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“What conversation? You’re asking me if I’m anarsonist!I would rather have known that you had this information the whole time and never once brought it up because you justknowI wouldn’t do something like this! Do you haveanyfaith in me, whatsoever?”
I can sense the fire blazing behind his eyes.
“Emma Martin, that isnotfair! This person we’re looking for is a pro. They know how to start fires as well as we know how to put them out. Everyone on this investigation believes this could be someone connected to the fire department- I mean, you tellmewho that sounds like. Jesus, Emma! Wouldn’t that be just perfect? The fire chief’s daughter spends her life around fire-talk and grows up to be an arsonist! After I found out you’re a… a...”
“Astripper,Dad! It’s not a bad word.”
“Hey, kid! You can’t blame me for feeling like I don’t even know you anymore!”
“Just because I don’t tell you everything, doesn’t make me a bad person!”
There it is. Without even thinking, the base of my butt becomes uprooted. A moment of silence gives us both the chance to absorb the words.
“It’s normal for a woman -not a kid- not to tell her dad everything. It doesn’t make me a bad person and neither does being a stripper. Itcertainlydoesn’t make me an arsonist.”
My tone is low and hurt. I’m no longer yelling, but my voice is still icy.
He doesn’t respond because I’m right.
What does having a job, being a go-getter, having the guts to do what I want in order to achieve what I want, have to do with setting fires?
“I’ll get to the bottom of this damn case myself if I have to,” I say.
“Don’t you dare.”
I can tell my dad has cooled off. He’s looking at the floor with what I suspect is a bit of disappointment. Disappointment in me or himself? I’ll never know.
“Well, it feels like I’m being set-up here and quite frankly, it doesn’t seem like I have anyone in my corner.”
The truth escapes my mouth and stings my lips on its way out.
“Emma, I believe you.”
My dad moves toward the door, pausing by me.
“I do,” he says.
He’s back to the gentle, kind, and loving dad I know. Not the angry, hurt, accusatory one. A piece of me feels like I got through to him, but we’ve reached a point of no-return.
Things have changed between us. Maybe they have been since I secretly started stripping, but I’m not his little girl anymore.
“Just watch yourself, because even though I believe you, there might be others that don’t.”
My father leaves, taking the strained air with him. I flop on the couch with a heavy sigh as my mind relives our conversation. Is someone setting me up? If they are, why? Who the hell are they?
