I look up at her.
I cannot see her face.
"Why what, Chief?”
"Why did you save her?”
"I went back to the fire.”
She looks at me, expectantly.
"I set the fire. I walked off the porch. I stood at the gate. I stood at the gate for a count and I went back."
"Why, Hale?”
"I saw her in the upper window."
"You saw her in the upper window?”
"Yes, Chief."
"And."
"I had to go back.”
"That is not an answer."
"No, Chief."
"Why, Hale?”
I sit with the question.
I sit with it because the answer is the answer I have not said out loud since Monday and which the only person I have said any version of it to is the woman behind a locked door fifty feet away, and I have not said even to her the version Val is asking for. The version Val is asking for is the version that begins with my own name and ends with hers.
"I could not light the second match," I say.
"Hale."
"I could not light the second match. I had two in my pocket. I had used the first one on the panel. The second one was to finish things. I stood at the gate at the bottom of the drive and I took the second match out of my pocket and I could not light it. I could not light it because I saw her in the window.”
She is quiet.
"Chief."
"Hale."
"I put my gear on and went back. I broke the front door. I went up the stairs. I picked her up and carried her. I was only just in time. Another minute and she would have been lost to the smoke. I put her in my truck. I drove her here. She has been here since Tuesday morning and I have lied to you about her since Tuesday morning. I am telling you now because I have been caught."
"Yes. You are.”
"Yes, Chief."
"And."
"And, Chief?”
"You are in love with Evangeline Clark.” It is a statement, not a question.
