MATTA TABAHA PULLED HIS TRUCK TO A STOP NEAR THE WOODEN bridge across the aqueduct in front of the silver Airstream. The Jeep Wrangler was still here, unmoved from its resting place. Erin reached up with her right hand and touched the side of her neck and face with her fingertips. They’d applied a white cream at the hospital—Silvadene, Dr. Houseman had called it. It felt cool against her body, but underneath the skin was raw and blistered. The burns had been limited to a small area, thank goodness, and Dr. Houseman seemed to think they would heal without much scarring. If it had gone on much longer, though, if Matta hadn’t tackled her to the ground and smothered the flames when he did, it could’ve involved her eyes and airway, the entirety of her face and head. She could’ve died while the rest of them watched, pretending it had been a tragic accident.
“Will you be arresting them for attempted murder?” she’d asked Jeff Stutzman when he arrived in the emergency department. Her tears had dried against the soot on her cheeks. She still smelled of burned hair and flesh.
“Who did this?” he asked. “Do you remember who was standing next to you or right behind you?”
She shook her head. “They were all shifting positions. Somebody must’ve seen it happen, though. Hasn’t anyone identified the person who did this?”
“Not yet,” he said. “We’re still interviewing people. The wind kicked up shortly before the incident. If your scarf was dangling behind you, maybe it was just enough to—”
“Why did it happen to me?” she asked. “Why me and not someone else? This wasn’t an accident, Jeff. Somebody meant for it to happen. Somebody made a conscious decision to hurt me.”
“Who do you think it was?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I feel like all of them wanted it. Matta was the only one who helped me.”
And now he’s brought me here, Erin thought, looking through the windshield at the familiar shape of the Airstream. Matta got out of the truck and slammed the driver’s-side door. He walked across the wooden bridge toward the front of the RV, climbed the steps, and pounded on the door. She didn’t understand it, why he’d insisted on coming here after her visit to the emergency department. Robbie didn’t want to see either of them. What was the point of forcing the issue?
The cold air pressed itself against her as she slid down from the cab. Her entire body ached, not just the parts of her that had been burned. And something ached inside of her, too. Despite the warnings, she hadn’t wanted to believe that she was in any real danger from the people she’d known since childhood.
Matta hammered on the door with his fist. “Get up!” he yelled. “Open this goddamn door before I rip it off its hinges.”
It was dark inside the trailer, and the thought occurred to Erin that maybe he wasn’t home, that maybe Robbie was on a trip and hadn’t been here at all over the past few weeks. Wouldn’t that be ironic, she thought. I’ve been standing out here calling to him for a month, hurt by the fact that he didn’t want to see me. But the whole time the trailer’s been empty. I’ve been calling to no one. I’ve been out here apologizing to myself.
Matta yanked on the handle. The door seemed to give a little, and he did it again. Erin recalled the way he had moved when she last saw him, an old man favoring his arthritis. There was no trace of that now, his body responding to the adrenaline. In the morning, maybe it would all catch up with him. But tonight he was young again, and he wasn’t taking no for an answer.
Matta returned to the truck, fished around behind the seat, and pulled out a thin metal rod from the collection of tools used for changing a tire. He marched back to the Airstream with it, cursing beneath his breath, and wedged the tapered end between the door and the jamb.
“I think he wants to be left alone,” she suggested, but Matta didn’t even look back at her.
“I’ve left him alone long enough,” he growled. “Now I’m here to kick his ass.”
He pried at the door with the bar, adjusted his grip, and drove the bar deeper into the groove. He put his weight into it, giving it some extra torque, and the door popped open with a bang.
Erin took a step backward, uncertain whether she really wanted to go in there. Robbie had changed over the years. Isn’t that what Matta had told her?
The man disappeared into the Airstream, and a moment later the lights came on. He passed in front of one of the windows, head down, surveying the interior.
Erin stood where she was. She heard the rattle of empty aluminum cans being kicked around the floor.
