After the Fire

by Belva Plain

  Then fear came. If they should enter now and find her here—no, she was not prepared for that. And she fled. Down the hall she raced, down the outer steps, where she stumbled and fell on the grass, dropped her handbag, scooped up its contents, and with a painful, bloodied knee, limped to the safety of the car.

  Except for the living-room lamp, where the babysitter was reading, the house was dark. She paid the girl, answered a question about the injured knee, and learned that the children had been long asleep. No, Gerald had not come home.

  Once in bed, she was seized with a queer sensation. It was as if, after painful effort, she had triumphed, as if she had reached the top of a mountain and now, looking down, saw how far was the fall to the bottom, how far and dark. What was to come next? With this queer sensation pressing in her head, on her bruised knee, and all through her exhausted body, she lay waiting for something to happen.

  Night sounds woke her, first crickets and then the ringing telephone. It was on Gerald's side of the bed, but he was not there, so reaching and fumbling in the dark, she grasped it and took a message. If he had come home, he must be in the spare bedroom, so she went there at once.

  “Get up. There's a fire. Arnie just got the call.”

  “What? What?” Gerald mumbled.

  “A fire. The office is burning down.”

  After breakfast Hyacinth took the children to Moira's house and drove to the office. The scene was a total confusion of sight-seers and vehicles. These, along with fire engines, the fire chief's car, a police car, and an ambulance, jammed the narrow street. The elegant building was already a sorry reminder of what it had been, its stone walls erect but blackened, all wood trim gone, window glass shattered, and the fine wood-shingled roof collapsed.

  Well, now they'll never know what I did to the desks, she thought, and was instantly sorry because poor Arnie was standing there on the sidewalk looking at the ruin of his “little gem.”

  “Oh, Arnie, what a pity! However did this happen?”

  The air was clouded with smoke and filled with its scorching smell. Blinking with reddened eyes, he gave her a look of helpless defeat, so that she had a second's thought: If he were a woman, he would weep openly.

  “Does anyone know—I mean—is there anything left?” She hardly knew, in the face of his pain, what there was to say.

  “No, nothing left. Just junk. Pieces. The place is a shell. And nobody knows anything, except that the fire alarm didn't go off. They're still poking around inside trying to figure it out. Maybe a short-circuit. Probably. Gerald's in there now talking to people. I had to go out and get some air. The smoke smell sickens you. Well, there's no crying over it, is there? Done is done.”

  “You were so proud of it,” she said gently. “It was a really, really beautiful building.”

  “It should have been, considering what I paid the architect. I got one of the best in the country. Wanted something classy, nothing gaudy, because this is that kind of town. Couldn't trust my own taste. The fact is, I'm not like Gerald. I don't have any taste, and I know it. Right, Hy?”

  “Right about what?”

  “That I have no taste. Come on, Hy, level with me. You know what I am, and I know you know it.”

  Putting a hand on his arm, she kissed his cheek. She could have cried for him, and for much, much else besides.

  “You can have it rebuilt,” she said. “Can't you? It's insured.”

  “I don't know. Gerald and I have been thinking anyway about that Florida business, and maybe this will give us the push we need to sell this practice and make the move. Fortunately, all our patients' records were in fireproof cabinets,” Arnie added.

  “Florida? Move to Florida?”

  “Hasn't he told you? I guess he wants to surprise you. We have a chance to buy a practice. Big. I mean big. Makes us look like pikers. Real old guy is retiring. We think we can swing it.”

  She was shocked, and said so.

  “Oh, but you'd like it, Hy. No hard winters, good private schools for Emma and Jerry if private schools are your thing, and a house can be gotten, too, a great house near the water. I surely don't want a house, so that'll be for you.”

  He was waiting for a comment, but since she was unable to muster one, he continued.

  “There's a load of cosmetic surgery down there. You'll be able to put plenty aside for the kids so they can stay dry if there's ever a rainy day. Not a bad idea, is it?”

  “No,” she said weakly.

