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I’m beginning to see that maybe the problem isn’t me. It’s the people in my life. They’ve all lost their fucking minds.
I head back outside, looking for Bard. Unfortunately, I find him just down the hill with a hose pointed at my roof. My little house is on fire.
CHAPTER NINE
“You can stay at my place,” Bard says as we watch the volunteer fire department put out the last of the flames just after sunset.
Master is lending a hand by supervising the men, meaning he’s sitting by the fire truck, figuring out which parts might be good to chew on.
“Thanks,” I say, “but I’m not going to put you out of your house.”
“I wouldn’t be put out.”
I turn my head slowly, trying not to react. “You don’t actually mean we’d live together under one roof?”
He shrugs, the spinning lights of the fire trucks strobing against his face. He’s wearing his “no bullshit” expression, complete with flattened lips and a pulsing jaw—hidden mostly beneath his dark beard.
“Since when would that be a good idea?” I say.
He gives me another look, but unlike the last five hundred times we’ve gone at it, this time he looks wounded. “It was an offer. Nothing more.” Bard walks away.
I don’t get him. Even less do I get the fact that when I asked about the library book and the note just outside the door of the master bedroom, he pretended to have no clue what I was talking about. Then we argued for sixty seconds, and I got distracted by the roof of my house caving in.
And that, folks, is where I’m currently at. Looking at my charred home. How the hell did this happen? I’m very careful with the fireplace and always close the tempered-glass screen. Especially because Master’s bed is only four feet away, along with my paints, couch, and rug. The house was built about thirty years ago, so the wiring wasn’t a disaster waiting to happen. I can’t understand what started the fire.
Oh god. I’m going to have to stay inside the main house. I don’t want to, but it’s either that or grovel for Bard’s forgiveness.
I go inside the main house and enter Grandma Rain’s office. My eyes scan the faded gray rug, worn gray couch, and lumpy pillows. Not an option. Neither are any of the guest rooms. What’s left of the furniture isn’t usable. Plus, those rooms are upstairs near the master bedroom.
A shiver rolls through me, thinking about that deep frightening voice. It can’t be real, but I know what I heard.
I’ll sleep in the parlor on the floor. The roof is fixed now, so everything’s dry. There’s a big fireplace for me and Master.
Speaking of, a cold wet nose on my hand draws my attention. I look down at the small dinosaur covered in fur.
“I forgot to feed you,” I say sympathetically. “I’ll find something in the kitchen.”
I’m tucked in tight on the floor with the blankets Bard loaned me and a pillow I made from a rolled-up towel. None of the linens in this house are from this century with the exception of the things in Grandma’s study. I loved her, but I’m not about to sleep surrounded by her. That’s just too difficult. In the morning, I’ll head to the stores a few towns over and buy an inflatable bed and new pillows. I also need new clothes.
Some therapy might be good, too. I wonder if they have something in a drive-thru format. I don’t want to talk about my feelings, but I wouldn’t mind a solid five-minute rant. I’ll take the expletive package, please. Supersize it.
I’m sure when I wake up tomorrow, it’ll begin sinking in that I lost everything I own tonight. I just wish I knew how.
I pat Master’s fat head beside me and nestle down into my lumpy blanket bed. I’ve got a few extra logs on standby next to the side of the fireplace (along with two buckets of water), but even with the fireplace screen, I don’t dare burn more than a small log.
God, this sucks. I’m going to freeze. Sleeping inside the main house is the last thing I want, but I tell myself it’s for the best. Bard and I don’t get along.
As for the voices that I absolutely did not hear, I know I’m safe because the world’s biggest dog is sleeping next to me, and Bard will probably behave like a protective wolf and keep an eye on me tonight. Whether I see him or not, he’s always there.
I roll to my side and remind myself there’s nothing to worry about. (A) Grandma slept here by herself for years. She wouldn’t do that if it weren’t safe.
(B) I know what’s real and what’s not. I know fantasy from reality.
It’s been a long day, and my eyelids feel heavy. I fall into a deep sleep, and my mind starts dumping out all the garbage clogging up my brain. Voices. Ghosts. Monsters. The bitter cold of winter.
