Follow Me Home Page 5

  We stay in the car until the sun is set and the flames die out. Until all that’s left is smoke and a charred black outline of what used to be home.

  There’s a loud knock on the door, and we all jump. The fire chief stands outside – a black silhouette against the darkness. We tear our eyes away from the house and crawl out of the car, one by one.

  “What now?” my dad asks. His eyes are dry now, but blood-shot, and I think mine are too.

  “Once the all-clear’s been given, we’ll start our investigation,” the fire chief says. He looks at both my parents, but not at me. He goes on about some logistical things, and I try not to listen. He’s reducing our home to a report. To paperwork.

  My mind races, trying to think if I left anything on this morning. My flat iron maybe. Or the toaster oven.

  I feel eyes on me, and I jump. The police officer I talked to earlier has joined us and everyone is staring at me.

  “You mentioned something about a boy who might have been in the house?” the officer asks.

  I nod, staring at the blackened grass.

  “Can you tell me who this boy is and why he was going into the house?”

  I swallow. “I think his name was Jay. I think he used to live in the house. Before us, I mean.”

  “When did you see him?” my dad asks. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

  I shrug. “I just saw him once,” I lie. “I followed him to a homeless shelter.”

  “He was going into our house?” my mom asks, her eyes wide.

  “I just saw him leaving. I thought he was working on the house or something.” I cross my arms around my chest, and rub the toe of my shoe over the grass. “I didn’t want you to worry.”

  “Then how did you find out his name?”

  “I told you. I followed him to the homeless shelter. I heard someone say his name.”

  “Kelsey, he could have hurt you,” my dad says. He turns to the police officer. “Do you think he could have started the fire?”

  “What?” I say.

  “We need to rule out arson,” the fire chief says.

  “Arson?” I think of Jay running away when I called his name. He’d been here when it burned. Don’t they say arsonists usually like to watch the fire?

  “If he had broken into the house before, and might have had a motive, he’s a prime suspect,” the police officer says.

  “What motive?” I ask.

  “Well, if he did live here before like you said, he might hold a grudge.”

  I stare at him. “He burned down our house?”

  “We don’t know,” he says. “Do you know how we can contact him?”

  “No. I only saw him once.” I reach to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear but my hand shakes, and it falls out again. “The shelter on Water Street,” I say, trying to think straight. “That’s where I followed him. He might be there tonight.”

  The officer nods, writing this down. “If you’re right and he used to live here, we should be able to find his last name easy enough and bring him in for questioning.”

  I move closer to my dad, and he puts his arm around me. What would have happened if someone had been home? If we had a pet? I shudder, and wrap my arms further around myself.

  The officer keeps talking, but I don’t hear anything else. I just stare at the space where our house used to be until it completely blends in with the darkness. The rest of the firefighters pack up the equipment. They’ll go through the house in the morning. Find out if it’s arson or something else. I’m willing it to be something else. Anything else.

  The officer shakes my parents’ hands and gives them his card. I watch them like I’m not actually here. But when he finally leaves and it’s just the three of us, I feel the weight of what happened so strongly it can’t be anything but real.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, quietly.

  My dad shakes his head. “It’s not your fault.”

  “But I should have told you. I could have stopped it.” I wipe the tears away with the back of my hand.

  “There’s nothing we can do now, sweetie,” he says, putting his arm around me. My mom slips in under his other arm, and we turn away from the empty space.

  “What are we going to do?” I ask.

  “We’ll get a hotel room for tonight,” my dad says.

  “But what about after?”

  “We’ll put in the insurance claim once they’ve assessed the damage. Go from there.”

  “So we’re not going back to Tulsa?”

  He shakes his head. “It’s too early to think about that.”

  I nod. I want to ask more questions, but I can’t. I’m too afraid of the answers.

  My mom stops leaning on my dad and tries to compose herself. “Let’s go find that hotel. Get something to eat.”

  My dad and I nod and follow her into the car. I feel numb – like I could step on a nail right now and not feel a thing.

  Chapter Five

  The pizza we ordered sits on the tiny hotel table, cold and untouched, when the phone rings. We all stare at it just like we were staring at the pizza until my dad finally moves.

  “Yes?” he says. “Okay then….tomorrow?” He pauses, twisting the hotel phone cord around his finger.

  When he hangs up, my mom sits forward on the edge of the bed. “What is it?”

  “The homeless shelter confirmed Jay checked in tonight. They’ll be going over to make an arrest and lay charges.”

  I poke at a piece of pepperoni. “They have enough evidence to lay charges?”

  My dad nods. “He admitted to breaking into our house.”

  “But did he admit to the fire?”

  “Not yet. But he’ll enter his plea tomorrow.”

  I smooth my hand over the flowered bedspread. The room suddenly feels crowded with three of us in it. We still smell like smoke. “I’m going down to check out the pool.”

  They nod, and don’t even notice when I grab my jacket. I take the stairs from the hallway two at a time, and head out through the back parking lot. The fresh air feels good, and I walk quickly, shoving my hands in my pockets. It’s dark out – the kind of dark that sinks into your bones and makes you cold, even though it’s warm.

