Fireworks

by Sarina Bowen

  Something clicks in my memory—sharing a couple pieces of bubblegum that Benito had given me. “Yes! That was me.”

  “I thought you were so pretty.” She gives me a shy smile. “I guess you still are. What are you doing here?”

  “Well, that’s the problem. I wanted to give something to Maria Rossi, but…”

  “They’re gone,” she says. “A long time ago. I think I was in first grade when she moved away. She lives in Eastwood now—the really nice trailer park.” Misty’s eyes flick up to Gage’s place again. “I should get inside.”

  I’m inspired to do something nice for her. “Look, let me give you something.” I grab the tiramisu off the passenger seat and get out of the car. Misty is halfway to her door, so I follow.

  “Come on in for a sec,” she says. “Mom won’t mind.”

  “How is she?” I ask. Mrs. Carrera was a quiet woman who took in sewing while her husband worked three jobs.

  “Tired, mostly,” Misty says. “My dad died a year ago.”

  “Oh honey, I’m so sorry,” I breathe. “What happened?”

  She makes a face. “Overdose.”

  “Oh,” I say, and wish to God that I hadn’t asked. This poor girl. “Here,” I say. “This is for you. I have to go back to New York tonight, and I won’t have time to track down Maria. So you should share it with your mom when she gets home. It’s tiramisu.”

  “Omigod,” she says, looking down at my cuisine. “I love tiramisu. But…this is your dish.”

  “Oh!” I say. “Keep it.” Now I owe Benito a dish. I’ll send him one from Macy’s.

  “Let’s eat some right now,” she says, turning toward the kitchen counter. “I’m getting two bowls.”

  “Great idea,” I say, throwing all my calorie-counting cautions to the wind. “What’s that saying? Eat dessert first in case you die.”

  She giggles and opens a drawer full of spoons.

  And the dessert is awesome, as always. The two of us eat tiramisu seated at Misty’s little table. The trailer seems smaller than my New York apartment. I don’t want to be a snob, but I’m pretty happy at how far I’ve gotten from this place.

  Crummy job or not, my life is awfully nice. Lonely, but nice.

  Outside the window, headlights flare. Both Missy and I look out. She pushes aside the lace curtains and my heart rate doubles. It’s Gage. He’s fitting two duffel bags into the trunk of a running car.

  Just like that I lose my appetite. My neck feels sweaty and my pulse is too fast. Twelve years later and he still has the same effect on me. One glance and I’m trembling.

  “You know to watch out for that one, right?” I whisper.

  “Yeah,” she says heavily. “The second I see him, I bolt.”

  “Smart girl.” I make myself peer at him out the window. In the porch light, I can see his hair is gray now, and it’s thinning on top. He’s skinnier, too.

  Good, I think. I hope he doesn’t feel as invulnerable as he used to.

  “I wonder where he’s going?” Misty whispers. “There’s another suitcase.” Sure enough, he’s shoving a bag onto the back seat, too. “I hope it’s far, far away.”

  This wakes me from my little reverie. I wonder if Benito knows that Gage is taking a trip? That seems like something that would interest him. I pull out my phone and open up the texts. Benito’s words are still there, begging me to call him. I never answered.

  So this is going to be a bit of a non sequitur.

  Gage just put three bags in his car. By the time I’ve tapped it out, there’s more to add. Now he’s driving out of Pine View.

  Like I will be, soon. I don’t add that. I’m the worst kind of coward.

  In my defense, I’ve been on emotional overdrive for five days. I don’t trust myself at all right now. I want to throw myself into Benito’s arms. And I also want to punch him.

  That can’t be healthy.

  Gathering up my empty bowl, I carry it to the sink and rinse it out. “Thank you for chatting with me,” I tell Misty.

  “Thank you for this yumminess,” she replies. “It’s great to see you again, if only for a second. You look…” She cocks her head again and thinks it over. “Sleek. Fancy. Not very much like Vermont.”

  “Wow, thank you.” A week ago I would have accepted that as proper and inevitable. But right this second it makes me a little sad. Like I never had a chance of fitting in here.

  It’s probably just the hormones talking. I don’t even like Vermont.

