The Burning Side(48)

I nod, fighting the urge to ask him to do a sweep of the house. It’s not like there’s another person hiding here. So after giving Nathaniel a minute for privacy, we follow him out front.

Everything is now still, branches and brush scattered everywhere. There’s no sign of our tarp, and a lawn chair has blown in from somewhere down the road. Lots of loose paper and plastic bags. Our car is coated with twigs, but it’s undamaged.

When Leo leaves with Nathaniel, I make the call for a new tarp, and I amble through the house collecting trash. I gather remnants of a foam alphabet mat and the HomeGoods print that I liked but Leo hated. Another minor tragedy of my marriage is that I was too embarrassed to like what I liked, so the print never came out of its box under our bed. If we go through with this divorce, I’m going on a HomeGoods shopping spree.

In the bedroom, my heart slows for the first time in over an hour, leaving my limbs heavy. I’ve spent very little time in our bedroom since the fire, and I realize I’m completely wiped. I curl up on the mattress that reeks of smoke. A small plume of dust rises, but I flip the pillow over, too exhausted to care. I can hear Leo saying gently, We won’t hurt you. Hear him saying bitterly, It’s always startling to find someone in the house you don’t expect to be there.

I close my eyes and let sleep whisk me away, just for a minute.

Then, Leo is nudging me, perched on the edge of the bed.

The shadows in the room have shifted.

I rub my eyes—I was dreaming of my dad. We were under a baobab tree, his scarf blowing in the wind. He was a young boy, and he didn’t know my name.

Leo holds out a creased photograph of himself. “I don’t know where that pile in the hall came from, but look at this.”

Wait. It’s not Leo. I look closer.

“My dad,” he says. “Knew I had a picture somewhere.”

“Wow.” I take it carefully. “You look just like him.” I’ve always wanted to see what his parents looked like, so I study the young man in the picture. “Cool tattoo.” A lion is inked on his arm, ready to pounce. “You sure I’ve never seen this before?”

“It was in a folder I hadn’t opened since college.”

I pass it back to him, the day returning to me. “Everything okay with Nathaniel?”

“He asked for Wendy’s and St. Andrew’s, so that’s where I took him.”

I tuck my legs underneath me. “Why did you lie to him about being a squatter?”

Leo frowns. “I wouldn’t lie about that.”

“What? When were you in that position?”

“When do you think? After Nacho and Izzy’s.”

A decade with this man, and it’s like I just met him. I didn’t realize it was that bad. I just thought…well, I don’t know what I thought. When I once asked him where he lived after Nacho’s place, he only said, “Here and there.”

My phone dings, and I look down at it.

“Mom’s wondering if we’ll make it for dinner.”

“Doubtful. It’s already late.”

I text her back and tell her about the storm. She sends a photo of Sadie helping with a red velvet cake commission.

Leo and I manage to pack a few boxes before we head out. Our little fireproof box of documents and a few breakables that survived. We wrap them in newspaper pages: Tesla and Ukraine. Abortion law and Ozempic. Teacher shortages and movie reviews and migrants at the border. The world’s turmoil to cushion our things, and my hands fall to my sides like birds shot from the sky. I touch the newsprint in apology—I truly thought I would do more for this world.

Leo’s voice permeates my regret. “We should get going.”

I look around and nod.

We lock the door behind us, pure ceremony since we have no windows or roof.

Leo brings his photograph and The Little Prince.

“I called for a new tarp,” I tell him. “They’ll get it up tonight.”

As we walk to the car, there’s a gentle breeze, all innocent-like.

Behind us, our wind-blasted house is panting for life.

Leo drives us back into Dallas, the photo of his father on the console between us. We hit a long light beside a homeless encampment under an overpass. Tents, blankets, trinkets. An American flag is proudly displayed. Mom was right, not much of a storm over here at all. There’s a grocery cart, and a wheelchair with nobody in it. A sun-bleached unicorn backpack is propped carefully against loose bricks. A man in combat boots is spitting off to the side of a woman who is carefully inspecting another woman’s hair. The two women are belly-laughing, and a small fire burns in a grate.

I imagine Nathaniel here. Leo. Some of my students.

Like a lightning strike, I realize that I’m not imagining myself here. Do I see myself so differently? I’m suddenly overcome with the desire to crawl out the window and take my shoes off and learn how to start a fire from nothing. To ask the women what’s so funny, and to laugh with them. Maybe need is different than I thought; maybe it’s the avenue that lets us get close to each other, and I’m the one to be pitied. I want to go back to the hall with Nathaniel and tell him I was chilled to the bone with fear, ask if he could share his blanket with me. I want to sit at the feet of this world that I thought needed me and say, I’m the one who needs you.

The light turns green. Behind the overpass, the evening sky is a burst of orange petals, fire flowers reaching for heaven like children for their mother. The man in combat boots has joined the women in their laughter, and I look in the rearview mirror just to watch them a little longer.