ago. “Someone could have been hurt.”
The decrepit old door to the house is slightly ajar, and Lil shoves it open. But she doesn’t go in. Sasha follows her, leaving Jason and Cesar to glare at each other.
Lil’s breathing has turned unsteady. Even the old welcome mat, which should be ashes, is back under her feet. One of those custom ones that reads, WELCOME TO GRANDMA AND GRANDPA’S! in big curling letters. It’s not even scorched. “You saw it,” Lil whispered. Behind them, the boys have raised their voices. “It was real. Just a second ago. Right?”
“Of course it was real. We saw it from the orchard. All the way up the road.” Sasha’s hands sting. “We fought it.”
Lil turns to look at her, lips pressed together, eyes full and fearful. I know, Sasha thinks. And I don’t know what’s happening either.
The porch creaks as Autumn joins them. “We need to go,” she says. “Before Cesar and Jason start dueling or something.”
“Okay. Okay.” Lil wrenches herself away.
The inside of the house still smells faintly of smoke.