  Right?

  I tell Misty how grown up and beautiful she is, and then I make a promise. “If I swing through town again, we’ll have coffee,” I say. “Love to your mom, okay?”

  We hug, and then I step outside. I open the car door and toss my bag onto the passenger seat.

  But then I hesitate.

  The moon is rising. It’s big and bright and low in the sky. Now that Gage has left the premises, I don’t have to be afraid of this place. So I stand here and sniff the clear air.

  Driving away feels like quitting. I didn’t help Rayanne. Not much, anyway. And I don’t feel any less tangled up over Benito.

  When he finds that note, he’s going to be so pissed. The other complicating factor is that I still love him. Standing here in the cool evening air, I can admit that to myself.

  I shut my car door without climbing inside. And I let myself think about Benito for a minute.

  As my eyes grow even more accustomed to the dark, I feel like I’m standing in a theater after the performance is over. Our year together played out just a few paces away. The trailers where we’d lived are shuttered and silent. But I can almost hear the echo of Benito’s voice, telling me jokes in the woods. And the sound of the ukulele.

  I follow my memory around the gravel loop, my high-heeled boots crunching against the surface. The last time I’d walked here, I’d worn ratty sneakers and second-hand jeans. I’d been frightened all the time. It had been a hard way to live.

  That girl is still part of me, even if I like to pretend that she’s not. I’m still hungry for love and eager to prove myself worthy of it. Sometimes I’m too hard on myself for all the things I didn’t get right.

  Maybe everybody is. Even Jill Sullivan.

  I draw closer to the darkened theater of my early life. Stepping onto the winter-browned grass, I walk between the two trailers and head slowly for the tree line.

  It occurs to me that walking in the woods at night should have made sixteen-year-old me jumpy. But I’d never felt safer than when I sought out Benito beneath these trees.

  Once again, I inhale the scent of damp pine needles. And it smells like home. My whole life is defined by things that happened in this place, whether I want it to be or not.

  I creep forward, unsure whether I want to see the clearing where Benito and I spent so many hours together. If the tattered remains of our chair linger there, my heart will break all over again. It might be like viewing a dead body—I prefer to remember this place as alive.

  I keep going anyway. As I get closer to the clearing, I see a light. Squinting, I try to make out its source. It’s diffused—as if something big and angular is blocking it.

  I’m tiptoeing now, and I can see the big, angular thing is a shed—the kind you can buy pre-built. Moonlight glints in its single window. The door must be facing the other direction. And it’s dark inside.

  The light I saw, though, is coming from the interior of a car. It’s parked adjacent to the shed on a narrow dirt road that hadn’t been here twelve years ago.

  My pulse kicks into overdrive. Because there’s someone standing next to the shed in the darkness. And it’s him.

  Gage.

  Fear climbs up my throat. I freeze there, watching. He’s moving slowly around the shed’s perimeter, and making a fair bit of noise as he kicks small branches out of the way and mutters to himself.

  He thinks he’s alone. And soon he will be.

  Staying calm, I choose my path. The little road is my best bet—I’
m less likely to trip or break any twigs and give myself away. Even though he may drive back down it momentarily, I’d hear his car start first. That will give me plenty of time to take cover in the woods while he passes by.

  I take quiet steps, crouching down behind his car as I reach it, using it as a shield until I reach the far side of the road and duck behind a large tree.

  I pause, taking stock of the situation. The car door is standing open, and the dome light reveals a suitcase on the back seat. There’s something sticking out of it. A piece of paper.

  It’s money.

  The reporter in me sits up and licks her chops. Gage has a suitcase full of cash, just like in the movies. He really is a drug dealer. And he’s getting out of town.

  Benito isn’t going to get his man.

  Just go, my inner frightened child urges me. Gage is right there. He has scary eyes.

  But if I go, he’ll get away with it. He’ll take his cash somewhere and buy a new trailer, move in next to another teenaged girl. And he’ll bully anyone who crosses him.

  I smell something sharp and astringent now. The scent of my pine forest is gone, replaced with the smell of gasoline.

  Oh my God. Gage is going to burn that shed. He’s destroying evidence.