  Changing the subject, Arnie resumed, “This was a three-alarm fire. Can you believe it? When I got here a little after two, the smoke looked like a burning city, gray and red, like a bomb attack. They were in there fighting till maybe seven o'clock. You have to hand it to those men. One of them broke his arm, and there are two in the hospital. Smoke inhalation. Bad stuff.”

  Hyacinth looked up at the charred walls. Problem had been piled upon problem. Rage and grief had already overwhelmed her, and now there was this further twist of fate. She was still staring at the walls when Gerald came down the walk.

  “It's a war zone in there,” he said, addressing Arnie. “I don't think that one of those two men is going to live. The whole floor collapsed, and he went down with it into the flames.”

  Arnie shook his head. “What the hell could have done this? I've heard that rodents, mice or squirrels, can gnaw a wire and set off a fire.”

  “It wasn't necessarily electrical.”

  “No? What then? Where did it start?”

  “They can't be sure, but possibly, or even probably, in my room. When they arrived last night, there was evidence of some sort of disturbance there. Stuff overturned on the floor. Or so somebody thought. But it's hard to tell.”

  “But who could have gotten in? The burglar alarm never sounded.”

  “Don't worry, they'll be looking into that.”

  Gerald had still not acknowledged Hy's presence. Now he said grimly, “You might see whether anything is needed for that poor fellow or for his family, Hyacinth. There's a little boy, and a pregnant wife. Here, I've written the name.”

  She could not help but ask, “Is he really not expected to live?”

  “He fell a full flight into the cellar. Smashed his head on concrete. No, he isn't expected to live, and if he does, his life won't be worth living.” Gerald turned away. “Can you go in again, Arnie? The insurance people need us.”

  In the car on the way home, Hyacinth spoke aloud: “God help me.”

  Her hands gripped the steering wheel. As if it were an entity separate from herself, her mind talked to her; it analyzed and cautioned.

  You did smoke some cigarettes, that's true. But you crushed them. Positively you did. You're known to be a careful person.

  Yet—yet there is such a thing as an accident, isn't there? Something unintended. Something one forgets, like keeping one's eyes on the road, or turning off the gas oven. You can't condemn a good person for having an accident. Can you? Can you?

  No, I'm sure I never left a lighted cigarette anywhere. Pull yourself together, Hyacinth. You had no part in this fire.

  But are you sure? Did you really stub them out? Do you even remember seeing an ashtray? Think. Think.

  At home again, she sat down in the kitchen and drank three cups of coffee. Beyond the window was the garden that Dad had laid out for them. If he were alive, dear, wise, reasonable, quiet Jim, he would know how to straighten out this tangle of troubles. She could almost hear his voice as he sat with Emma on that last day before the trip to France. She stood up, opened the door to the back porch, and looked at the chair. Emma's Raggedy Ann doll lay on the floor, and Jerry's new two-wheeler was propped against the wall.

  Home! Good Lord, shall a creature like Sandy be allowed to wreck it? Surely Gerald does not want that, either. This is an ugly but passing escapade. Men do it, but women need not let it be the end of their world. Who knows but what Jim, too, hadn't had his escapades now and then, known or unknown to Francine? Even in such a contented, tranquil ma
rriage as theirs had been, it is possible.

  It's strange that I could have been in that awful, jealous rage last night and that now I'm not any longer. I'm wounded, most terribly wounded, which is different.

  But I'm stubborn. I've always been stubborn. When there's a storm at sea, what do people do? Batten down the hatches or trim the sails, whatever that means…. So now I have to stand up straight and use my head. What do I do next?

  Tomorrow is the first day of school, second grade for Jerry and nursery school for Emma, a big step for each. They'll need loving attention, and Gerald is in no mood to give it, so I'll just do double. This afternoon, new socks for Jerry and teeth cleaning at the dentist's for both of them. Last, dinner for this evening, a special one to show an angry man that the storm has begun to die down a bit.

