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Do not panic. He is safe now, she reminded herself. “Did he see you?”
Gio shook his head. “I was about to shout for him when I saw him throw a brick through the library window. Then I was too scared to move. He...”
And the story might have stopped there, if not for Martina’s stern “Did your da set the fire, Gio?”
Instead of saying it, Gio only nodded, though Martina had guessed as much already. The lighter Patrick always carried, his threats, that murderous look in his eyes as he was forced to run away for the first time in his life.
And her heart broke. Why was Gio allowed to see the man he loved most destroying the place he loved most?
The answer came a heartbeat later.Because he wouldn’t have believed it otherwise.
“Why did he do it, Mamma?”
There were a dozen answers she could give. Because he’d probably drunk too much. Because he wanted revenge and had nothing to lose. Because that’s what men like Patrick did—they took beautiful things and destroyed them.
But all she said was “He was angry. And this is what happens when anger rules a man.”
Gio paused, then nodded. “Like Jack Dempsey beating up boxers bigger than him.The Ringarticle said his greatest strength and his greatest weakness was his rage.”
She gestured to the chaos around them. “Does this look like strength to you?”
His voice was small and quiet as he picked at a blade of grass. “No.”
Good. He would become a better man than his father. She had to believe that.
“I’m sorry for running away,” he said, moving closer to her in the chilly evening air.
She wrapped her arm around him. “I’m sorry too. I should have told you the truth long ago.”
“I know why you didn’t. It hurts.”
“Yes, it does.”
So many things she wanted to tell him: he didn’t intend to hurt you like this; you don’t have to be like him; we’ll find a new place to be safe; everything will be all right.
“I love you,” she said instead.
It was enough for now.
They would face whatever was left in the morning.
GINNY
SEPTEMBER 9
Pa had told her about the Fire of 1914 that ravaged Long Island before Ginny was born. “Awful blaze. Took down the Granite Springs Hotel and Casino first, then spread to the wharf and the business district. No one died, but the island never did recover. Hardly anyone rebuilt, and the summer people just stopped coming.”
“How could it burn down so easy with water all around?” Ginny had asked.
Pa had only shaken his head. “Bucket brigade wasn’t enough. And it took the city too long to bring a fireboat from the main.”
That’s when she’d first learned a harsh lesson: Portland, impressive though it was with all its shopping and food and shiny automobiles, didn’t care about them. Islanders had to look out for each other. They were family.
Which is why she stormed up the morning after the library fire, boiling mad. Wasn’t she family? How come she’d found out about the fire practically ages later, when her landlady mentioned the commotion in the night on the other side of town?
The lawn was full of people, some staring at the gaping hole in the roof, others clustered in groups, trading stories of what they’d seen the night before. Only she didn’t have any stories because she’d been sound asleep the whole time.
She finally spotted one of the targets who deserved a good raking down. Freddy, for once looking scruffy, the creases on his face dull with dirt, took a step back as she marched up to him. “Ginny, you—”
