“Tim!” Gretchen cried, but he was calling to someone else—the other figure on the boat.
Will. He looked up at Tim, and at that moment, a movement caught Gretchen’s eye. Something surfaced. It looked like a head, half out of the water near the boat. The full moon shone down, casting the eyes in shadow.
Bananas sat on Gretchen’s lap, purring contentedly, as if nothing had happened. Gretchen was perched in the corner of the Archers’ stiff couch, an uncomfortable beast that had nothing—not even excellent looks—going for it. The family’s living room was oddly formal, with a dark wood bowlegged coffee table and a faux Tiffany lamp. It was strange, because the furniture was so at odds with the comfortable, easy nature of the family itself. Gretchen guessed that the furniture was part of an inheritance. Maybe it had been in the house longer than any of the current inhabitants. But the furniture made the sitting room into something like a fancy shoe—it looked all right, but it wasn’t comfortable—and so it went mostly unused.
Gretchen knew how that could be. There were things she owned that she didn’t use and thus didn’t think about. She had been surprised how many had appeared when she packed up her room in Manhattan. A jeweled belt, a pair of red patent stilettos, a long purple Indian skirt—all fragments of personae abandoned. Gretchen liked to think that she was getting better and better at finding things that reflected the person she was on the inside. The trouble was, that person kept changing.
Mr. Archer had arrived at the Ellis house only moments after the fire trucks had. Gretchen had been clutching Bananas, standing between Johnny and Will on the front lawn. They were watching as smoke poured from Gretchen’s broken window. Firefighters ignored them, going in and out of the house in businesslike fashion. Their heavy clothing and helmets made Gretchen think of army ants, who can carry twenty times their own weight.
“Cat’s not stuck in a tree, I see,” Mr. Archer drawled in his dry way.
Johnny turned and looked at his old friend, whose broad hand was on his shoulder. “Problem in Gretchen’s room.”
Mr. Archer looked troubled but not surprised.
Will said quickly, “These things are usually electrical.”
“You sure got here fast,” his father said to him, and Will clamped his mouth shut.
Gretchen couldn’t tear her eyes from the smoke. That fire, she thought, is not electrical. It’s me. I caused it.
She was sure of it.
I get upset, and things burst into flames.
It was a simple explanation, and although it seemed impossible, there was no other explanation that worked. It may not make sense, Gretchen thought. It may not seem possible. But that’s what it is.
The edge of the sky was orange, fading to lilac overhead as the sun prepared for yet another dramatic entrance. Gretchen wondered what time it was. “Why don’t you all come on over for a while?” Mr. Archer suggested. “These guys will finish up here.” He didn’t wait for a response, just walked over to the nearest firefighter. Gretchen watched as Mr. Archer indicated his house and the firefighter nodded.
Mr. Archer walked back to them. “Let’s see what Evelyn has cooked up.”
Johnny and Mr. Archer walked side by side in companionable silence, and Gretchen, still clinging to her cat, trailed behind them with Will. Bananas struggled, and Gretchen hoisted her half over her shoulder so that the orange cat was looking backward, toward the Ellis house. Bananas hissed once, then settled down.
“He said there isn’t much damage. Mostly smoke in Gretchen’s room; that’s all.”
Johnny just shook his head. He looked over his shoulder at Gretchen, saw her watching him, then turned back to Mr. Archer. “Could have been worse.”
“A lot worse,” Mr. Archer agreed.
They walked in through the front door, and Gretchen set Bananas onto the Persian carpet in the hallway. The cat promptly strutted off, as if she owned the place.
The house was filled with the sweet scent of cinnamon and browning sugar. From May to October, Evelyn woke up early to make scones and quick breads for the farm stand, then went back to bed around eight for a few hours.
“Sit here,” Mr. Archer said, indicating the stiff sitting room furniture. “I’ll go talk to Evelyn. Will, come help out.”
Johnny and Gretchen looked at each other uncertainly as Mr. Archer and Will stepped through the kitchen door. Gretchen heard Mrs. Archer’s voice ask, “What is going on over there?” Mr. Archer muttered something that Gretchen couldn’t catch.
Johnny sighed and perched at the edge of the overstuffed wing chair. His long legs made him look like an awkward spider. Gretchen sat down on the couch, and Evelyn bustled in with a plate of muffins. “The whole world’s gone crazy,” she said as she held the platter out to Gretchen.
“Thank you.” Gretchen took a carrot raisin muffin, and Mrs. Archer touched a strand of Gretchen’s hair.
“I’m so glad you’re all right,” Mrs. Archer said.
“Thank you,” Gretchen said again, more awkwardly this time. Gretchen felt guilty for adding to Mrs. Archer’s worry.
A firefighter knocked at the door, and Will pulled it open.
“We’re about done,” the firefighter announced. “There’s an insurance adjuster at your house,” he added to Johnny.
“Got here pretty fast,” Mr. Archer noted, and Johnny nodded.
“I’ll go talk to him.”
Gretchen started up, but her father waved her back to her seat. “I’ll take care of it. You stay here.”
Once Johnny left, Mr. and Mrs. Archer hovered around for a while. Mrs. Archer kept trying to stuff Gretchen with muffins; Mr. Archer just sat still as a bone in his chair. Finally he had to get started on his work, and Evelyn had to head back to bed. Gretchen was left alone with Will.
A long silence coursed through the room as Will sat pressed into the far corner of the couch. Bananas reappeared and leaped onto Gretchen’s lap. Gretchen stroked her ears, and the cat settled down happily.
“Tell me about that fire on the bay,” Gretchen said.
Will studied his hands. “There was a fuel spill. The gas ignited.”
“How did it ignite?”
Will looked at her sharply. “Don’t.”
“Quit lying to me.”
“I’m not lying.”
“Not telling me is the same as lying!” Gretchen turned, and Bananas rolled over ridiculously, asking for a belly rub, oblivious to the tension in the room. “I already know the answer, so just say it.”
Will looked at her for a long time, the expression in his denim-blue eyes flat. He picked at a loose thread in the fabric on the arm of the couch. Finally he seemed to reach a decision. “I don’t know what happened that night.”
Gretchen stood up, dumping Bananas onto the floor. “You need to stop protecting me, Will, and start helping me.”
She walked right out the front door and didn’t look back.