  With this resolve, Hyacinth went systematically through the day. But Gerald did not come home for dinner. It was late, and she was already in bed when she heard him come up the stairs and go into the spare bedroom. Well, he was sending a message.

  In the morning she stopped him at the front door as he was leaving and spoke quietly. “We can't live like this, Gerald, avoiding each other. We need to talk.”

  “Not now.”

  “Well, at least tell me about what's happened to that poor man—”

  “He died. The funeral is the day after tomorrow at eleven o'clock in the church on Maple Street.” Gerald's tone was flat. “After that we can talk.”

  “Gerald! We have to do it before then. My head is spinning. We need to straighten out what you're going to do about Sandy. And what of this move to Florida?”

  “Not now, I said. Let me go, I'm in a hurry.”

  “Are you coming home to dinner tonight?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Oh Gerald, stop. This is no good at all. If you won't communicate, how can we ever—”

  But he was already out of hearing.

  Half the town, or maybe more than half of it, was in some way connected with the funeral. The two newspapers, state and local, each bore a front-page photograph of the brave young fireman who had risked and lost his life among collapsing walls and flames. The flag on all the public buildings was at half mast, with the firehouse draped in black. The church was filled, and people crowded the street outside.

  Hyacinth, determined to act normally, arrived early enough to save two seats for Gerald and Arnie. It surprised her when Arnie arrived alone and inquired about Gerald.

  “He'll be here,” she said. “He had an errand.”

  The coffin was closed. She tried raising her eyes toward the vaulted ceiling, but they always came back to rest upon the long black box. Thirty, he had been. Two years younger than I, she thought.

  “Oh, there he is,” Arnie said, “coming in with the girls from the office. He doesn't see me. Oh well, they've sat down. Is anything the matter with Gerald, Hy?”

  “Nothing but the fire and all the trouble. Isn't that enough?”

  “Yes, of course the fire, but still I thought there might be something else.”

  Now the organ wept softly above the stir and rustle of the congregation as the widow appeared. In her poor black dress, she came with her head down, holding by the hand her wide-eyed, scared little boy. The child was Jerry's age; the mother was ready to bear her baby perhaps as early as the next hour. All Hy's stoic resolution dropped away like a discarded coat.

  Outside, as if to match the funereal mood, the day had turned somber. A gray, blank sky the color of tin enclosed the earth, and a warm wind tore at the leaves, turning them inside out. Like a horse or a cow in a field, thought Hyacinth, I feel the impending storm.

  Shortly after the children had gone to bed, it broke. The first thunder rumbled when Gerald entered the little den where Hyacinth was sitting.

  “As you have seen,” he began, “the building is ruined.” And he paused.

  This cold and formal manner disconcerted her. He might better have said something about themselves and the possible ruination of their marriage. Since the pause was long, she found time enough to say so. “What about us? What about our marriage?”

  “We'll get to that later,” he replied. “First things first. I'd like to know how you're feeling after what you've done.”

  “Done? What have I done? I'm not the one who's been caught with lies or who's had any secret affair, am I?” She spoke quietly, keeping her dignity. “Every hour since last Monday, I've been thinking about this, Gerald. I don't have to tell you what it has meant to me, because you must know very well. What I do have to tell you is that I'll put it behind me. Yes, you have my word that I'll never mention it for the rest of my life, if you'll get rid of that girl tomorrow so we can start fresh and be ourselves again. I'm willing to do that. For all our sakes, Jerry's and Emma's, and our own, I want to do it.”

  “That's not what I'm talking about, Hyacinth. I want to talk about why you went to my office.”

  Curiously, her heart instead of leaping, slowed down.

  “I? In your office? When?”

  “The night it burned down after you set the fire.”

  “I set the fire? You can't be serious.”

  “Oh, but I am. Very serious. That was not an electrical fire. Somebody was inside that building. Somebody vandalized my office.”

  “And naturally, I'm the somebody because I found out about that woman. Oh, that's clever detective work. Really clever.”

