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“We had a lot of complaints about her in school. Clothes ill fitting, body smelled like she hadn’t washed. She was always in my office. CPS came calling on her a few times. The last time, they wondered if I knew how she was even still at school when her father was locked up and her mom was in the wind.”
He bites his pizza, and reluctantly, so do I, not wanting to look like a schmuck. I want to keep him talking, so I eat slowly as I listen to him tell me about the beautiful secretary.
“And? Did you ever figure out how she was making it?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Nope. They could never really find her. Somehow, she’d disappear from class when CPS showed up here. They tried multiple times to get their hands on her, and then before we knew it, she was eighteen and it wasn’t their issue any longer.”
“What was her father locked up for?” I ask, taking a bigger bite out of my pizza. It looked awful but it was delicious.
“Arson. Caught him fleeing the scene of the gas station down on Elm that was ablaze.”
I nod in understanding, even though my heart is racing with intrigue and trepidation. Fire isn’t something I like to think about. Fire had derailed my senior year. Fire had also washed away sins my father thought I had.
“You alright?” Mr. Glenmont asks.
I nod, sipping from my bottle of water.
“Anyhow, her father was always in and out of jail. So, I know little about her. She was a ghost around here. She tried to be, at least. She didn’t have any friends or do any sports or participate in any clubs. All I can recall is an overview in comparison to who she is, I’m sure.”
You have no idea.
“When did her father get out?” I ask.
“He isn’t. They pegged him for that fire at the Westpoint House. Remember that? It would’ve been your senior year. Those poor kids who died in that.” He shakes his head. “It was tragic.”
I shake my head in unison. “Yeah, tragic.” I try to keep my tone steady, but I see him eye me as some of my annoyance leaks into my tone.
I can’t help it. As one of the remaining survivors of that night, I feel some type of way. And now that I know someone innocent is doing time for it, it makes it even harder to sit here looking unperturbed. And it’sherfather. No matter that he was a criminal before. He’s doing time for murder now. He’ll never see the light of day. For something he didn’t do.
My father set that fire, not hers.
* * *
Drivingpast the Westpoint House had been something I wouldn’t do. Not since the incident. But as I creep past now, I see that nothing’s changed. Sure, the flames are gone, and the char left behind has turned to rot and decay, but the house still stands.
I wonder why they didn’t tear it down. Why leave it standing? It’s the biggest stain this town has, and there it is like a big, flame-covered red flag waving in the sky.
The porch is leaning to one side as it tries to fall off but is held in by the side that isn’t rotted. The shutters all hang askew, and the broken windows seem eerie. Darkness from within the house is all that’s visible from the curb because that’s all that remains. I guarantee the interior is nothing but pitch blackness.
I step on the brake, shoving the gearshift into park before letting my head fall back and my eyes shut. Allowing that night to seep into my brain for the first time in a long time.
“Should she be so out of it?” Wes asks, slapping the face of the girl that lies unconscious on the table of the abandoned Westpoint House. The night had started fun enough. We stole some liquor from my father’s cabinet because he never notices. And we trolled the local shake shack for girls to hang out with before landing here. Wes gave us all some pills, one each, that he’d gotten from Bart—the local drug head. He swore they were safe, but I pocketed mine when no one was looking, not wanting to mix it with alcohol.
I’ve seen first-hand what drugs do to a person, and I don’t want to end up like my brother. The most I’ll ever take is Tylenol because of that fact.
Wes slaps the girl across the face again, and I wince.
“Hey, don’t do that, man. That’s fucked up. She’s obviously had too much to drink,” I say.
Conner nods in agreement with me, but in comes Declan, with his massive presence and overbearing attitude.
“I say we slap her a little harder. Wouldn’t want her staying passed out, you know? Can’t be good for her. It’s all in the name of helping,” he says, sipping from a longneck beer, his massive neck stretching and tugging as he downs more drink he doesn’t need.
Conner eyes me, and I shake my head. Fucking with them when they’re like this isn’t a good idea. Conner motions with his head toward the porch, and I nod, following him outside.
“Hey! Where are you two going?” Declan shouts.
“Piss,” Conner replies, not breaking his stride.
