How to Start a Fire

by Lisa Lutz

  “Carter, why don’t you take Ralph upstairs and put him in your terrarium?”

  Carter took off with Ralph, and George returned to the couch and turned on the television. The baby was still sleeping soundly in the bassinet.

  “Thank you for coming,” George said. “I didn’t know who else to call.”

  “I’m happy to be here. But why didn’t you call Kate?”

  “Because I need someone who is on my side. Not an objective observer.”

  “You should sleep,” Anna said.

  “When I close my eyes, I see them. Can you give me anything?” she asked, training her eyes on the television.

  “Like what?” Anna asked.

  “Something that will make me stop seeing them. I know you have a pharmacy on you.”

  “I just have a few sleeping pills,” Anna said. She wasn’t sure what she could spare. “I can write a script.”

  George went to the store with Carter to pick up her prescription and more baby formula while Anna stayed with the baby and attempted to make dinner from the ice-charred boxes in the freezer. Gloria arrived in George’s absence and scrutinized the mess that had accumulated in the past two days.

  “Thank you so much,” Anna said.

  Gloria gazed at Anna, sizing her up. “You friends with Mrs. Adler?”

  “Who?” Anna briefly forgot that George had taken Jeremy’s name. “Yes. Old friends.”

  “Hmm,” Gloria said.

  “Is there something you want to tell me?” Anna said.

  “What she says Mr. Adler did, no. He didn’t.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “The police talk to the girl. She drink too much. She pass out, and Mr. Adler was just trying to wake her up. Mrs. Adler was wrong.”

  While George sat in the parking lot of the pharmacy and popped two Valiums, Anna phoned the police, and they confirmed the maid’s story. When George returned home, she was so sedated that Anna didn’t have to plead Jeremy’s case as hard as she had planned. George admitted that she might have been mistaken. Anna suggested an apology was in order. George phoned her husband and begged for his forgiveness. She asked him to come home. George was never one for apologies, but narcotics improved her contrition. Jeremy, who had no idea that his wife was heavily sedated, found the transformation miraculous. There was a softness to her voice he had never heard before. He returned home. They had sex that night, the first time in over three months. Jeremy didn’t mind that his wife fell asleep in the middle of it.

  Anna booked her flight out of Chicago the next morning, leaving the Adler family in a domestic calm: George was cooking eggs for her husband while Jeremy poured cereal for Carter. Miller, the baby, was sound asleep.

  Anna called Kate on her way to the airport.

  “Why didn’t George ask you to come?” Anna said.

  “Maybe because I strongly suggested she shouldn’t marry him.”

  “He’s not that bad.”

  “Is that a reason to marry someone?”

  “It still doesn’t explain why she called me instead of you. She likes you better,” Anna said. “Always has.”

  “I can’t prescribe her drugs,” Kate said.

  George and Jeremy’s reconciliation lasted less than a month. A single apology couldn’t compensate for being falsely accused of statutory rape. When George began questioning Jeremy’s whereabouts yet again, he realized that he had nothing left. He went to work at eight thirty one morning, filed the papers, and never stayed another night in his house.

  George fully owned the fact that the demise of the second marriage was her fault, and in an attempt at self-improvement, she entered into therapy. After several weeks of discussing her two marriages, she moved on to new topics. She rambled for a while about her idyllic childhood and those perfect parents of hers who’d turned out to be a mirage. Eventually, she landed on that night. With the clarity of hindsight, sanctioned by a mental-health professional, George finally had the answers to all of her problems, the reason why she was the way she was: Anna had left the door open. A man almost killed her when she was alone in bed. Therefore, she could never be alone in bed again. The breakthrough arrived during her fifth session with Dr. Langley. George called the only person who would understand.

  Kate listened patiently as George presented her case, mapping out her emotional landscape. George paused, awaiting a sympathetic confirmation of her analysis.

  “You couldn’t be alone before that. Remember?” Kate said.

