Our Hearts Will Burn Us Down

by Anne Valente

  I don’t want you to say anything.

  It’s scary. It’s frightening. It’s terrible. All of those things. But after a while you grow numb to it. You have to.

  Why do you have to?

  Because there’s no other way through it.

  Natalie sat back. She held a notepad but took no notes.

  Why don’t you tell me about the shooting, she said.

  I was in the library.

  Natalie’s eyebrows rose just slightly.

  I hid in the stacks. There’s nothing else to say.

  Then why don’t we talk about something else? Like the past week. What has the past week been like for you? Your time at home?

  Zola told Natalie the most cursory of information: that the week at home had been spent mostly reading, watching movies with her mother, sitting on the back porch and watching autumn recede. She told Natalie about the yearbook, about Matt and Nick and Christina, that her job was to take photographs and that she hadn’t been able to document anything. She said nothing of Alisha Trenway’s house. She mentioned the lull through the weekend, the quiet of watching more movies and reading more books and preparing for the start of school. She mentioned her classes and the cafeteria and her vague frustration with Nick, the previous day’s conversation that had exploded.

  And what about him makes you so angry? Natalie asked.

  Zola thought of chemistry class earlier that morning, how Nick hadn’t acknowledged her across the classroom. How he’d sat resolved at his lab table taking notes and listening to Mr. Albertson.

  He’s just so oblivious, Zola said. These fires. People are grieving. They’ve lost their children. And Nick wants to focus on fire chemistry? He’s so fucking analytical. Sometimes things are more complicated than that.

  In what way? Natalie asked.

  It’s just that—Zola said.

  It’s just what?

  Zola looked at her. It’s just that if you could have heard what I heard.

  Natalie waited for her to say more.

  In the library. Those sounds. The sound of choking. People gagging. Losing breath on their own blood. Nick will never know that. It’s easier. It’s so much easier to be analytical with nothing bouncing through your head like that.

  What would you say to Nick, if you could?

  I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m asking for. Not much. Just for him to know that this is what I saw. This is what I heard. This is what so many other people are experiencing. I just want it acknowledged.

  Do you think he knows that?

  I think he does. But it’s easier to look at it as an equation, something to solve.

  What would you want acknowledged? What specifically?

  Zola looked up. She recognized that she’d sunk into the couch, her body more relaxed. I don’t know, she said.

  It’s okay. Just say whatever comes to you first.

  I guess I want a witness. To what I witnessed. I want someone to say that this happened, that it’s okay to feel this broken.

  Zola felt herself breathless. In the silence that followed her words, she wished she could take them back.

  Natalie glanced at the small clock. Our time’s up for today. But I want to see you back here tomorrow. If you’re up for it.

  I guess I could be, Zola said. A window of time she’d dreaded, one she couldn’t believe had gone by this fast. She shook Natalie’s hand and let herself be escorted from the room. She filed into the empty hallway, still five minutes before the next class. She listened as her footsteps echoed on the tile and as her own voice bounced back dumbly through her brain. That it’s okay to feel this broken. She felt her heart catch on the sound of it inside her head. To have admitted it. A heat humming through her chest.

  NICK SAT WITH Sarah in the cafeteria, her lunch-hour choral lessons canceled for the week, a window of time that allowed her to eat during the time slot intended for juniors. She was still only a sophomore, college two years away, but Mr. Dyson met individually with choral members who planned to apply for competitive vocal scholarships. College was something she and Nick hadn’t discussed: who would go where, whether they’d align their applications even with a year between them. People found seats and gathered quietly at circular tables around them. Nick couldn’t imagine college, a far-off place that had felt distant and vague since the start of high school and felt even more formless now.

  How was class? Sarah asked.

  Fine. Nick bit into the turkey sandwich he’d packed in the kitchen before Mr. Albertson demonstrated wavelengths of light and the array of colors that compounds produced, greens and reds billowing inside a line of beakers at the front of the chemistry classroom. Zola hadn’t looked at him. He’d taken notes but had trouble concentrating.

  I had my counseling session this morning, Sarah said.

  How did it go?

