Home Fires Read online

  Clark wouldn’t have done it. That show of emotion was too real.

  Honestly, it could be anyone. How much did Cyndi really know the people living on her grounds? She wanted to trust them, but honestly, of all the homeless people she’d been in contact with, she knew Clark the best. And she couldn’t even predict what color hair she would show up with, much less what angst and passion drove her.

  It took more than an hour for the police to gather the evidence they needed. One officer took notes while another measured and photographed the scene. Two of the officers headed over to the soup kitchen to interview witnesses and another questioned Mike, Clark, and Cyndi.

  When the tent city residents were released, Cyndi eyed each one with suspicion. The residents without tents milled around, unsure of how to go about replacing or repairing their downed homes.

  Cyndi stood and stared at the mess.

  “Hon, why don’t you just go home? We’ll take care of things here,” Mike offered.

  Even if she’d wanted to leave, she didn’t think she could get her feet to move. Everything—hands and feet, but especially her brain—was numb. Her heart ached. “I—I don’t know where to start.”

  “We could start with a prayer.”

  She hated the idea. What good had prayer ever done? What good would it do now, when it was too late? She found herself, once again and against her will, holding hands with Mike, who held hands with Nance, who held hands with Amanda and on around the circle.

  They had so many words that seemed to gather on the ground in the middle of the circle, a pile of prayers that would rot in place.

  Somewhere in the middle of the prayer, the dulling shock started wearing off. A knot burned in her gut, a small hot kernel that grew and caught and blazed up into anger—at whoever did this, at Mike for being so calm, even at God. When Mike finally said amen, she jerked her hand out of his and stomped off to the farthest tent.

  It lay smashed and deflated.

  She didn’t need to undo the zipper to grab the never-used sleeping bag and foam pad through the jagged cut in its side. She yanked on them. The sleeping bag snagged on the hole. She pulled harder. The bag ripped and bled feathers into the air.

  “Aaarrh!” Cyndi threw the bag on the ground. She stomped her feet. She was done.

  Done!

  “Hey, hey!” Mike came up behind her. “Calm down, hon.”

  “Calm down? Calm down!” She couldn’t control the rise of her voice, didn’t want to, really. “It’s ruined!”

  “Shh.” Mike pulled her into a hug.

  She pulled against him, but he didn’t let up. She pulled again, then realized he wasn’t letting her go until she relaxed into him.

  He stroked the back of her head. “Shh. It’ll be okay.”

  She buried her face in his shoulder. “I don’t see how.”

  He tilted her head back so he could see her eyes. “I know you don’t, but it will. A good night’s sleep will do us all a lot of good.”

  “Speaking of sleep,” Nance said.

  Cyndi hadn’t seen her standing there.

  Nance fiddled with a tent rod. “Speaking of sleep, where are we going to put everyone tonight? We can’t exactly send them out to find other shelter this late at night.”

  They couldn’t, but what else could they do?

  “Maybe . . .” Mike said. He let go of Cyndi. “Maybe we should open up the dining room for the night. Everyone can sleep inside.”

  Cyndi shook her head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” There was the fire code. And the fact that one of them might be the vandal. And—

  Mike laid his hand on her shoulder. “It might be our only choice. We invited them here to get them off the street. I don’t think we should send them straight back out the first time something goes wrong. We’ve got forty people inside who are counting on us to provide a warm dry place for the night. I think we should take care of them.”

  Nance dropped the tent pole as if she was ready to run inside and start setting up beds.

  “Wait,” Cyndi said. “What if one of them is the vandal? We can’t afford to have the kitchen trashed too.”

  “Hon, it’s God’s kitchen. He can take care of it.”

  “Like he took care of the tents?” She felt hysteria rising in her again.

  “In this world, you will have trouble,” Mike said. “He doesn’t promise everything’s gonna be easy. But he does promise he’s bigger than all the mess. Trust me, Cyn. If you can’t trust him, trust me. We need to get everything moved inside so people can get some sleep.”

  She did trust Mike. Mostly.