  The next therapy session was dedicated entirely to Kate.

  After that, George turned back to the subject of Anna. She talked about Anna’s visit after the incident with Jeremy. “You know, she was high the entire time,” George said.

  “How could you tell?” Dr. Langley asked.

  “You can just tell with Anna,” said George. “I let a drug addict watch my children.”

  George knew that she wouldn’t have survived that week without Anna. She also knew that Anna wouldn’t have helped her unless she was high, but she never mentioned that part to her shrink.

  What she did mention was Anna’s constant judgment, the way she acted as if she were the final arbiter of good taste. It seemed that Anna was always cutting down the things George liked.

  Top-forty music: You listen to that?

  Romantic comedies: They should have quit after The Philadelphia Story.

  Men: Overrated.

  Shopping: Surely there are better things to do with one’s time.

  Teddy Roosevelt: Arsonist, if you think about it.

  As George recounted these proclamations to her therapist, they lost their power. Except the part about Teddy Roosevelt. George would always regret telling Anna about his reforestation policy.

  2006

  Beartown State Forest, Massachusetts

  “You can’t live here,” Colin said.

  “Why not?” said Anna.

  “Because it’s so uncivilized.”

  “There are bathroom facilities up the hill. Showers, toilets. They’re cleaned at least once a day. There’s fish in the lake. The Appalachian Trail is just over there.”

  Anna reached into her tent and pulled out a folding chair, offered it to her brother. She sat on a rock a few feet away from him. Colin merely stared at his sister, unsure how to proceed. She seemed entirely rational and clear. He couldn’t recall the last time he had seen her eyes without the glassy redness that he’d once believed was perfectly natural. It took him a while to notice it was gone, since he’d gotten out of the habit of looking. He couldn’t remember when he had stopped looking, but it had been a long time. It was easier that way.

  “You’ve been sleeping,” Colin said. It wasn’t a question.

  “Yes.” Anna smiled.

  Her days were full of physical labor. She had forgotten about all the effort involved in maintaining a campsite, keeping a fire going, cooking meals, washing dishes. And then there were the hikes and the fishing. Sleep came easily. It had been years since she’d been so well rested, waking without an alarm clock, easing into consciousness. Hadn’t her entire life up until now been on the clock? Every night since that very first night in the campground, she’d slept nine hours straight. She was not herself here. Or not like that person who had inhabited her physical being for so many years. It was like she was in a reverse sci-fi film: a friendly invader had taken over her body. Still, history would dictate that the old Anna was lurking nearby.

  “Are you coming to my wedding?” Colin asked.

  “Of course, Colin. I’m not being held prisoner. I can come and go as I please.”

  “Right. I just want you to be there,” he said.

  “I’ll be there,” she said.

  “I’m going to be a father,” Colin said.

  “Madeline is pregnant?” Anna asked. This explained some things. Like the wedding.

  “It’s not what you think,” Colin said. “I love her.”

  Anna knew the comment was a bad omen. Wasn’t love a prereq
uisite for marriage?

  “I’m going to be an aunt?” Anna said.

  “It’s always all about you, isn’t it?” Colin said.

  “Yes.”

  Anna smiled and suddenly didn’t care about anything else. She was going to be an aunt, and if Colin had decided to endure a loveless marriage for it, that was his choice. Of course, she didn’t say any of that.

  “Why don’t you stay for dinner?” she said. “I’ll fry up some bass.”

  “It doesn’t fit,” Lena said, circling her daughter in her old bedroom.

  Anna struggled to close the zipper on the knee-length powder-blue bridesmaid’s dress.

  “No, it doesn’t. I need a size six. I told you that,” Anna said.

  “You used to be a four,” Lena said, sounding disappointed.

  “I also used to be a drug addict and an alcoholic. Sometimes that helps keep the weight off.”

  “The wedding is in six hours,” Lena said. Whenever she was stressed, a tremble lapped over the vowels in her voice.

