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“I was trying to put it out,” I counter sassily.
Matt sighs again, a man at the end of his rope.
“Just explain what happened. How did the fire get out of control like that?” He shakes his head, likely thinking about the unruly blaze. “What happened is not normal. The fire shouldn’t have escaped the fireplace.”
“It just got too big.” I frown, unsure myself what happened.
“Tell me exactly what you did, and how you started the fire. Step by step,” Matt commands, his voice grim.
It’s my turn to shake my head, trying to remember the events of the night, before the mishap.
“Well, I checked the fireplace as best I could in the dark. It didn’t seem too dusty and there was already some wood in it.”
“Okay, that seems fine,” Matt crosses his arms as he listens to me.
“And then I had some matches from earlier, when I’d lit the lamp. So I used matches. And I poured the lighter fluid directly on the logs, and I’m pretty sure – ” Matt holds up his hand, bafflement sneaking across his face.
He takes a deep, steadying breath and then says to me in a low, quiet voice, “Continue.”
Somewhat nervously, I finish explaining.
“And after the fire caught a little bit, I grabbed some old newspapers from the front closet and crumpled those up and added them to the pile. Then I don’t know – suddenly the whole fire was blazing and before I knew it, sparks started jumping everywhere. I ran into the kitchen and grabbed the biggest pot I could. I thought I’d be able to control it but it was so hot and sparks were just flying.” I shrug, my whole story now complete. I know I was babbling, but that’s more or less what happened.
“You used lighter fluid?” Matt’s voice is eerily quiet.
“Yes,” I answer.
“And newspapers?” His tone is harder now, a tinge of anger in his question.
“Um, yes?” I answer meekly.
“Are you kidding me? What the hell were you thinking? Lighter fluid and newspapers in a fireplace?” He’s yelling at this point, and I shrink back from him ever so slightly. “Fucking hell, Cora. You could have burned the whole place down! Or worse, killed yourself with the toxins!”
Matt’s face is etched with fury, and I shrink back even further as he continues his rant.
“Lighter fluid is an accelerant – you’re only supposed to use it in airy, open spaces, and it needs to be monitored. The fumes are toxic.” Matt rages. “And as you now obviously know, it causes fires to grow rapidly. Too rapidly. You’re never supposed to use it in a fireplace because that’s the surest way to burn a house down.”
Embarrassed by my mistake, I snap at Matt.
“Then what the hell are you supposed to use it for? Why would it be in the cabin?” I put my hands on my hips but immediately drop them, feeling like a petulant child.
“Barbecue grills.” Matt tells me grimly, his eyes expressionless.
“You’re kidding me.” Wanting more than anything to prove my almost father-in-law wrong, I brush past him and grab the bottle of lighter fluid from where I’d put it on the counter earlier. Coming closer to the lantern – and by default, Matt – I hold the bottle up so I can read the instructions in the dim light.
Muttering, I read halfway out loud, “‘Never add to hot coals or fire…’ Shit.” He’s right, I realize as I process the information. I go back to reading the offending bottle. “‘Use in a well-ventilated area.’”
I blush hotly, mortified by my horrible mistake.
“I didn’t know,” I stammer. “I swear.”
He looks at me skeptically.
“And newspapers, really? Come on Cora.”
I don’t know what’s worse – Matt being angry with me or the feeling that I’ve disappointed him with my lack of knowledge when it comes to starting fires. Either way, I’m irritated with myself and with Matt.
“What’s wrong with newspapers?” I demand, riled up by this conversation for some reason.
“Okay, sure newspapers are flammable. But most people advise against burning them, especially inside a house.”
“It’s paper!” I snap at him. “What’s wrong with that?”
“Toxic paper!” Matt snaps back. “It’s toxic from the inks, and from the paper-making process. And inside, with every window closed and combined with lighter fluid, it’s amazing to me you didn’t just pass out on the spot.”
I can tell Matt is fuming, but my own rage seems to finally be winding down. I suddenly feel exhausted, whether from my battle with the fire, the events of the past several days, or the fumes floating around. I lean hard against the counter, feeling dizzy.
Matt notices immediately and stops chastising me.
“Hey Cora, are you okay?” I look up into his blue eyes, brilliant even in the darkness, and nod slowly.
“I feel a little lightheaded, actually,” I admit with some embarrassment. “Maybe the fumes got me,” I joke weakly.
