Chapter 2 - Lily Heard My Mother Say My Father’s Name
Firefighters took control of the block.
Police separated us.
Paramedics checked Lily while she sat against me on the back of an ambulance.
She wouldn't let go of my sleeve.
I didn't make her.
Ryan sat twenty yards away with blood at the corner of his mouth from Ethan’s punch.
Margaret stayed beside him.
Of course.
The unknown man had been taken to another ambulance.
Every time I tried to see him, someone moved in front of me.
“Lily.”
She looked up.
“What happened inside?”
Her eyes went toward Ryan.
I stopped.
“You don't have to tell me right now.”
“I went with Uncle Ryan.”
That was already a problem.
Ryan was supposed to pick Lily up from school, take her for ice cream, and bring her home.
Nothing about Carter Hardware.
Nothing about the store our family had owned before I was old enough to understand what losing it did to us.
The storefront had sat mostly empty for years.
Margaret was finally selling the building.
“Why did Ryan take you there?”
“He said he needed five minutes.”
“Was Grandma there?”
“Not at first.”
“The man?”
Lily nodded.
“Ryan was mad at him.”
“Did you hear his name?”
She thought.
“No.”
“What were they talking about?”
“I was drawing.”
Good.
Maybe she had missed most of it.
Then:
“He said Grandpa.”
I stopped.
My father had been dead eight years.
We had barely spoken before that.
“What did he say about Grandpa?”
Lily picked at a piece of soot on her sleeve.
“He said Grandpa didn’t leave because of Uncle Ryan.”
I felt something tighten behind my ribs.
Ryan had spent most of his life believing our father’s departure started with him.
At thirteen, he had been inside Carter Hardware when the first fire happened.
Afterward, Dad took responsibility for the unsafe building.
The business collapsed.
Our parents’ marriage followed.
Then Dad left.
Margaret had always said the same thing:
Your father couldn't live with what he did.
I had believed her.
Ryan had believed something worse.
That Dad had taken the blame for him.
“Did Ryan say that?”
“No.”
“The man?”
“Yes.”
“What did Ryan do?”
“He told him to stop.”
Then Lily’s face changed.
“Grandma came in.”
“How?”
“The side door.”
“What happened?”
“They yelled.”
“About Grandpa?”
She nodded.
“What did Grandma say?”
Lily frowned, trying to remember.
“Something about a signature.”
My pulse changed.
“What signature?”
“I don't know.”
Then she repeated it carefully.
“Grandma said, ‘You promised you’d never tell Claire which signature was mine.’”
The noise of the street seemed to move farther away.
I looked toward Margaret.
She was already watching me.
She had heard enough to know Lily was talking.
She started toward us.
A police officer stopped her.
Good.
I looked back at Lily.
“Then what?”
“Smoke.”
“Where was Ryan?”
“By the front door.”
“Did he lock it?”
“Yes.”
“Before the fire?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“He said nobody was leaving.”
I closed my eyes for one second.
“When the smoke started?”
“Grandma yelled.”
“What did Ryan do?”
“He took Grandma.”
“Took her where?”
“Back door.”
“And you?”
Lily started crying again.
“I thought he knew I was behind him.”
I pulled her against me.
“He didn't come back.”
“No.”
My brother had gotten our mother out.
My daughter had remained inside.
And when another man tried to go in after hearing her scream, Ryan had said nobody was there.
I looked across the street.
Ryan saw my face and stood.
The officer near him put one hand out.
“Stay where you are.”
Ryan ignored him.
“Claire!”
I didn't answer.
The other ambulance doors opened.
The unknown man stepped down.
His face was visible now.
Older than I expected.
Mid-sixties.
Gray beard.
A burn along one sleeve.
I knew the face.
Not because I had seen it recently.
Because my mother had torn him out of every family photograph she kept.
“Owen.”
The name came out before I could stop it.
My mother closed her eyes.
Ryan looked away.
May you like
Owen Carter—my father’s younger brother—had just walked out of a fire after twenty-two years outside our family.
And according to Lily, Ryan had brought him there on purpose.
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