Matta appeared in the open doorway. “It’s a mess,” he told her. “Give me a minute to put some things away.”
“Okay.” Erin lowered herself to the ground, wrapped her arms around her shin, and pulled her right knee tight against her chest. She’d knelt that way at the base of the tree behind Robbie’s house when she was younger. The letter e was the hardest, she thought, like water circling a drain.
Matta disappeared inside the RV once again. “Get up,” he said. “The least you can do is to help me.”
There was more conversation that she couldn’t make out. In her mind, Erin could see Robbie in there, with his dark hair and wry, sarcastic smile. He was still eleven years old, the version she so often pictured when she thought of him. They had just finished riding down the aqueduct. He had brought her here to visit his grandpa.
“What are you doing here?” she heard a man say. “You broke my goddamn door.”
There was a crash from inside, the sound of someone stumbling over something on the floor.
“Shut up,” Matta said. “I brought someone with me.”
“Who?”
“Erin. Erin Reece. She’s been knocking on your door for weeks.”
“You brought Erin Reece out here to see me? Jesus, Dad. What were you . . . ?”
He glanced out through the window. She saw him for a moment, a face held briefly to the glass. It was hard to make out his features—just that he was older now, a man instead of a boy. He pulled away from the glass, and there was more whispered conversation that she couldn’t make out.
Erin stood up, tired of waiting. She walked to the trailer and ascended the steps.
The first thing she noticed was the mess. Matta had been right. He held a plastic garbage bag in his hand, already full of trash. She could see the bulge of a few pizza boxes and heard the rattle of aluminum cans as Matta bent to scoop something else off the floor. The interior walls of the Airstream were dark walnut. The space felt small and cramped with the two men standing inside. There was a modest sink set into a white countertop, but it was full of cups and food-caked dishes, and most of the countertop was covered with dirty clothes and newspapers. There was a separate space for the bedroom, and the door to it was half open. In front of it stood her friend, or what was left of him. He was wearing shorts that were hiked up on one side and a red shirt that was inside out and too small for him. It rose up a bit as he turned to look at her, revealing a half inch of flesh that pouched out above his waistband. His face was covered with stubble, and his black hair was sticking up in the places where it had been pressed against the pillow. Robbie looked both surprised and embarrassed to see her. There was a zip-up hoodie on the seat next to him. He grabbed it and held it in front of him.
“Erin,” he said. “I . . . wasn’t expecting you.”
She glanced briefly at Matta, the person to blame for this awkward intrusion. He stood there with the bag in his hand, looking down at the floor.
“Hello, Robbie,” she said. Her throat felt dry and tight. She tried to swallow, but there was nothing there, just the taste of all those years that had crept up between them.
“I know the place doesn’t look like much,” he said. “I was getting ready to clean it up before you got—”
She walked forward and wrapped her arms around him. He smelled like beer and unwashed hair, and he stood there while she hugged him, unsure of what to do.
“I’ve missed you,” she said, letting go of him and taking a step back.
He stood there with the hoodie in his hand, his eyes searching her face to see if she was joking. “You look the same,” he said, although Erin knew that couldn’t be true. “Your hair’s a bit shorter, but . . . you’re just like I remember.”
There was something on the front of his shirt that she hadn’t noticed before, and it took her a moment to realize what it was. She reached forward and wiped it off as best she could, a bit of Silvadene cream that had come off when she hugged him.
He lifted his hand and pointed to the side of her neck. “You’ve got something . . .”
“Erin was burned this evening,” Matta said. “She went to the candlelight vigil and someone set her scarf on fire.”
“Jesus,” he said. “Are you okay?”
She nodded. “It hurts a little, but Dr. Houseman says it should heal okay.”
“I don’t understand. Was it an accident?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
They stood facing each other, and silence descended between them.
“I’m sorry I didn’t answer the door,” he said. “I haven’t been feeling well.”
“It’s all right,” she said. “I’m glad to see you now.”