  It wasn’t terrible, just not that helpful. We talked about the shooting, about being scared. We didn’t talk about last night, which I thought was the entire point of suddenly making these sessions mandatory.

  Nick thought for a moment that Sarah meant what they’d done at Lake School Park. Last night. She’d barely spoken to him of the fires or Alexis Thurber’s apartment. What was happening in their community.

  Are you going back? Nick asked.

  I can go back if I want, but the woman seemed to think I was doing fine.

  My session is later this afternoon, he said. Sixth period.

  I don’t even know why we’re here. Couldn’t they have just canceled school for another week, at least until they solve this? I saw three FBI vans on my way to school today. Six police cars. Not to mention the news vans. One is parked right outside.

  Sarah motioned through the cafeteria’s glass panes toward an unmarked van just beyond Timber Creek’s student parking lot, its swirled antenna giving it away. Nick had seen FBI vans on his drive to school, some clearly marked and others attempting to stay undercover though it was obvious who they were and what they were doing.

  Maybe it will take a while to solve, Nick said. Are you doing okay?

  I’m fine. I mean, we’re not in danger. It’s pretty clear by now that whoever’s doing this is only targeting the families of people who were killed.

  Nick thought of the group: Parents for Home Protection. He wondered if Jacob’s mother or Alexis’s father had joined, if anyone had been watching their homes.

  It’s still unsettling, Nick said. And sad. Don’t you want to know what’s happening?

  It’s not my job to figure it out. Or yours. Let the FBI and police figure it out.

  Sarah glanced past him then, her eyes tracking someone, and Nick turned to see Zola standing next to their table. She held nothing in her hands, no lunch bag or cafeteria tray, and made no motion to sit. She nodded hello to Sarah, then turned to Nick.

  I just wanted to say sorry, she said. For blowing up at you yesterday.

  It happens, he said. We’re all stressed.

  I’m sorry I said that. I didn’t mean it.

  Sarah glanced between both of them and Nick wanted to tell Zola that he knew he’d never know what she knew, what he’d only imagined of the library. Of crouching in the musty stacks, the quiet of her own breath separating her from a gun’s barrel. Of hearing rounds of gunfire and then silence and not knowing which was worse. She seemed like she wanted to say more but realized where they were. She looked at Sarah. It’s good to see you, she said. Then she turned and made her way across the cafeteria to a far table where Nick could see Matt and Christina congregating.

  That was weird, Sarah said. What did she say to you yesterday?

  Nothing. She’s just having a hard time. She’s been angry about a lot of things.

  You said she was in the library, Sarah said. I’d be upset, too.

  Nick wrapped his sandwich in his paper lunch bag and stood. I need to finish my world history reading before next period.

  Want to come over after school? My mom won’t be home until five.


  Nick smiled faintly but shook his head. I need to pick Jeff up from school.

  He kissed Sarah and promised he’d call her later and walked away unsure why he’d lied. He didn’t have history homework. His brother took the bus home every day, old enough to watch himself. But he felt a pressing need to be alone, to not be near Sarah or her house or even join Matt and Christina and Zola at their table. He didn’t want to sit with them and lie that he’d been surprised to awake to the news. That he didn’t know what it meant to have sex, that he saw it as a milestone instead of a distraction. That his head was full of things they’d never believe, that he himself wasn’t sure he understood. He left the cafeteria and climbed the stairwell to the second floor and its makeshift library and saw two policemen escorting Russ Hendricks down the hallway: Alexis Thurber’s boyfriend, not yet in handcuffs but his arm bound by the firm grip of one of the officers. When they disappeared around a corner, Nick hustled into the library and moved past the improvised stacks to a row of second-floor windows behind them. The room silent, everyone in other classrooms or downstairs at lunch, a space populated only by the thrum of several computers and the presence of a librarian temporarily hired in Mrs. Diffenbaum’s absence. Nick watched out the window as Russ was led outside the building’s side entrance and into the dark of a waiting police car that crawled quietly from the parking lot, no sirens or lights. No news vans followed, not the one Sarah had seen far off to the other side of the school. Nick forgot the need for research, the row of computers humming behind him. Nick forgot the need to be alone. He hastened down to the cafeteria and found Matt and Zola and Christina just as the bell sounded the end of lunch, just as he said they needed to meet after school, immediately, now.