  My inner reporter is practically frothing at the mouth now. I can’t take out my phone and take pictures, because he’ll see the screen’s light.

  What to do? I have about sixty seconds to figure it out. Maybe less. I squint at the car again. The keys are on the seat.

  I must be insane. Because I crouch down and move toward that car. It only takes a second. My hand closes around the keys just as I hear the sound of a match being struck.

  Shishkebab. This is going to happen fast.

  I don’t look at Gage. I dart back into the shadows and then move as quickly as I dare down the road.

  Behind me I hear cursing, and my heart rate doubles. I drop down into a squat and hold my breath. But I don’t hear the car’s engine over the thumping of my pulse in my ears. And there aren’t any footsteps coming this way.

  I risk a look over my shoulder. Could it be that lighting a shed on fire isn’t easy? I can’t make him out on the other side of the car, but I hear him moving around.

  Silently I rise to my feet again. I’m still clutching the keys, so I take one step toward the tree line and drop it at the base of a tree trunk. Then I creep forward down the road.

  Whump. I hear the unmistakable sound of a fire starting. And then I hear Gage’s fast footsteps. The sound fills me with as much fear as I have ever known in my life, even though I know he’s headed to the car. He slams the car door a moment later, and I run for it, knowing that he’ll have a busy couple of minutes looking for his missing key.

  But I hadn’t counted on the headlights.

  The sudden illumination fills me with the sick taste of horror. My shadow leaps wildly in front of me as I lunge for the tree line to hide myself. But the branches there only slow me down. I can’t run, and I know he’s seen me. I hear the car door open again, and he gives an angry shout.

  And I can feel him coming for me.

  Terror swallows my heart. I leap out of the trees again and move as fast as I can down the narrow little road. The headlights show me that it curves back onto the Pine View access road.

  Up to the trailers or downhill? I have almost no time to decide. The safety of my car is uphill, so that’s where my feet take me. During the next two seconds, I question all my life choices. I should have asked Zara where her mother lives. I should have said goodbye to Benito. I should have called Aunt Jenny more often.

  I never should have come back to Vermont at all.

  He’s coming hard and fast. The pounding of his footsteps is closing the distance between us. I don’t know if I can make it. My lungs are burning and he’s so close. I don’t want to die. If Gage catches me, I’ll never own a pair of Louboutins. I’ll never know if Benito really loves me.

  Benito’s warm brown gaze appears in my mind’s eye. You got this, says his smile.

  Go go go. I won’t give up, but I don’t like my chances. My chest is on fire and my denim skirt prevents me from lengthening my stride completely.

  But aging ex-cops get tired, too. I can hear Gage’s labored breathing. He’s only a couple of yards away now. And I didn’t spend the last twelve years working my tail off so I could die in Pine View.

  I dig deep and put on a burst of speed. I can see my car. I believe I’m going to get there.

  That’s when I trip.

  It happens so fast that I don’t even understand it. One second I’m running, and the next the gravel road rises up and smacks me in the chest. I draw a shocked breath and it comes out as a scream.

  Even so, I’m already scrambling to my feet. I almost make it when an iron-like arm wraps tightly around my neck and head. “You.” His voice is a scrape as he forces me to bend forward in a headlock. “What the fuck? Princess Skylar shows her sweet face.” Hot breath sprays my temple. The familiar smell makes me recoil. Whiskey and anger. “Where’s my fucking key?”

  “Don’t know,” I rasp. “I dropped it.”

  Pain shoots through my neck as he gives it a rough squeeze. “Try again, you little slut. Is it in your pocket?” He unlocks one of his arms only to place it on my butt.

  “Get your…” I take a deep breath. “…FUCKING HANDS off me!” I yell as loud as I can. I hope Misty can hear me. I hope she calls 911. It feels really good to yell the f-word. It fires me up. “FUCKING FUCKER!” I add, because I’m out of practice for swearing.

  “Mouthy bitch,” he grunts while I consider my next move. His hand creeps across my bottom. “You’ll be sorry, you bitch,” he whispers. “Gonna be fun to finally show you how sorry.”