  I need to be there when they arrest him. If I can just see his face, maybe I can tell if he’s truly guilty. And if he is, I’m not going to let him get away with it.

  Not this time.

  When I’m half a block from the homeless shelter, I crouch behind another parked car. If I look through the back passenger side window, I can just make out the main entrance.

  Just when I think my legs can’t take it anymore, two police cars pull up. I duck my head. The officers disappear inside, and I count the minutes until the door opens again. I kneel on the sidewalk, so I’m just tall enough to peek through the car window.

  Jay is with them. I crane my neck to see his face, but his head is down and his hair is covering his eyes.

  One of the officers opens the car door for him, and Jay looks up, straight toward the car where I’m hiding.

  The car’s windows are tinted. Even if he could see me, he couldn’t make out who I am. I don’t move a muscle, but even still, he doesn’t look away until the officer guides his head into the back of the cruiser. If I wasn’t sure he hadn’t seen me, I would have sworn I saw his lips mouth the word sorry just before he turned away.

  ****

  I haven’t slept in the same room as my parents since I was six years old and having nightmares. It was always the same dream. My room was on fire, and no matter how much I called for my parents, they never came. The orange flames would dance around my room like they were mocking me, daring me to get out of my bed and try to get past them to my parents’ room.

  I never got out of bed. I’d scream and scream until I’d wake myself up and then my parents would come running.

  Eventually they got tired of running into my room every night so they let me sleep in their room. I’d sleep in between them and even though the dream never c
ame back while I was there, I remember wishing it would so I could just watch the flames and not worry about trying to get out of bed, because I was already safe with my parents.

  Now I’m lying two feet away from them, my eyes wide open. This time, I’m afraid to fall asleep, not because of what I’ll dream, but because of the feeling I know I’ll have when I wake up and realize it wasn’t just a bad dream. And this time I know my parents can’t fix everything anymore.

  When I do finally close my eyes, it’s not the flames I see, but Jay. He’s looking out my window at me. This time he doesn’t climb out when I see him. He just stands there, staring at me with that sad look in his eyes, until I run the other way.

  ****

  I must have fallen asleep at some point because I wake up to my mom on the phone and sun streaming through the too-small hotel curtains.

  “Insurance company,” she says, motioning to the headset. She puts it on speaker and some bad instrumental music fills the room. “Want to pick up some muffins downstairs? I’ve been on hold twenty minutes already.”

  I slide out of bed, still in my clothes from yesterday. I desperately want a shower, but I don’t see the point. I don’t even have a change of clothes. My dad’s on his phone on the balcony. I listen for a few seconds, attempting to fix my hair by the mirror. He’s asking about houses for lease, likely trying to find a place we can stay until we can figure everything out.

  I don’t ask, but I’m guessing I can miss school today. People will be asking questions I’m not ready to answer. And I definitely don’t need everyone thinking I’m a charity case or something.

  The muffins in the lobby look stale, but I grab three anyway. The classical music is still playing when I get back. I search for a volume button on the phone, but there doesn’t seem to be one. We eat our muffins with violins mocking us until a “Hello?” echoes through the room, and my mom reaches for the phone. I try to follow both my parents’ conversations, but hearing half of two conversations at once isn’t working.

  I hop off the bed. “I’m going shopping,” I say. “Need anything?”

  My mom covers the phone under her chin and hands me her credit card. “Get a couple things for us. A few shirts and pants maybe. Just until we have time to get more. Here.” She grabs a pen and jots down their sizes. Someone on the other end of the line takes her off hold and she starts talking again, handing me the keys to her car.

  I don’t feel like shopping, but I wander around the tiny mall anyway, running my hands over the clothes until I start to feel nauseous. I spot an exit and push out into the fresh air. But instead of making me feel better, I just feel worse. I circle around the parking lot until I find the car.

  I need to see it again just to believe it.

  When I get there the house is still roped off, but the street is open. A couple walking their dog stops on the sidewalk and stares at the damage. I want to tell them this isn’t an attraction – that it was my life in there. My stuff, our pictures, my parents’ money. My future.

  Instead, I park a few houses down and stare at it myself. The framing from the bottom level is still there, black and charred. If I touched it, it would probably crumble like chalk.

  I slide the gear in park and head to the side of the house until I’m out of sight from the people on the street. The police tape flaps against the wind, and I hold it still while I step over. The floor shifts when I step on it, but it doesn’t collapse. I inch my way further toward the stairs. They’re still somewhat intact, but they don’t lead to anywhere but an open sky – like if I climbed them, I could touch the clouds.

  I kick through some of the ashes until I spot a half-burned photo album. The pages are soggy, and the colors from the photos are blurred together, but I can make out my parents’ faces. I run my finger over it, and then shove the album into my bag.

  The ashes are endless. Every time I brush some aside, more fill their place. I stare at the mess. Our whole life was here. Everything we packed so carefully from Tulsa. All gone.

  I sink down on the floor, not caring if my butt is completely black when I get up, and curl my arms around my knees. Last year I’d wished I could start over.