  Nance was already hauling stuff out of the nearest tent. There was no stopping people with big hearts and good intentions.

  Cyndi walked over to Nance and picked up a foam mat.

  “Just for tonight,” she said. “To get everyone out of the cold.”

  Chapter 36

  In the morning, Cyndi walked through the field surveying the damage. In filtered, foggy light, things looked worse than the night before. A cold December drizzle lent a wilted look even to the tents that still stood.

  Clark found her own tent, picked up a corner, and dragged it toward the huge Dumpster they’d had brought in to clean up the site. The nylon rain fly dragged behind her in the mud like a dead snake.

  Cyndi wanted to cry for her. She knew Clark had already cried plenty last night. She’d heard her quiet sobs in the Home Fires dining hall long after the other guests had gone to sleep.

  Clark stopped near her. Around her eyes was puffy and dark. She shook her head. “I can’t believe it.”

  “Me neither, sweetie.” Cyndi wished she had something else, something more powerful to say.

  “It was stupid of me to think a tent and a sleeping bag would really make a difference.”

  “Not stupid, just optimistic.”

  Zach walked up beside Clark. He slipped his arm around her waist. “I’m so sorry.”

  She buried her face in his sweatshirt and wrapped her arms around him. “It’s not your fault.”

  Cyndi had never seen Clark like this. Her defensive facade was broken down, and she was actually letting her real emotions show through. Problem was, her spunk was gone as well. It was just a small bump in the grand view of Clark’s hard and complicated life. For the moment, though, the girl must feel like she couldn’t catch a break.

  A blinding light shone in Cyndi’s eyes. She put a hand up to shield her eyes and see where the light came from. By the time she realized a TV camera was trained on her and the two kids, Zach was already hurtling toward it.

  He thrust his hands out to cover the camera lens. “What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.

  Clark pulled her jacket up to block her face. She took off at a sprint across the field.

  Cyndi knew she couldn’t catch her on foot, so she ran for her car. She slammed the door shut and turned the key.

  Immediately, the windows fogged. She flicked the defroster on high. “Come on, come on,” she whispered, as if her words would make the fog dissipate. She leaned forward and wiped the opaque windows with her bare hand.

  Which way did she go? At the street, Cyndi randomly chose to go right. She turned right again into the Riverton Heights neighborhood, her eyes peeled for movement.

  Where was she? Every second stretched.

  Cyndi tore up and down the streets. She didn’t see her. She sped back to the main road and went into the next neighborhood. On the third street, she caught a glimpse of Clark dashing into the park.

  Cyndi careened into the curb and threw the car into park. She jumped out of the car and ran after her. “Clark! Stop, honey! It’s me!”

  Clark kept going.

  Cyndi jogged to catch up. When she was close enough, she reached out to Clark’s shoulder. “You don’t need to run.”

  Clark gasped for breath. She halfheartedly tried to pull away.

  Cyndi lowered her hand to Clark’s and led her to a park bench. “It’
s okay. Just breathe.”

  Clark’s cheeks burned red.

  Cyndi’s heart ached for her. She clutched her hand tighter. “I wish I could make everything better for you.” She wished for adequate words of comfort. She knew Clark well enough now to give her silence to work out her own thoughts.

  They sat without talking for several minutes.

  Clark sniffed and leaned forward on her elbows. Cyndi rested a hand on the middle of Clark’s back.

  Cyndi started feeling cold. She thought about going back to her car for the old army blanket she kept inside, but she didn’t want to break the moment with Clark. Her patience paid off.

  “I used to play in a park like this one,” Clark said. “I’d swing as high as I could. I thought if I went high enough I could fly away. See that house?” She pointed across the street to a beautiful Tudor whose brick facade and manicured hedges hinted at the type of people who lived there. “I used to live in a place like that. Bigger, though. We had beautiful flower gardens. I had blue frilly curtains on my bedroom windows. But all the fancy stuff on the outside was hiding ugly stuff you couldn’t see.”

  Cyndi looked more closely at the house and wondered if it hid dark secrets.