  “This dress is off-the-rack, Mom. I’ll just run to the store and get it in a bigger size.”

  “This had to wait until today, Anna? You couldn’t have arrived a day earlier and had your hair done and maybe a thing or two waxed?”

  “I’m going to shave my legs and armpits, Mom. And for the record, I have no plans to lift up my skirt tonight, so no other landscaping will be required.”

  Anna’s mother winced at the indelicate reference. “You’d better get to the store.”

  Lena’s worst nightmare came true, though she would never hear about it. The dress was no longer available in a size six. Anna tried on the eight and it was loose, but a sympathetic shop clerk with amateur-seamstress skills was able to make a few quick alterations to keep the dress in place. When Anna returned to her car, she sat in the parking lot, took several deep breaths, and realized now was probably a good time to call her sponsor.

  “I’ve been expecting your call. Cracked yet?” Leticia said.

  “Almost. My mother was angry that I gained a dress size.”

  “Rich white women,” Leticia mused. “Only satisfied when they look like they need to be hospitalized.”

  Anna laughed. “Sometimes not even satisfied when that happens.”

  “So are you ready for your first sober wedding?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “The first sign of trouble, just get out of there. You go to a meeting, you call me, you do what you have to do. Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  “How are you doing?” was the catch phrase of the night, spoken in a tone that was sympathetic and meaningful. By the third query of the evening, Anna began counting; the tally reached forty by night’s end. Despite her mother’s desperate efforts to keep Anna’s “weakness” a secret, that kind of secret could not be kept for long.

  Anna knew that hiding wouldn’t change anything. In fact, she was fine with her troubles exposed for everyone to see. It was the sticky-sweet delivery that got under her skin, the way ten people could duplicate the exact same overearnest expression. She blamed film and television for providing the world with an emotional blueprint. What if no one had ever seen actors perform the specific facial contortions representing sadness, embarrassment, fear, anger, remorse. Would those expressions look different in real life now?

  Mr. Conklin, a colleague of her father’s, approached her early in the evening, holding his own glass of club soda. He didn’t have a look he had to practice before he spoke.

  “Heard you got sober,” he said plainly.

  “Yes,” Anna said.

  “It gets easier,” he said. “Some days you don’t even think about it.”

  But Conklin had been sober twenty years. Anna figured she had a long way to go. The whole night she was thinking about it. The whole night she was imagining how fun it would be to lose herself in something. Anything. But she wasn’t lost. She was so present, her skin felt the prickle of every sensation. She could feel every muscle on her face as she smiled appropriately, playing the proud sister.

  Max Blackman didn’t ask how Anna was doing. When he saw her, he drew her into a bear hug, the kind of hug that you just had to go along with. Her father never hugged like that. No one in her family did. Max’s hugs took some getting used to for Anna.

  Whenever she saw Max or his wife, Abigail, she always thought, Shouldn’t they hate me? One drunk night she’d almost asked but caught herself in time. They never blamed her.

  Max loathed small talk. One of the many things about him she adored.

  “I hear you’re living in a tent” was the first thing he said to her. His tone was more amused than judgmental. His eyes twinkled with delight.

  “Word gets around fast,” Anna said.

  “You have no idea.”

  “It’s not as bad as it sounds,” Anna said in her defense.

  “It sounds ideal, if you like camping.”

  “I do,” Anna said.

  “I think you like camping more than you like living at your parents’ house.”

  “Perhaps, but that doesn’t negate my love for camping,” Anna said.

  “You should have been a lawyer, not a doctor.”

  “Either way, I’d still be an addict.”

  “You’re stubborn.”

  “Have you always known that, or is this a new observation?”

  “Anna,” Max said, shaking his head with mock disappointment. “You’re a grown woman. You need a place to keep your stuff. Women have stuff. That’s one thing I know about them.”

  “Don’t marginalize my gender like that.”