  But I’m busy putting all my weight on one leg, and lifting the other foot a few crucial inches. These suede knee boots have a two-and-a-half inch stacked wooden heel. “FUCK!” I yell as I bring it down hard on the top of his foot.

  “Arraaaah!” he yells right in my ear. “Cunt bitch!” He grabs for the length of my hair to yank it, but I’m in motion again. Making a fist, I karate chop his crotch on a downward stroke, connecting on the first try. Gage bends forward into the pain, just like they’d told me would happen in all those self-defense classes Jenny sent me to. So I follow with an upstroke to clock him in the temple.

  My head shot isn’t quite as effective as my crotch punch. Gage sways, but doesn’t topple. I feel a ruffle of panic in my gut. I shove him away from me just as a pair of headlights pops into view at the top of the access road. The car hurtles forward at an unsafe speed.

  Holy crap. If this is one of Gage’s buddies, I’m so dead. And now Gage has a firm grip on the back of my skirt. Panic screams at me to run from him. But self-defense training has other ideas. I grab his arm, lift my boot, and scrape it harshly down the inside of his leg, putting all my weight into the job.

  Gage screams just as the car skids to a halt and the door flies open. “POLICE! Hands up.”

  Free now, I leap away from Gage and stick my hands in the air.

  Gage doesn’t. He bends slowly forward until he collapses into the dirt.

  “Does he have a weapon?” asks the police officer. I can’t see his face because he’s silhouetted by the car’s headlights.

  “I…I don’t know,” I stammer.

  “Skylar, move away from him. Get behind me.”

  The cop knows my name. As I move around the circle of light, I realize it’s the same guy who checked Rayanne’s house on my first night back in Colebury. “Hands on the ground in front of you,” he orders Gage.

  Gage does not comply.

  “NOW!”

  Gage moves his hands forward, flat in the dirt. Finally beaten.

  Another car comes roaring into view, a single flashing light stuck to the roof. It too stops suddenly, and a man leaps out. “Skylar,” he barks.

  Benito. I feel all my cells exhale.

  “Are you hurt?”<
br />
  I shake my head like a drunk. I’m experiencing a sudden loss of muscle control. “I stomped his foot and punched his nuts. I threw away his keys so he couldn’t drive off with the money.”

  “You are a goddamn miracle.” He’s beside me, pulling me into his arms. I sag against him. “What’s that smell?”

  “A burning shed. He replaced our chair with a shed! And then he torched it.” I lift my head off Benito’s shoulder, and it takes colossal effort. “Actually, the car and the money might be singed, too. Not sure.”

  A young voice rings out in the night. “Is Skye okay?” It’s Misty, and she’s crying. “I heard her scream, ‘Get your fucking hands off me.’ I called 911,” she sobs.

  “I’m fine!” I say quickly. Poor Misty.

  “You said fuck?” Benito asks.

  “Special occasion,” I mumble. I straighten my spine and step away from Benito. “Misty, it’s okay. I promise. Thank you.”

  And it’s true. Time slides forward. My heart rate comes back into the normal range. Gage is wearing handcuffs. More cars pull up the hill, and more personnel get out. “My boss is going to need you to make a statement,” Benito says gently. “You’re part of the biggest drug bust in Vermont.”

  The biggest drug bust in Vermont. Now that’s a scoop. “Excuse me a second?” I say to Benito. “Can I get my bag from the car?”

  “Did Gage touch the car at any point?”

  I shake my head.

  “All right. Help yourself.”

  I climb behind the wheel of my rental car and find my phone. But I don’t call McCracken or anyone else at New York News and Sports. They won’t appreciate what I’ve got. Instead, I find the business card that Lane Barker gave me. Her cell phone number is on it, so that’s what I dial.

  “Barker,” she answers immediately. “Who’s calling?”

  “It’s Skylar Copeland. We met today at…”

  “I remember,” she says quickly. “What do you have?” She answers like a real news hound, and I know I’m in good hands.

  “The biggest drug bust in Vermont. And the kingpin torched a small building in the woods to destroy the evidence. How fast can you get a van to Colebury?”

  “Fast enough. The state troopers will be too busy to pull us over. Hanging up now to summon the van. Standby for more instructions.”