When I turned back, Jasper pushed me so hard that I fell through the coffee table, glass shattering. Carl went to restrain Jasper, holding him in a full nelson, forcefully walking him toward the front door.
Madison came running down the steps, holding Timothy, and she looked at me for a second before she finally ran out of the house. Timothy looked at the fire through heavy lids, like he couldn’t be bothered.
Bessie and Roland were simply touching objects, the sofa cushions, a painting on the wall, setting it all ablaze, calmly moving through the house.
Still lying there, I turned to see Mary, holding some expensive pots and pans, walk out the front door without looking back. I wished her all the best in the world, every good thing.
I pulled myself off the table. I was scratched up pretty bad, but no gashes, nothing too serious. I ran over to the children, who were now in the hallway.
“Let’s go,” I said. “We have to go.”
They looked at me, confused. “You and me,” I said. “We’re going. We’re going away.”
“Just the three of us?” Bessie asked, and I nodded.
They closed their eyes, took deep breaths. I wanted to hold them, to pull them into my arms, but I stood there, as close as I could get to the heat, and watched as they slowly pulled the fire back inside themselves. There were all these little fires burning in the mansion, and we stared at them, dumbfounded at the mess we had made. It wasn’t beautiful, but it was hard to look away from.
Just then, Carl ran back into the mansion. “Get out of here,” he shouted. I grabbed the kids and we moved to the door, but then he stopped us.
“The back door,” he said. “Go get some clothes, pack a bag. As quick as you can.” He handed me a ring of keys and pointed to one of them. “The Civic is in the garage,” he said. “Just take it. Don’t tell me where you’re going. Just go.”
“Thank you,” I said, taking the keys.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“It’s okay,” I told him. He ran into the kitchen for a fire extinguisher, and we were out the back door.
“Get some clothes,” I told the kids the second we were inside the guesthouse. “Whatever, it doesn’t matter.” It took us five minutes, maybe less, the kids shaking off their burned clothes and putting on their Nomex. I grabbed my wallet, a candy bar, trying to concentrate and not succeeding. When we walked out of the guesthouse, we saw the inside of the mansion lit up, flickering from the flames. We crept around to the garage and piled into the Honda. I started it up, told the kids to put on their seat belts. I looked at Madison, who was still holding Timothy. As I drove off, she turned to look at me. I waved to her. She smiled. She waved back. And then she turned to the house, watching it.
Farther down the long driveway I saw Mary, and slowed to offer her a ride. She said that her boyfriend was coming to get her, and she waved me on. The kids said goodbye to her, and then I sped off, watching the mansion in my rearview the entire time; the children turned around to look, too. A few minutes later, two fire trucks, their sirens blaring, sped in the opposite direction, toward the estate.
In that moment, still nearly hyperventilating, I couldn’t figure out just how bad things were. How illegal was it, what I’d done? Kidnapping? Arson? Physical assault against a secretary of state? I bet there were so many other charges that I wasn’t even considering, that I wouldn’t even know about until the judge read them off to me in court, while I was waving to the kids, telling them everything was real cool, just fine.
I honestly just drove for a while, no real consideration of where I was or where I was going. Part of the problem was that I didn’t really know where to go. I figured we should get a hotel room, but that seemed suspicious. I was cut up from the coffee table.
I finally found the interstate and got on it, speeding up to merge with traffic. The kids had been so quiet, probably traumatized, but there was nothing I could do about that now. Setting your childhood home on fire, that seemed like some symbolically heavy shit. I looked in the rearview mirror and saw that both of them were wide awake, staring at me.
“Hey, kiddos,” I said, smiling.
“Are we in trouble?” Bessie asked.
“Some,” I admitted.
“What are we going to do?” Roland asked.
“I don’t know yet,” I said.
“Well, where are we going?” Bessie asked.
And I knew it, the way it clicked into place, the only option I had. The car was already going there. It was unavoidable.