  “Sarcasm won't help, Hyacinth.”

  “Listen to me. If you think somebody was there, you should question your employees. You have five of them, and they all have keys. It's outrageous that you should accuse me.”

  “They all have been questioned. The police and the insurance investigators know what they're doing, Hyacinth. And they all have valid excuses for that night. Ironclad.”

  Each repetition of her name struck a blow. And yet her heartbeat was still slowing. Perhaps it was winding down to stop.

  “So send them to question me also. I don't care. This is too stupid. No, it's not stupid, it's evil. Evil, Gerald.”

  “Do you really think so?”

  “Of course I do. I haven't been near your office since before we went to Paris, for God's sake.”

  And God forgive me for the lie, but how else can I save myself? I didn't burn it down!

  From his pocket, Gerald drew a small package wrapped in paper, took out the contents, and pushing aside some books, laid them on the table.

  “Then what about these?”

  Hyacinth stared. There were a powder compact, lipstick, and pocket comb that they had bought together on the Left Bank near a museum. Of blue enamel, each had a narrow black band with the gilt insignia of the maker. She could not speak.

  “They were on the grass between the azaleas and the sidewalk. I found them at first daylight on the night of the fire.”

  Gerald's voice became surprisingly gentle. “Nobody else knows. Nobody but us need ever know.”

  Now in spite of all stalwart resolutions, tears flooded her eyes; after her usual fashion, she wiped them roughly away with the back of her hand. And still she was unable to summon a word.

  “Why did you do it, Hy?”

  Oh my God, it was when I stumbled and dropped my bag.

  Her tears went beyond control, and she wept. “I didn't do it on purpose! It must have been my cigarettes. I read your notes to her, and I went crazy. I only wanted to wreck her possessions, and then yours, too. I lost my mind, I tell you. Don't you believe me? I did not set any fire on purpose.”

  “If I did believe you,” Gerald said, still gently, “would anybody else? What plausible reason can you give for being in my office at night? It looks like arson, you see, and arson is no joke. It's a criminal offense.”

  “Even if you didn't do it on purpose?”

  “Yes, Hy, even then. You have to remember that even if you didn't do it on purpose, a man is dead as a result of it.”

  She was stunned and silent as he continued.

&nbs
p; “That makes it a felony-murder. First or second degree. This would probably be second degree.”

  “What does that mean?” she whispered.

  “Twenty years, perhaps, for arson, and the same for the death, to be served concurrently.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  “From the lawyers and the insurance people.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Look it up. Find out for yourself. But don't worry. There's absolutely no suspicion of you. None at all. At least, not yet.”

  She was seeing the widow's huge belly under the poor black dress. She was seeing a little boy's frightened eyes, and she was seeing herself behind a barred door.

  “I want to die.”

  “No, Hyacinth.”

  “I don't deserve to live. I don't want to live.”

  “Of course you deserve to live. You're a good person. You're a harmless innocent, as your mother says.”

  “What am I going to do?” she cried, and wrung her hands. “What are you going to do?”

  “I'm going to do nothing. My lips are sealed, as the saying goes. Trust me. If I didn't care about you, I surely care about Jerry and Emma. They have a good name in the world…. Arnie and I, especially Arnie, have put a big sum in the bank for the widow, and we, again mainly Arnie, intend to keep adding to it.”

  They sat still. Gerald picked up the newspaper and began to read as if this were any ordinary, comfortable evening. For perhaps an hour, still in shock and stunned, she watched him. Then, when a restless, desperate feeling overcame her, she stood up.

  “I need to walk,” she said. “Will you come with me?”

  “No, I'll wait here till you come back.”

  It was almost dark. The familiar streets looked strange, foreign and unfriendly. A house looked oddly like a face; the front door was a surly mouth, and the second-story windows were mean eyes. On someone's lawn, a cat pounced upon a screaming bird with such cruelty that she felt sick at the sight. Quickly she turned about and went home to sit on the porch in the chair where Jim had sat.