As I rounded the curve in front of Clyde’s house, I slowed the hatchback, watching as flames thrashed through the open windows and devoured the roof. The dry wood of the place was going up fast, and the smoke rose straight into the air, unhindered by any sort of breeze. No wind. No weather. Nothing was left of the raging storm of two nights back.
Except mud. Apparently Clyde had asked a neighboring farmer to plow a swath around the house, because the earth had been upturned to create a barrier of moist soil to prevent the fire from spreading to the mesquite trees and cedars and the fields beyond them.
A safe distance from the fire sat a water truck from the volunteer fire department, and Troy Sanders sat atop it, watching the show from the best seat in the house. On the ground at the front bumper stood Clyde.
He must have seen me before I saw him, because he was watching as I eased the hatchback to a stop. When I opened the door, I could feel the heat from the flames, and I stepped to the far side of the car where the air was cooler.
Clyde said something to Troy, who glanced at me and laughed, and I wondered how Clyde had explained the fire to him.
I leaned against the hatchback with my arms on the roof, and Clyde limped across the yard and joined me, bending slightly to rest his elbows next to mine. We watched silently as the roof of the house fell in on itself, temporarily dousing the flames for several seconds before they leaped back up. We stood together as his memories went up in flames, and I wondered if Clyde felt the same release I had felt.
My gaze slid to his elbow, and I noticed his tattoo peeking out from under his sleeve. My fingers wiggled, wanting to pull his sleeve away, wanting to touch the Bible verse branded on his arm, but I kept myself from it. I kept myself from imagining the locations of his other four tattoos.
I forced my gaze back to the house just in time to see the last wall fall. Then the fire slowed and gently gnawed on the remaining timbers.
Finally I got up the nerve to speak, but not about the obvious. “When did you get out of the hospital?”
Clyde looked at me out of the corner of his eye. “Just this morning the doc said I was good to go as long as I went home and rested, but I haven’t made it home yet.” He looked over his shoulder at the view. “Unless you count this place.”
I laced my fingers together, then alternated my thumbs. “And aren’t you supposed to keep your leg elevated?”
“Yep. That, too. And I’m supposed to be on crutches for a few weeks.”
I rolled my eyes but didn’t look at him.
“Troy’s got ’em in the tanker.” As if hauling crutches in a vehicle would heal his leg just as quickly as walking with them.
Only a few smoldering piles of debris remained where the old shack had been, and Troy called to Clyde, then swept his palm toward the fire like a beautiful girl presenting a Lamborghini at a car show.
Clyde gestured toward the house, a signal for Troy to spray the place down with water. At first the droplets sizzled and steamed, sending a fresh bundle of smoke and soot into the air, but after only a few minutes, the flames stopped fighting.
“I was sorry to miss Ansel’s funeral,” Clyde said.
“You would have been proud of him.” I chuckled. “He left Dodd with instructions to give the family a guilt trip about church.”
“Naw.” Clyde’s jaw dropped open in a grin. “I didn’t know he was a believer.”
“Just recently, I guess.”
Clyde rubbed his chin. “Well, don’t that beat all.” He faced me then, leaning his side against the car so that he could stare. “What did you think about his challenge, Lyn?”
“It’s only been twenty minutes. I haven’t had much time to think on it.”
He hummed in thought. “If you had to guess, what would you say you’d think about it, once you had time to think?”
I rolled my eyes again. “I might tag along with Velma sometime. She’s been talking about it a little.”
“You’d go with … Velma?” His left eyebrow lifted slightly.
Troy called across the yard, and I welcomed the interruption. “You got it from here, Felton?”
“Sure thing. You go on now.”
“It was a good burn!” Troy yelled.
As the water truck pulled away, I asked, “A good burn?”
Clyde shrugged. “Burning stuff is fun.”
We stood in silence for a few minutes, and then Clyde gazed over the rim of the Cap.
“The town’s a mess, I guess,” he said. “I haven’t been down there yet.”
I followed him to the edge of the drop-off, where we looked down on Trapp. The damage showed even more from this perspective, and I could see how the tornado had hopped from street to street, leaving some houses and taking others. I cringed. So many people were hurt. “Half the buildings are gone. The grain elevator … the elementary school … the United.”
“How’s your house?”
“There’s a chunk out of the backside, and there’s no sign of the carport.” I shrugged. “But I haven’t had anybody look at it yet.” That was Ansel’s job.
“I can take care of it, Lyn.” Clyde put emphasis on the first word, and his eyes bored into mine. “If it’s not too bad, I can fix it up. With JohnScott’s help.” He looked away as though it were settled. “Where are you staying?”
“Dodd and Ruthie’s house. On the couch.” I looked back toward town, my gaze following the path of destruction. “Your trailer’s gone.”
“Gone?”
“I’ve seen parts of it all over town, but not any pieces large enough to keep for a souvenir.” I shivered. “Good thing you were at the Dairy Queen.”
We stood in silence then, looking far below, watching a long line of cars making their way toward the cemetery. The shadow of Ansel’s death washed over me again, but I brushed it aside, unable to dwell on the sadness because of my relief. Relief that Clyde had been saved after being buried alive.
“I guess we’ll have a few more funerals this week,” I said.
“Sorry for those ones.”
“Me, too. Maria Fuentes was a friend of Ruthie’s.” I took a deep breath. “I came here to apologize.”
“Apologize?”
“Is that so hard to believe?”
“Naw, it’s not that,” he said. “It’s just that I’m not sure what you’re apologizing for.”
“Like there are too many things?”
He frowned. “No. Like I’m not sure what you’re apologizing for.”
I walked away from him, stopping a few yards in front of the car, where I could glare at the mounds of steaming ash. “I’m sorry for giving you a hard time about your grandpappy’s house. I’m sorry for turning away from you because of it. I’m sorry for being a basket case.”
“Well …”—he studied me from where he stood at the edge of the cliff—“I’m sorry you thought I was dead. I don’t plan on ever leaving you again.”
“You better not,” I called. “I’ve decided to need you.”
“No way.”
“And I’ve decided to let you take care of me.”
Laughter boomed from deep in his chest. “Come back over here, Lyn.”
“No.” I raised my chin. “You come over here.”
He did nothing except smile, and his shoulders shook silently.
I pouted, wishing he would come where I was. Wishing I didn’t have to go to him. Wishing he would do everything in the world to make my life easier.
He shook his head and held his hands out as he did so often for Nathan, and the action sent my heart into a tailspin. Satin cords pulled me toward his open arms, so ready to shelter me, comfort me, want me. I took three steps and melted into his embrace.
“Thank you for burning your stupid house.” I rubbed my cheek against his chest. “I can’t believe you did that.”
“I got the idea from you.”
I started to ask him what he meant, but then I remembered jokingly telling him to tear down the old place. I shuddered. And that night at the diner I said I wouldn’t go there with him. I wanted to blot the memories from my mind—along with my selfishness—but that likely wouldn’t happen. I hadn’t been able to erase any other memories, not completely, but I had been able to let them go. And Clyde would help me.
“I’m a better person with you than I am alone,” I said.
“I could say the same thing. We’re a team.”
He smiled, but he was no longer laughing at me. Instead, he was just happy. Happier than he’d been in years—maybe in his whole life. He held me against his chest and kissed the top of my head. “You don’t leave me either, okay?”
I looked up at him. “Not a chance.”