out about thirty acres before they got it under control. They figure it started inside the cabin, but nobody is sure how it started. Ronny Sneddon was there with the New Salem ladder crew. He told me it looked like a nuke had gone off. The cabin wasn’t just burned. It was flattened. All the trees around it were nothing but ashes. No forensic evidence, and no bodies to identify, because the bodies were incinerated. There was just nothing left, not even their skeletons. A careless cigarette butt or a knocked-over kerosene lantern wouldn’t have caused a fire like that.”
“So what did cause it?”
Merle shrugged. “Nobody knows. We’ll probably never know. But it’s just another bad thing to come out of that forest. And five more people that didn’t come out.”
A cloud passed over the sun, and the yard grew dark and chilly.
We sat in silence while I thought about what I’d heard. Dale returned with a Styrofoam cooler filled with ice and beer, and we talked about less grim topics: the rising property taxes, why foot traffic was off for Merle’s store, the Orioles’ chances this year (we lived close enough to the border that we were allowed to root for Maryland’s teams), the war in Iraq, and how all the good television shows were on cable.
Eventually we heard the telltale crunch of car tires on our gravel driveways, as Claudine and Tara both came home from work, arriving within seconds of each other. (Even though Dale and Claudine were both retired, she volunteered every day at the library.) Tara gave me a look when she saw the empty beer cans on the table in front of me, but didn’t say anything. They both joined us for a few minutes, but soon the women pulled Dale and me away. Merle got up to go as well, and he looked wistful. I imagined he was wishing he still had a wife to drag him away from a bullshit session with the boys.
Tara and I went inside, and Big Steve crawled out from under my desk, stretched, and ran over to greet her. He smelled her shoes, investigating where she’d been for the day. She reached down to pet him, and he wagged his tail and let her know how happy he was to see her.
I was glad she was home as well.
“So what’s for dinner?” Tara asked with a smile.
“Um, I guess time got away from me. Sorry. I didn’t get the lawn finished either.”
Her smile grew. “I noticed. Maybe you can get Merle and Dale to help you finish it tomorrow. If you guys can stay away from the beer long enough.”
I gave her a brief hug. “How was your commute?”
“It sucked. How about yours?”
“It was a long walk from the coffeepot to the computer.” I chuckled. “How are your feet?”
“Killing me.” She sighed. “Have I ever mentioned how much I hate wearing nylons?”
“Once or twice.”
“I’d like to get my hands around the neck of the guy who invented them.”
I grinned. “How do you know it was a guy?”
“Because a woman would never inflict this on her fellow females. Same goes for high heels.” She bent over and rubbed her calf.
“Sit down,” I suggested. “I’ll massage them.”
“You’ve got a deal.”
We went into the living room and sat on the couch. Big Steve jumped up between us. Tara kicked her shoes off and then leaned back, putting her legs over Big Steve’s back. I rubbed her feet while the dog served as a footstool.
Tara closed her eyes and sighed. “God, that feels good.”
“Good,” I replied, and felt the tension draining out of her. “How was your day?”
“Nothing but headaches. How was yours? Did you start the next book yet?”
“Not really,” I admitted. “I tried like hell, but I just couldn’t seem to get anything out. Writer’s block, I guess.”
Tara frowned. “You don’t get writer’s block.”
“Well, like I told Leslie today, I guess I do now.”
Her forehead creased. “So what did you and Steve do all day, then?”
I was speechless for a moment. The last thing I wanted to do was tell Tara about what I’d
“So what did cause it?”
Merle shrugged. “Nobody knows. We’ll probably never know. But it’s just another bad thing to come out of that forest. And five more people that didn’t come out.”
A cloud passed over the sun, and the yard grew dark and chilly.
We sat in silence while I thought about what I’d heard. Dale returned with a Styrofoam cooler filled with ice and beer, and we talked about less grim topics: the rising property taxes, why foot traffic was off for Merle’s store, the Orioles’ chances this year (we lived close enough to the border that we were allowed to root for Maryland’s teams), the war in Iraq, and how all the good television shows were on cable.
Eventually we heard the telltale crunch of car tires on our gravel driveways, as Claudine and Tara both came home from work, arriving within seconds of each other. (Even though Dale and Claudine were both retired, she volunteered every day at the library.) Tara gave me a look when she saw the empty beer cans on the table in front of me, but didn’t say anything. They both joined us for a few minutes, but soon the women pulled Dale and me away. Merle got up to go as well, and he looked wistful. I imagined he was wishing he still had a wife to drag him away from a bullshit session with the boys.
Tara and I went inside, and Big Steve crawled out from under my desk, stretched, and ran over to greet her. He smelled her shoes, investigating where she’d been for the day. She reached down to pet him, and he wagged his tail and let her know how happy he was to see her.
I was glad she was home as well.
“So what’s for dinner?” Tara asked with a smile.
“Um, I guess time got away from me. Sorry. I didn’t get the lawn finished either.”
Her smile grew. “I noticed. Maybe you can get Merle and Dale to help you finish it tomorrow. If you guys can stay away from the beer long enough.”
I gave her a brief hug. “How was your commute?”
“It sucked. How about yours?”
“It was a long walk from the coffeepot to the computer.” I chuckled. “How are your feet?”
“Killing me.” She sighed. “Have I ever mentioned how much I hate wearing nylons?”
“Once or twice.”
“I’d like to get my hands around the neck of the guy who invented them.”
I grinned. “How do you know it was a guy?”
“Because a woman would never inflict this on her fellow females. Same goes for high heels.” She bent over and rubbed her calf.
“Sit down,” I suggested. “I’ll massage them.”
“You’ve got a deal.”
We went into the living room and sat on the couch. Big Steve jumped up between us. Tara kicked her shoes off and then leaned back, putting her legs over Big Steve’s back. I rubbed her feet while the dog served as a footstool.
Tara closed her eyes and sighed. “God, that feels good.”
“Good,” I replied, and felt the tension draining out of her. “How was your day?”
“Nothing but headaches. How was yours? Did you start the next book yet?”
“Not really,” I admitted. “I tried like hell, but I just couldn’t seem to get anything out. Writer’s block, I guess.”
Tara frowned. “You don’t get writer’s block.”
“Well, like I told Leslie today, I guess I do now.”
Her forehead creased. “So what did you and Steve do all day, then?”
I was speechless for a moment. The last thing I wanted to do was tell Tara about what I’d
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