Red Nights - Shari J. Ryan Page 0,66
I did, right?” I ask.
Tanner shrugs. “I’m not sure I have a choice. He was your brother. I’m just glad we were able to continue our friendship without any hard feelings, especially seeing as we only had a year left with him.” He sounds choked up as he explains it like it still hurts him. “I guess we never know what the future holds.”
“Yeah.” I place my hand over his. “Thanks for looking out for me right now. I appreciate it.”
“Don’t mention it, I know it’s what Blake would have wanted.”
Actually, Blake would want to be alive right now.
That’s exactly what I want, too.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
IT’S BEEN A WEEK. I’ve questioned everyone and everything. I want to hide. I just want it all to go away.
And yet, I need to know.
I’ve called the police station a number of times, begging for information. But I’m a suspect in an ongoing case, so they won’t tell me anything. I have no idea what’s going on. I haven’t even started to heal. With no real answers, I can’t move on. I can’t even make a claim with my insurance company. All that remains of the thousands of dollars I sunk into my house is a pile of wood and ash and a destroyed life.
This has given me the motivation to go back to work. Grant has carefully avoided me. It’s not like I hold him responsible; he’s just the poor schmuck that told me the truth. But I get the whole fear of being too close to a loose cannon. Right now, the only people who aren’t afraid of me, angry with me, or avoiding me entirely are Mom and Dad. So I’ve slept on their couch for the past week.
I keep asking myself how much lower until I hit rock bottom. Maybe that’s the definition of hell, and I’m already there, which is why I only see red in the sky at night. Maybe it’s a warning. The red nights will eventually turn into my final destination.
I’ve gone through book after book the past few days, leaning on any form of escape my mind can journey on. Mom is worried about me. She hovers and watches me like I’m helpless. She wants me to see a therapist. She thinks someone out there can help me through this—pull me through to the other side, as she so nicely puts it. I don’t know how many sides there are, but Blake won’t be on any of them. She thinks looking at old photographs will pull me out of this “funk”—another one of her words that just doesn’t capture the feeling.
“How’s your book?” she asks, leaning over me to look at the cover. “TAG? Is that some kind of romance novel or something?”
“Something like that. It’s pretty good.”
The knit blanket pulled around me tightens over my lap as she sits beside me, placing three albums down on the table. “If you want to take a break from reading, I found some more albums,” she says. With a crumpled ball of tissue in one hand, she pulls the top album onto her lap, carefully opening the cover. The creaking and crackling of the binding sounds in my ears, pulling my attention from my book to the blindingly fluorescent clothes Blake and I are wearing. “Remember we went to Maine for the week here?” She points to the picture and I nod, unable to talk. “And here’s one with the three of you.” Tanner went with us on that trip.
“Mom, I don’t want to look at these right now.” She closes the book, the pages slapping together in unison. “I’m sorry. It’s too soon.”
With gentle hands, she places the album back over the other two and turns to me, taking my hands into hers. “Who do you think did it, Felicity?” It’s the first time she’s asked me this. I don’t know if it was a matter of her not wanting to know, or her having her own opinions, but she hadn’t brought it up until now. “The fire, I mean.”
I don’t stop to think of an appropriate answer. “Me,” I tell her.
“You think you purposely started the fire?” she asks. The words sound muddled coming out of her mouth.
“I don’t think it was purposeful. I think they’re wrong and it wasn’t arson.” I’m not sure if that’s what I really think, but it’s easier to blame myself.
“Dear, your phone has been ringing on the counter for days. Don’t you think you should answer it? Your friend Hayes