  MATT WONDERED ALL afternoon what it was that Nick could tell them, what information could possibly be worse or more urgent than another fire he’d tried his best to block out. He’d said nothing at lunch to Christina or Zola about what his father had told him: the possibility of a juvenile arsonist. He’d pushed himself through afternoon classes on high alert, thinking nothing of algebra or chemistry. He’d glanced out the windows of his classrooms, the day warmer and glossed by sun, the air stagnant and still. He’d attended his first mandatory session, spoken to a therapist. Told a woman he’d known only ten minutes that he was fine, that he was taking all of this one day at a time. He didn’t want to tell her about Caroline Black. That she’d been pushed from his brain if only for one night by a visitor at his bedroom window. That Tyler had left late. That letting him in was far better medicine than any mandatory session. Matt let his gaze fall away and fixate upon the carpet, the small clock, the ready boxes of tissues. He awaited the end of the school day knowing he’d meet Nick and Christina and Zola, all of them waiting in Timber Creek’s parking lot beside Nick’s Honda when the final bell rang.

  There was no destination. No clear agenda. Nick only said not here and Matt climbed into the backseat beside Zola and they traveled in silence through the streets of Midvale County, beneath so many tall trees lining the sides of the roads. Nick’s car passed more FBI vans, many of them unmarked but obvious in their separateness from a suburb, then another news van not far from the Pensacola Apartments, where Alexis Thurber had lived. Matt eyed the complex as the car drove past, Alexis’s apartment obscured from view behind police tape and other apartment buildings. The scent of sulfur and burnt wood filtered through the car’s closed windows regardless, a smell that had grown familiar across the past week. So many homes. A small radius. No one spoke as the car drove by. Nick turned up the volume on the stereo, anything but the drone of news talk radio, and curved through the neighborhoods toward the open back roads again, the edge of every subdivision, a long stretch of shorn stalks and withering cornfields. Matt let Nick’s Honda trade so many rows of homes and the fear dwelling inside of them for the wide-open forgetting of rolling hills and a blue sky.

  Nick turned at last into Midvale County Park, a large recreational area that formed the bridge between neighborhoods and the hills of Missouri country. He pulled into a lot by the park’s lakefront lined with shelters and barbecue pits, each of them abandoned until next summer. He cut the engine and left the car and Christina turned and looked at Matt from the front seat. Matt shrugged and opened the car door and followed Zola and Christina to a shelter against the lake’s shore where Nick sat on the surface of a picnic table, his sneakers on the bench.

  What is it? Matt asked. Enough suspense. Just tell us.

  I saw Russ Hendricks being hauled away, Nick said. Just before the end of lunch.

  What do you mean hauled away? Christina asked.

  I mean escorted down the hallway. I mean placed into a police car.

  Matt imagined Russ beside him in American history sophomore year, the only class they’d ever had together. So I guess they’ve identified a suspect, he said.

  Maybe, Nick said. After nearly two weeks of nothing, they’ve acted pretty quickly.

  Matt sat on the picnic table and watched the sun diamonding off the lake’s waves.

  My father said they were looking for a juvenile arsonist. Russ must be it.

  Christina approached the picnic table. What do you mean, a juvenile arsonist?

  Matt sighed. Maybe someone in our school. Someone out only at night, when no one would be supervising them. Someone who stopped setting fires across a weekend when their parents were home. Someone directly affected by the shooting, given the targeting of grieving families. Someone like Russ Hendricks.

  I don’t buy it, Zola said. Yeah, Russ has a temper. All of us know that. But starting a bunch of fires? Actually killing people? I don’t believe it for a second.

  He’s practically a criminal, Christina said. Remember when he almost hospitalized Ben Worthington last year?

  He just broke his nose, Zola said. Yeah, he’s been suspended a bunch of times. But just because he can break someone’s nose doesn’t mean he killed anyone.