“Can I get you something to”—he glanced at his father—“some water or something? I don’t have a whole lot to drink. Just beer and some other stuff.”
“No, thanks,” she said. “I’m fine.”
“I could make you some tea,” he said, and his face brightened with the idea. “I’ve got some around here somewhere.” He placed the hoodie on the counter beside him, opened a cabinet, and began searching.
“I’m fine, really,” she said. “I appreciate the offer, but . . .”
“No, no,” he said. “It’s no trouble.” He stood on his tiptoes, found what he was looking for, and pulled out a box of tea bags from the back of the cabinet. “Cinnamon and spice,” he said. “It’s good. I’ll make us some.”
Erin felt a light touch on her upper arm. It was Matta, standing behind her.
“Do you mind helping me with something?” he asked, motioning toward the door. “It’ll only take a second.”
They descended the steps, and he closed the door behind them. He’d broken the latch, and it drifted open an inch before coming to rest.
“I should leave,” he said. “The two of you have some catching up to do.”
“Okay.”
“I won’t go if you don’t want me to. I’d be leaving you here without your truck.”
She considered the situation. “Does the Jeep run?”
“Yes,” he said. “As far as I know it does. He could drive you back into town this evening. Or you could call me and I’ll come pick you up.”
“Either one is fine with me,” she said. “I’ll keep him company for a while.”
“Okay. I’m sorry about the way things look.”
“It’s fine. I’ll help him clean it up before I go.”
Matta nodded and glanced back at the trailer. “He drinks too much,” he said, “same as me when I was younger. It’s gotten out of control. I’m sorry, but that’s the truth of it.”
“I understand.”
“He’s a good kid.” He nodded. “I guess you already know that.”
She gave him a hug. “Thank you, Matta.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Okay.” He walked across the bridge to the truck and climbed inside. She watched as he drove away, his taillights disappearing into the night.
Inside, Robbie had placed the teakettle on the range for the water to boil. He’d cleaned up a few more things and cleared off a space for them to sit at the table. Erin washed the dishes in the sink and found a towel to dry them before putting them away in the cabinet. The place wasn’t spotless by any means, but neither was her house in Colorado. It was habitable, and by the time they were finished, there were two steaming cups of tea on the table in front of them.
“So,” he said, sitting down at the table, “what’ve you been up to these past fifteen years?” He smiled and took a sip of his tea.
He slid over and she sat down beside him. “I went to school, became a veterinarian, and moved to Colorado. That’s it,” she said. “That’s fifteen years in a nutshell.”
“A veterinarian. Wow,” he said. “So you’re Dr. Reece now. That’s great. Your father must be proud.”
She shrugged. “They’re letting him out of the hospital tomorrow.”
“He’s getting better, then. That’s good. I read about the farm in the paper.”
She looked at him. “He’s in a lot of trouble. They’re treating the place as a crime scene. He can’t go back there, not for a while anyway. Dr. Houseman invited us to stay at a place owned by his in-laws. It’s quiet, he says, out in the middle of nowhere. We’d have the place to ourselves.”
“That’s real nice of him. He’s a good guy, Dr. Houseman.”
She nodded and took a sip of tea.
He lifted his cup. “Cheers,” he said, and clinked their cups together. “To Erin Reece, doctor of the animals.”
“To Robbie Tabaha,” she said. “My best friend in all the world.”
Her voice quivered at the end of it, and she looked away, embarrassed by the rawness of her emotion.
He set his cup down, and when she turned to look at him, she could see that his hand was trembling and he’d spilled some of his tea on the table.
“You okay?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said. “Just a heck of a lot clumsier than I used to be.”
She was quiet for a moment, wanting to tell him but hating the words as they formed on her lips. “My father’s been diagnosed with lung cancer,” she said. “It’s aggressive. Dr. Houseman wants him to see an oncologist for treatment, but . . . he doesn’t want to go along with it.”