  But I didn’t mean like this.

  I bury my face in my knees. I don’t have the energy left to push away the memories.

  Wes had been nice to me for a few days after Julie’s birthday. Then one day he tried to kiss me when I wasn’t in the mood. He grabbed my wrists and told me I should be thankful he even wanted to kiss me. After that, I didn’t want to kiss him at all. I wanted to tell Julie, but I was afraid of what he’d do. And he wasn’t like that all the time either. Just every once in a while when he’d had a bad day. I got used to avoiding him during those times, but every so often he’d catch me off guard.

  One time my parents almost caught him. We were watching football in the basement, and I was trying to seem interested. Every time I tried to sneak my homework out of my bag, he’d say, “Don’t you like football?” and I’d nod and shove my homework on the floor even though it was obvious I didn’t.

  “That’s why I love you,” he’d say, grinning, even though we hadn’t officially exchanged I love yous yet. I wondered if he meant it all those times he said it casually like that and was waiting this whole time for me to say it back.

  I opened my mouth to say it, but his lips closed in on mine before I could get the words out. I pushed him off.

  “My parents,” I said.

  He stared at me, but then the commercial break ended and he turned back to the TV. I breathed out. Maybe he was getting better. Maybe he did love me after all. I decided I’d say it later on when he left. When we kissed goodbye and he told me he’d miss me. It’s what he always said, and I wondered if it was true.

  I wasn’t sure if I missed him when we weren’t together. But I thought about him when I went to sleep at night, if that’s what missing someone is.

  I glanced at the clock. I was missing Varsity Hills – my favorite show. Julie and I always watched it together after school. Was she watching it without me?

  “What the…!” Wes yelled, throwing the remote across the room. The back came off and the batteries rolled across the carpet. “Did you see that play?”

  I nodded, even though I hadn’t.

  “What the heck was he thinking?” His voice boomed, and I winced. I stared straight ahead, pretending to be interested in the replay, but Wes jumped up and turned the TV off.

  He leaned into my neck, kissing me. I tried to relax. Tried to think about what I was going to tell him when we said goodbye.

  Something creaked upstairs, and I pulled away.

  “What is it?” he asked, annoyed.

  “My parents,” I said. “I think they’re home.”

  “No they’re not. I don’t hear anything.” He went back to kissing me, but I pushed him off, more forcefully than I meant to.

  He reeled back, his eyes bulging. I turned so I wouldn’t have to see it coming, but the sting came anyway. He shoved me onto the floor, and I grabbed for a blanket, but he’d already stopped. I looked up and saw him picking up the remote and putting the batteries back in.

  Just then, there were footsteps on the stairs.

  “Go!” I hissed. “In the closet.” I scrambled up off the floor and put my hand to my face. I didn’t know if it showed. The door opened just as Wes closed the closet behind him, and I flung the blanket over me on the couch.

  “Hey honey,” my dad said. “Not feeling well?”

  “No,” I said, trying not to let my voice shake.

  “Your mother just pulled in. We’ll have dinner in an hour. Are you going to want anything?”

  I shook my head and waited for him to leave.

  Later, I snuck Wes out of the closet and back outside. I didn’t tell him I loved him when we said goodbye.

  I get up out of the ashes and wipe off my butt. The soot covers my hands and makes them black. I spot a furry object, and kick some of the ashes away to dig it up. It’s
my favorite teddy bear, the one I’ve had since I was a baby. My mom saved it on a shelf in her room when I didn’t want it anymore. Now, it’s black and partly burned. I try to dust it off, but it’s not helping much. I slip it in my bag anyway.

  A tear slips down my cheek, and I rush to wipe it away. Last night I heard my parents talking about moving back to Tulsa with my grandparents if things don’t sort themselves out. It sounded like a last resort, but still. I can’t go back there.

  This time, I plan to fight back.

  I slide into the car and don’t look back at the house. Where would they have taken him? Jail? Juvie, maybe? I circle around until I find the police station and slam the car into park, but my hand pauses on the door handle. I don’t even know his last name.

  My mind races. I yank down the sun visor and glance in the mirror. My eyes are puffy and bloodshot. I reach for my right eyebrow before I can stop myself and pinch a hair between my nails. They’re getting sparser – probably worse than when I left Tulsa.

  Wes used to say my eyebrows were too bushy. He’d say it in a nice way though – that my eyes would be even more beautiful than they already were if I waxed them. I didn’t want to disappoint him, but the idea of letting someone put hot wax on my skin and rip out my hair kind of grossed me out. So I tried plucking instead. At first it was just a few. But I liked the sensation of pulling them out. So I pulled out a few more. After I was done, it didn’t look so bad. But then I’d pull at them when I was watching TV, or reading my text messages. I couldn’t stop. When Wes asked what was up with my eyebrows, I told him it was a bad waxing job. And I got better at drawing them in with a make-up pencil.

  By the time we broke up, I had no real hairs left.

  I slam the sun visor shut and take out my phone, scrolling until I find Melody’s name. I force myself to push the talk button.

  At first there’s only muffles and static, and I hold the phone further from my ear. “Melody?”