  I didn’t say I thought he was guilty, Nick said. I just saw them lead him away. Maybe they’re just bringing him in for questions. Maybe they think he knows something.

  Matt watched Nick, the tone of his voice faraway, as if he were daydreaming. This the exact kind of information Nick craved, a tangible answer. A suspect. And what Matt could tell him: that he fit the profile of a juvenile arsonist. But Nick only watched the water of the lake and Matt saw he wouldn’t meet any of their eyes. Matt thought again of what his father had said: someone beyond Eric Greeley who knew Caleb Raynor. What else he could tell Nick.

  My dad said they’re going to start patrolling the other families’ homes, as a preemptive strike. He also said they’re looking for the possibility of a different accomplice.

  Nick looked at him, what Matt knew he would do. You mean to Caleb?

  Did Russ even know Caleb? Christina said. He had a pocketknife in class once, in eighth grade. He said he kept it in his backpack just in case.

  We didn’t know Caleb could do something like this, Nick said. What does it matter now if we think they knew each other or not? At this point, anything is possible.

  Matt felt the cold of the lake push through his jacket despite the sun’s warmth. He scanned his brain for some indication that he’d ever seen Russ talk to Caleb and turned up nothing. No link, though it didn’t mean his father and the police wouldn’t find one.

  Well, at least they’re getting somewhere, Christina said.

  I guess, Zola said. But I think they’re doing the wrong thing.

  And what’s the right thing? Christina asked. Yeah, this is information. But it doesn’t tell us anything. Not yet. What are we supposed to do with this? She glanced at Nick and motioned to the lake. Why are we out here?

  We’re out here because this is bullshit, Zola said. We all know Russ Hendricks isn’t a killer. She turned to Christina. Did you see him anywhere near Benji Ndolo’s house, or in the crowd outside Jacob Jensen’s house?

  Of course not, Christina said. But that doesn’t mean anything.


  What about all of these parents watching each other’s homes? Nick said. What about the reporters, police, everyone knowing now where to look? Wouldn’t they have seen something by now? And why would Russ want to kill his girlfriend’s father? Aren’t these questions anyone else is even considering?

  To share the grief, Matt said. To make everyone feel as much pain as he feels.

  Who told you that? Nick said. Your counselor in these bullshit therapy sessions?

  Matt felt all at once punched. The shock of Nick’s tone. Nick not caring at all about any of the things Matt could tell him.

  My father, Matt said. Thanks for asking.

  Cut it out, you two. Zola glanced at Matt. Russ has problems. But he wouldn’t burn down homes, especially not with families inside. Not with Alexis’s father still there.

  How do you know? Christina asked. You didn’t know him. You didn’t see those houses burn. Did you know they’re burying Jacob’s mom today?

  Nick stood from the picnic bench. Maybe your dad’s not telling you everything.

  He said he’d tell me what was needed to keep me safe.

  Maybe this arrest is keeping you safe, Christina said.

  I doubt it, Nick said. None of this adds up.

  Then what does? Matt asked.

  Isn’t that what we’re all trying to figure out? It could be arson, sure. But do you think Russ is capable of burning down an entire home and everything inside it?

  I don’t know, Matt said. I guess my dad will know more this afternoon.

  Nick stood and walked to the edge of the lake, pooled wide and gray beyond the shore. Matt wondered what it was that was bothering him, if he and Sarah had a fight. And if so, why he’d brought all of them out here to tell them he’d seen Russ taken away only to say it didn’t mean anything. Matt waited for him to speak, to elaborate on what he’d seen, but he said nothing, eyes on the water, the waves of the lake the only sound.

  WHEN NICK DROPPED them all off at Timber Creek’s parking lot, Matt asked if he was okay but he only nodded and pulled away from school, said he had to get home to watch his brother. Zola headed toward the Local Beanery on her bike, Christina toward home in her car. Matt climbed into his hatchback and didn’t want to go home. Russ Hendricks at the police station, where the officers had surely taken him from Timber Creek. Matt glanced at the radio clock. He felt restless. He felt angry. So much information and Nick cared about none of it. He knew where his father would be.