Frustration turned to relief and then curiosity. “Did he say anything else?”
“No.”
“So why don’t you think he did it?”
“He doesn’t want to disappoint you.” She thought about the crime scene pictures taken at the College Fire and Elijah staring at the flames from the crowd. Nate was still a young boy, despite all his intelligence, but one day he would grow up and, as all boys do, grow independent of his mother.
“Whereas Elijah never had such limitations,” she said.
“You’ve met Miss Weston?”
“A couple of times in town. I’m not fond of her, and a part of me always felt sorry for Elijah, knowing he grew up with her as a mother. He didn’t have a chance.”
“Do you believe you’re all that stands between Nate becoming . . .” Joan hesitated and dropped her voice. “Elijah?”
Her shoulders stooped, as if for the first time she had released a heavy weight. “Yes.”
“You don’t have to do this alone, Ann.”
“I can’t tell Clarke. Jesus, he would be devastated.”
“Clarke is returning today to work the fire scene, correct?”
“Yes.”
“He’s good at his job. He’ll figure out how the fire started. And he’ll look out for Nate, if he should find anything that contradicts the boy’s story.”
“You don’t have to go into town,” Ann said. “Whatever happened here was not your fault.”
“The College Fire began outside my bedroom window, and the third incendiary device was under my room. Elijah had pictures of me in his dorm room. And this fire could only be viewed from my window. Like it or not, I am a possible target.”
“I was on both properties with you each time. And Lana had a picture of both of us. Besides, Elijah never disliked you,” Ann said. “He might have had a twisted idea of him and me, but you were his friend. He wouldn’t hurt you.”
“Regardless of who’s unhappy with me, it’s best I still leave. I would never forgive myself if something happened to you or Nate.”
“Do you really think someone wants to kill you?”
“I didn’t used to think so. But now, hell yes.”
Confessions of an Arsonist
I’ve seen how the boy looks at fire.
And I see in him the blaze that burns in me. Pride.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Missoula, Montana
Wednesday, September 9, 2020
9:15 a.m.
Tension rippled up Ann’s back as she stood behind the lectern at the head of the class. She glanced up toward the clock; her nine-thirty class would not arrive for another fifteen minutes, but she was already wishing away the next hour. Normally, she did not arrive to her classroom so early, like she had when she was a new teacher. But today, sitting in her office was nearly unbearable.
The secrets of the past were clawing their way to the surface, and she was terrified what it would mean for Nate.
She glanced at her notes, tried to focus on the day’s lecture. She had given this class and its lectures twice during the last academic year and was so well versed in the subject that she did not really need notes. But as she stared at the neatly typed words, her thoughts jumped back in time to the night she had been alone with Elijah at the student center.
He had been a gentle lover, handling her as if she were made of a fine china. That had bothered her, because she had craved something rougher, more primal, the kind of joining an anonymous couple might share.
When it was over, she had not found the release she had been seeking. And Elijah had stared at her with eyes that reflected a kind of puppy love that only made her feel worse. She had been his first, he whispered, and he wanted to see her again.
Ann had dressed quickly, gathered her books, and told him it would not be possible. She was already practicing her denials, but he insisted on walking her home, which she allowed in order to avoid a scene.
Ann had not been totally honest with Joan. She had seen Elijah again a few days later . . .
“I did it wrong the last time,” he said, closing the door behind him.
All traces of the sensitive young man were gone, and in his place was a darker, edgier persona. “What?”
Nerves in her belly tightened, even as a thrill of excitement shot through her. Last night, Clarke had come by. They had had sex, but she had gone through the motions.
“You want it different.” There was emotion. “I saw.”
“What?” She moistened her lips.
“Take your shirt off.”
“What?”
“Do it.”
Intrigued, she reached for the hem of her blouse and pulled it over her head. Her nipples hardened under the thin fabric of her bra.
“Take all of it off,” he said.
“What about you?”
“This is what you want, isn’t it?”
She hesitated before whispering, “Yes.”
“Then get naked.”
She slid off her bra and then her jeans and panties. When she stood bare before him, he smoothed his hands over her shoulders and then turned her toward the wall. He did not hurt her but held her firmly in place as he leaned down and kissed the nape of her neck. His pants zipper opened, and then he pushed into her hard. She gasped, curling her fingers into fists, and arched toward him.
When she came, she went limp against the wall, her heart pounding fast.
“You won’t forget this fuck. Ever,” he said.
And then her house had burned to the ground. And then the doctor told her she was pregnant. And then Clarke and she were married. And then . . .
Steady footsteps sounded in the hallway outside her room, and she knew it was Clarke. His heels always struck the ground as if he were rushing to the next fire.
Color rose in Ann’s cheeks, as if she had been caught recalling the forbidden. She closed her notebook and braced for another sales pitch involving her moving back into town. His wide shoulders filled the doorway, and he was dressed in his uniform.
He strode
