Red Nights - Shari J. Ryan Page 0,47

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While hovering over the kitchen island, ravenously eating sandwiches he made for us, I remember I’m supposed to be at work in an hour. “Shit,” I sigh. “I almost forgot about my shift.” And the fact that I’m a suspect in the burning down of my own house. I wish I could completely forget about that part.

He looks over my shoulder to the time on the microwave. “Yeah, I was supposed to go into the firm a little while ago, too.” He shoves a chip into his mouth and smiles. “I think my time was better spent here.”

“They’re calling the fire arson, and I’m a suspect,” I spit out. I didn’t mean to drop this on him like this, but I can’t leave without telling him. It would never have come up naturally. How could it? “It’s why I was crying.” I look down and away from him, feeling ashamed for not telling him why earlier. “I didn’t start the fire.”

I nervously look back up to gauge his reaction, watching him swallow hard as he presses his napkin over his lips. “Did you go down to the station?”

“Yes. They questioned me.”

He places his napkin down and furrows his brows. “Why didn’t you call me? I would have gone with you.” The questioning look on his face is making me feel like I did everything wrong.

“I know. I wasn’t thinking. I barely figured out how to call an attorney.” I should have called him or at least Mom and Dad—someone with the capability of thinking clearly.

“What evidence do they have?” he asks, looking intrigued rather than worried.

“Something about the v-shape pattern of the fire and the fact that it originated on the back porch near a tin can filled with cigarette butts.”

Now he looks confused. And I know why. “You said you only lived with your brother, right?”

“Yes.”

“Did he smoke?”

“No.” I’ve always been told that smoking can kill you. No one ever told me my smoking could kill someone else.

“Do you?” I’m not sure if it’s judgment or unease playing on his face. Maybe just pure disappointment.

I look down, playing with the crumbs on my plate. “I smoke one cigarette a day before I go to bed. Life has been so stressful for the past year—it’s the only thing that takes the edge off. I’ve hidden it from everyone.”

“They think you set your house on fire with a cigarette? Intentionally?”

“I guess so. I was running through my list of events from the time I got home from work until the time I went to bed. I forgot to mention I had a cigarette in my initial statement. I guess it makes me look guilty.” I look up at him, forcing myself to come to terms with the apprehension in his eyes. “When I told them I smoked before I went to bed, it ended the questions. It was like the answer they had been looking for.”

“When did you go down to the station?” he asks.

“Just before I came here,” I tell him.

“You said you had an attorney with you?”

“Yes, one I found on Google an hour beforehand.” Which I’m starting to feel real stupid about. “I’m thinking he’s not the best of the best, but I wanted to get the questions over with, so I just went with the guy who was available at the moment.”

“You need a good attorney present with you every time you give answers or statements. You have to understand how important that is. I can help you find one.” Now I feel incredibly stupid. He’s holding his hand against the side of his face, shaking his head. I’m not sure if it’s because he’s disappointed in me or confused about the situation.

“It’s too late to undo it now,” I tell him, feeling like I’m on the defensive.

He pulls his hand down from his face. “It’s not too late.” He sighs heavily. “Forget about the attorney for a minute; what you’re saying doesn’t make sense. Did you put the butt out when you were done smoking?” Does he not care that I smoke—and shouldn’t he, for that matter? Better that he seems more concerned with the whole me being a suspect thing than with my vice.

“I did. I dropped it in a little can of sand like I always do.”

“Did they say it was caused by the cigarette?” he asks. He reaches around his fridge into a drawer and pulls out a pen and notepad.

“No; they just stopped asking me questions when I told them that