  “I have a proposition for you,” Max said. “We have a vacation home in the wine country. Well, forget about that part. It’s in the middle of nowhere. Lots of trees, ponds, that sort of thing. Just like a campsite, only there are gamekeeper’s quarters a hundred yards from the house. It’s a nice cottage. Empty now. We could use someone to keep an eye on the place, take care of the main house. Abigail would like to have a garden, but we need someone there to maintain it. It’s a short drive from civilization. But if you’re looking for a break, I think this is a better long-term solution than living in a tent.”

  “I don’t know what to say,” Anna said.

  The idea appealed to her, but she wasn’t sure if the offer was too generous or if she was ready to be responsible for anything but herself.

  “The cottage has a bathroom, if that sweetens the deal,” Max said jovially.

  Anna laughed for the first time that night.

  Max leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, “It’s also three thousand miles from your mother.”

  “I’ve never gardened before,” Anna said. But she had already made her decision.

  “I think you’ll like it there,” Max said. “It’s very peaceful in the country. Quieter than you could ever imagine.”

  2007

  Calistoga, California

  The animal that had kept her up for two weeks straight had finally shut up. When she first heard the scratching noises, she’d hunted alone at night, following the sounds behind the drywall, knocking on the spot where she imagined the creature poised, like her, with its ear against the wall, waiting. She named it Ralph and tried, briefly, to pretend it was a pet. During daylight, Anna climbed into the crawlspace and looked for signs of squatters. Abigail Blackman had told her that might happen. The raccoons, the squirrels, the coyote, they were here first; humans were the true trespassers. The Blackmans’ visits became rarer and rarer, but when they did come, Abigail could sit on her Adirondack chair and watch the squirrels scurry around for hours. She dotted her yard with bird feeders, as if trying to lure all the song sparrows from the neighbors’ property to hers. She was an ornithological Pied Piper.

  As soon as Abigail and Max departed, Anna hid the bird feeders in the shack. She found their songs grating, repetitive. In summer they were her alarm clock, chirping before the crack of dawn.

  “Who doesn’t love birds?�
� a neighbor once asked, dropping by with a holiday gift of a hummingbird feeder for the Blackmans.

  Anna talked about her bird-hate only with her therapist.

  “Why the fuck does everybody love birds? I get vultures. I like them; they clean up the roadkill. I feel like when they’re squawking, there’s probably a point to it. Maybe they’re alerting other vultures to new meat.”

  “There’s likely a biological imperative to bird songs as well,” Dr. Goldstein said. “You’ve been talking about birds your last three sessions. I’m concerned that birds might be a standin for something else.”

  “There’s an animal living in the walls,” Anna said.

  In truth the noise had ceased a few days ago, but the smell of a small death soon became so powerful that Anna had to move out of the guesthouse and into the main house. She called an exterminator, which struck her as ironic.

  “It happens all the time,” Grady, the pest specialist, said. “Once the body is desiccated, the smell will go away.”

  “What do you think it was?” Anna asked. That was all she’d ever wanted to know during those two weeks it was living with her. A raccoon, a squirrel, a large rat, maybe?

  “Something small enough to fit in the walls,” Grady said.

  Anna had made a recording of the animal and played it for Grady. It sounded as if it were digging through the wall, trying to get to the other side.

  “Busy devil,” Grady said.

  “Can you tell what it is?” Anna asked.

  “A small animal.”

  “No kidding.”

  Anna called Kate and questioned the exterminator’s qualifications.

  “Seems to me he should be more informed,” Anna said. “It’s his job.”

  “He’s an exterminator,” Kate said. “Not a zoologist.”

  “Maybe George would know. I could play her the recording.”

  “It might be time to come back to civilization,” Kate said.

  Anna phoned George. They hadn’t spoken in six months.

  ANNA:

  George, it’s Anna.

  GEORGE:

  Anna. Everything okay?

  ANNA:

  Yes. I’m fine. Things are good. Mostly. Something died in the walls.