  “He said not to tell anyone. He said people wouldn’t understand, that what we had was special. But it didn’t feel special—it felt wrong . . .”

  Cyndi took in what Clark was saying, though she didn’t want to understand.

  “He said he’d hurt me if I told anyone.” Clark scoffed. “Like he hadn’t already. I was more afraid he’d hurt Mom. Or maybe kill her. I thought I could keep her safe by doing what he wanted. It was stupid. I couldn’t protect her.”

  Cyndi couldn’t begin to understand the amount of suffering this child had lived through in her short life. “Your father?” she asked.

  “Stepdad. The last one. Did you know my mom died? Two years ago. In a car accident.”

  “I didn’t know.”

  “I couldn’t protect her.”

  Cyndi thought of Madi. She gasped out a quiet sob. “Sometimes things happen.” She dropped her hand to squeeze Clark’s. “You know it wasn’t your fault, don’t you?”

  “In my head . . . but my heart—I couldn’t stay. I can’t go back there.”

  “We won’t let that happen. Hey—” She checked the words before she said them, made sure they weren’t on a whim. “What if you live with me and Mike until we can work out something permanent for you?” It wasn’t the first time she’d thrown the idea out there, but she thought this time Clark might grasp on to it. She knew the girl wouldn’t fling herself on the ground in gratitude, but when Clark shrank down even more, she didn’t know what to do. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  Clark looked away. She mumbled, “I just, I know the streets.”

  Of course. Cyndi didn’t have to know how to read minds to understand what Clark meant. She was afraid to be in a house, with a man, behind closed doors. Mike would never hurt her. He loved her almost like he’d loved their own daughter. But if Clark wasn’t comfortable, Cyndi wouldn’t force her.

  They sat awhile longer, not talking. Far down the street, Cyndi saw Zach jogging toward them. When he reached the edge of the park, he slowed to a walk. He plopped down on the bench on the other side of Clark.

  “Hey,” he said. His breath hung in the air.

  “Hey,” Cyndi said.

  Clark just crossed her arms.

  “I caught up with that reporter.” Zach wiped his mouth. “I explained your situation. She was shooting live before, but she promised she won’t run that clip again. There’s no way he was watching local news on a Friday morning . . . is there?”

  Clark shrugged.

  Zach put his hand on her arm. “It’s gonna be fine. He didn’t see it.”

  Clark stared down the road as if the answer she needed lay at the other end. “I don’t know.”

  Zach laced his fingers through Clark’s. He stood and tugged at her. “Come on.”

  She dragged one foot after his, then the next.

  Cyndi followed them to her car. She drove them back to Home Fires and let Clark hang out in her office.

  She took a seat facing her.

  Clark ran her thumbnail along the edge of the desk, back and forth. She dug into the surface of the wood.

  “Don’t—” Cyndi started. She stopped herself. Don’t squash her, she told herself. Don’t smother her. Give her space. After a few minutes, she caught herself picking at the worn spots on the knees of her jeans. She was just as fidgety as Clark. They couldn’t just sit here forever, but where else could they go?

  “Tea?” Mike stood in the doorway, holding an insulated mug.

  Cyndi nodded. “Clark?”

  The girl shook her head.

  “Then I’ll take it. Thanks.” She wrapped her fingers around the cup as if its heat would soak through. She walked out into the hallway with Mike, thankful for the distraction.

  “Come outside,” Mike said, tipping his head toward the front door. “You need to see the progress we’re making.”

  What difference did it make what kind of progress they were making? They hadn’t caught the vandals yet. What would keep them from striking again?

  The scene in the field surprised Cyndi. Half a dozen Home Fires workers were setting up brand-new tents.

  “Wha—how?”

  Mike grinned. “All donated. People who saw the news last night have been dropping off tents and other supplies all morning.” He leaned over to pick up the torn packaging from one of the new tents. He walked over and tossed it into a nearby Dumpster.

  A patrol car turned up the road. Its tires crunched through the loose gravel. It pulled over along the curb near where Mike and Cyndi stood. An officer climbed out and approached them. “Morning, folks.”