Robbie looked over at her. He reached out and put his hand on her forearm. “Erin, I’m sorry,” he said. “He’s got to get treatment, doesn’t he? I mean . . . you can convince him, right?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “He’s stubborn. He makes his own decisions.”
“Yeah, but . . .” Robbie leaned back and shook his head. “He can’t just give up on a thing like that.”
She leaned into him. She could feel the tremors, the fine hum of an electric current coursing through his body.
“You’re shaking. What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” he said. “I get nervous. I guess I’m a little nervous around you.”
“You don’t need to be nervous.”
“I know.”
Erin sat there and sipped her tea. She could hear a coyote in the distance.
“Do people call you Rob now, or is it still Robbie?”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “You should call me Robbie. It would be weird if you started calling me Rob.”
She looked at him. “I’m sorry I left you. I’m sorry it’s taken me fifteen years to come back.”
“It’s okay,” he said. “You can see I’ve been keeping myself busy.”
She nodded.
“I inherited this place from my grandpa. He passed away a few years ago.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Thanks,” he said. “It happens. My mom died, too. It’s just my dad living by himself now.”
“And you’re living here.”
“Yeah. It’s pretty nice. No one bothers me.”
“Except me.”
“Yeah.” He smirked. “You’re a real pain in the ass.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“I mean, people are lighting your head on fire. That’s a sign they might not like you.”
“It was just the right side,” she said. “If it had been the whole thing, I’d be worried.”
“That’s true. Just the right side. That’s not so bad.” He gave her a sarcastic smile, the one she remembered so clearly from their childhood.
“Your dad would like you to visit him every once in a while.”
“Is that what he told you?”
“Yeah.”
“He broke my goddamn door.”
“How else were we supposed to get in here to see you? I wanted this tea and I wanted it bad.”
He laughed, and she could see the traces of him that she remembered: the dimpling in his chin through the stubble, the way his eyes looked up and to the left when she said something funny. She laughed with him, and it was like they were kids again, making fun of themselves for their own amusement.
The inside of the trailer grew quiet as their laughter tapered. He started to lift his mug and then stopped, placing it back on the table.
“I’m sorry I didn’t open the door for you,” he said, “and I’m sorry I didn’t visit your father in the hospital.” He was shaking again. It was getting worse instead of better.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
“Are you having a seizure?”
“No,” he said. “But I might. Sometimes it happens.”
“Since when?”
He shrugged.
“Your father told me you drink. Are you going into withdrawal?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m sorry, I . . . I don’t want to have a seizure. Do you mind if I get up and get something else?”
She stood up and let him out of the booth. Robbie opened the cabinet above the sink, took down a bottle, and poured himself a glass of it. He swallowed it down in three gulps, his eyes watering.
“It’s . . . not usually this bad,” he told her. “I . . . don’t know what happened.”
She sat back down in the booth and watched as he poured himself another glass. He carried it to the table and slid in next to her.
“How long will that last you?” she asked.
“Four or five hours,” he said. “After that, I start to get shaky.”
“Can you sleep through the night?”
“Four or five hours at a time,” he told her. “I keep a bottle on the nightstand, just in case.”
“When’s the last time you tried to stop?”
“A few weeks ago,” he said, “just after you came here to see me.” He shook his head. “I started seeing things,” he said, “snakes coming out of the walls and stuff. I couldn’t make it, Erin. I couldn’t make it half a day.”
She put an arm around him. They sat that way for a long time, neither of them talking.
Eventually he sighed and pushed the empty glass away from him. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “I don’t know how things got this way.”
“A little bit at a time,” she said. “It’s okay. I’m happy to see you.”
“I guess you’re pretty disappointed.”
“No,” she said, “I’m not.”
He turned to look at her, but her eyes were closed, her head resting against his shoulder.
“Things got out of control,” he told her. “I thought I could handle it, but I couldn’t.”
“It’s okay,” she said, and her voice was soft and without judgment. “You’ll beat it. I know you will. Last one standing, remember?”