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Monica had virtually moved in with Frank since the VW burned. He was tense at first, wondering if he was rushing things by insisting she stay with him. But her safety was a consideration; transportation was another. It was easy to drop her at work and pick her up when he was through, and so it seemed only natural for her to come and stay, at least until she got another car.
Monica had liability insurance only on the beetle, old as it was, so buying a new car was out of the question. She was negotiating with a brother in Del Rio for a Honda he had rebuilt. It would be a month before he could bring the car to San Gabriel, so Monica relied on Frank and a co-worker who loaned her a car when she needed one at work.
After a few days Frank’s nervousness started to subside. He enjoyed the companionship of working with Monica in the kitchen, of cleaning house together on Saturday morning, and talking in the living room with the Christmas lights on and the fireplace blazing.
“Do you think we can make it, Frank?” she asked one evening. She took his hand and brought it tentatively to her lips.
“You know I love you. I told you so at James Thornberry’s the first time we were there.”
She squeezed his hand. “I love you, too, but that doesn’t answer my question.”
“I think we can make it, but I don’t think we should rush into anything. I’m not divorced yet, and there are things we should discuss.”
“Like what?”
“Where we’re going to live.”
She turned toward him. “I just assumed we’d stay here in your house.”
“I have another piece of property out in the Hill Country, in Medina County. It’s twenty acres with a run-down house on it. I inherited it from my grandparents. The worse things get here in town, the more I think about fixing up the place and moving out there. The only reason I haven’t sold it to pay my debts and start a retirement fund is that I keep thinking I may want to move there. Well, that isn’t the only reason. I have a lot of sentimental attachment to the place. I spent a lot of time there in the summers with my grandparents, and we always had Christmas there.”
“I’ve never lived in the country, but I’d be willing to try. We could ride to work together.”
He pushed an image of Darlene refusing to visit the farm from his mind. It was foolish to brood about the wasted years. Concentrate on what he had now, and make the most of it for the time he had left.
“I have this dispute going with the electric company over my easement. I have no idea how long it’ll take to settle it, or if it’ll ever be settled. If we should decide to move and sell this house, there could be complications finding someone willing to finance a mortgage.”
Monica nodded. “I’ll help you. There must be a way.”
“Another problem. I have no money,” he said. “I have the two properties and what’s in my union retirement fund. I won’t be able to retire for ages until I get my debts paid and some savings accumulated.”
“I have a small IRA and an even smaller savings account, and that’s it. But money isn’t going to be that important to us.”
He got up and put an oak log on the fire. “One reason I’ve been reluctant to move to the country is the feeling that I’d be abandoning the fight here. I can’t seem to stop looking after the neighborhood. So many people depend on me . . .”
“The time will come when you have to consider your needs, but we don’t have to make a decision right now. Other things seem more pressing at the moment.” She put her arms around him.
A thrill ran through him, and he shut his eyes and chuckled, thinking of the jolt he had received in the garage.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing. Just don’t stop.” He leaned back against the pillows in the corner of the sofa.
She leaned against him and nibbled on his ear. “The fire—it’s so inflaming. It gets me all stirred up.”
He held her close with one hand and began unbuttoning her blouse with the other. Then the sound of Cookie’s frantic barking broke through his concentration. “Damn! She’s really upset about something.” He kissed Monica’s forehead. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”
He walked to a back window and saw Cookie near the alley, looking toward the rear of his house. A flickering orange glow lit up her eyes and the buckle on her collar. “Jesus! Call the fire department!” Frank yelled. “Then get out of the house and come around to the back and help me. No, call Henry first and then get out of the house.” He ran through the kitchen and out the back door.
Flames were leaping toward the roof at the corner of the house. He had watered the shrubs beside the house yesterday—where in the hell was the hose? He turned the faucet on full blast and followed the hose to the nozzle in the middle of the yard. He sprayed the roof and eaves where the licking flames were creeping upward. Henry dashed around the house in seconds with the hose from the side faucet in his hand. When he joined Frank in spraying, the flames began to subside. They heard a siren, and right away a fire truck pulled into the alley.
The fire was out in a short time; the damage was confined to the corner of the house. “I don’t think it broke through to the interior,” Frank said to Monica, who was standing beside him now.
“No. The dining room’s okay, or it was when I hung up the phone.”
“How did it start?” Henry asked.
“I don’t know.” Frank dropped the hose in a neglected flower bed. “God, I hate dealing with the insurance company, and the arson investigators, and the contractors. It’s a full-time job, getting something like this settled.”
“I know what you mean, brother. Same thing happened when my house was shot up.”
Ruby and Mrs. Henthorne came around the corner of the house, followed by the other Graces. Monica went forward to talk to them. Mrs. Frazier’s flannel nightgown hung below the bottom of her coat. Frank and Henry walked to where the women were standing.
“Thank goodness for Cookie,” Frank said. “If she hadn’t barked, it would have been much worse.”
“She’s good about barking,” Mrs. Henthorne said. She and Frank walked to the fence, and he put his hand out to the dog. Cookie snarled and backed away.
“She can’t decide if she likes me or not, but anyway, I’m grateful.” Frank said.
The firemen finished their work and left, and the neighbors went on home. Frank and Monica stood looking at the blackened corner of the house. “You must be freezing out here in your shirtsleeves,” Monica said. “At least I had a chance to grab my sweater.”
“I think I’m in shock. I don’t feel anything. I can’t believe this.”
“Come inside. Let’s get you warmed up with something hot to drink.” She took his hand.
“At least this makes up my mind for me about moving,” Frank said as they went inside.
“You mean you think it’s time to leave the city?”
“No. I’m not going to let the bastards run me out of my home. They may kill me, but they’re not going to run me out.”