  Cyndi’s stomach knotted.

  “Good morning,” Mike said. “Any news?”

  The officer held out his hand to shake Mike’s and Cyndi’s. “Sergeant Stanislaus,” he said.

  “Mike Finch.”

  “Mike, you’re the one I’m looking for. I have questions about a couple of people.”

  Cyndi offered, “We could go inside. Home Fires is warmer.”

  They walked across the field together. Inside, Mike dragged three chairs into a corner where they could speak in private. “Coffee? Doughnut?” he offered.

  Sergeant Stanislaus laughed. “Coffee, black. Hold the doughnut.”

  Cyndi poured the coffee. She took the third chair. “What did you find?”

  The officer referred to a small notebook. “We’ve eliminated nearly everyone we interviewed who was inside last night.”

  “What about neighbors?” Mike said. “Did you talk to Spencer Ridley? He’s been antagonistic.”

  “We did. He’s got a solid alibi. It wasn’t him.”

  “What about his wife?” Cyndi asked.

  The officer shook his head. “We’ll look into it. I wanted to talk to you about someone else. Joseph Talbot?”

  “Joe?” His name caught in Cyndi’s throat.

  “We know him,” Mike said. “But he wouldn’t—”

  Sergeant Stanislaus stopped him. “He’s just a person of interest at this point. But I do have some questions.”

  “Shoot,” Mike said.

  “Is it true he threatened the tent city?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “And your wife?”

  “Yes, but—”

  The only time Joe had threatened them was when they ran into him on the street last week. Cyndi tried to think who might have seen the argument.

  “It was just words,” Mike said. “In the heat of the moment.”

  “What exactly did he say to you?”

  “I don’t remember the exact words.”

  Cyndi did. They were burned in her mind. When things go wrong for you, you’ll show people who you really are. When he’d said it, she’d taken it as a threat. Maybe that’s not what he meant, though.

  �
��Joe didn’t do it,” she said. “He couldn’t have.” With the idea planted in her head, she couldn’t shake it. Of course he could have. He was that mad.

  Stanislaus closed his notebook and rose to leave. “Thanks for your help. We’ll keep you apprised if there are further developments.”

  Mike showed him to the door.

  As soon as they were out of earshot, swells of emotions burbled up in Cyndi. Joe was her friend.

  Wasn’t he?

  In her gut, she knew. But she wouldn’t believe it until she’d talked to him face-to-face.

  Cyndi bundled up in hat and coat. She threw her purse over her shoulder.

  “Where are you going?” Mike asked.

  “Downtown. I’m going to look for Joe.” She didn’t want to confront him, but she had to know if he was the one. Now that the officer had suggested it, she couldn’t shake it loose. She’d start at all his regular haunts. Maybe someone at one of the shelters would know where to find him.

  She was almost to her car when she heard the barking.

  Wolf bounded across the parking lot toward her, ears flapping, tongue lolling out the side of his happy mouth. He stopped at her feet and leaned against her leg.

  She scratched his head. “Hello, boy. Where’s your person?” Wolf wouldn’t be here without Joe.

  As it turned out, Cyndi didn’t have far to look. She walked across the field to check on the progress at the tent city before heading downtown to look for Joe.

  The sun had burned through the fog, but the grass was still damp. The ground would take days to dry even if it didn’t rain.

  Wolf led Cyndi straight to Joe. She found him on his hands and knees, wiping ground tarps with a ragged towel. She stopped short of the tarp edge and folded her arms across her chest. “What brings you down here?” she demanded. What she really wanted to ask was “How dare you?”

  “I heard you had some trouble here last night,” Joe said, twisting his neck to look at Cyndi.

  “Yeah.” She watched his face for signs of guilt. This was a man who knew how to keep secrets. How was she to know what he had done or not done? She couldn’t know anything for sure unless he said it. And even then—

  “Thought I’d come on down and help out. Now that I’m down on the ground, though, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to get up. I might have to move in after all. Just pitch a tent over me right here.”