Home Fires Read online

  “I—I—” She stammered out some nonsense syllables.

  “A right doesn’t erase a wrong.” He stood with a little more agility than normal. “And, for the record, I. Didn’t. Do. It.”

  Chapter 44

  “Come on, Mike. Let’s get out of here.” Cyndi interrupted him as he was about to sink his fork into a piece of pumpkin pie. “I want to get this hospital visit over with so we can go look for Clark.”

  “I haven’t even had my pie yet,” he said. He turned back to the group of guys he was with, most of them homeless, most of them regulars.

  “I’ll be in the car,” Cyndi said. “Bring Zach when you’re ready.”

  She sat in the passenger’s seat, the windows fogging her into an opaque capsule. How dare Joe talk to her like that after all she’d done for him? From the moment she met him, she’d been giving—first the hat and scarf, then food, shelter, a job, and now forgiveness and a get-out-of-jail-free card.

  Mike pulled up on the handle of the driver’s side door. “Spill it. What’s going on?” he said.

  “Do you think I’m a jerk?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Joe thinks I am.”

  “How come?”

  “I just said Spencer Ridley’s illness seemed too coincidental to be a coincidence.”

  Mike cleared his throat. “You said that?”

  She shrugged. “Kinda.”

  “Hon, Spencer’s not in a coma because of the lawsuit or the protests. If that’s the way God works, we’d better cover our heads against the next lightning strike. God doesn’t mete out illnesses as punishment, no more than he gives Christmas bonuses to all the good little boys and girls.”

  “In my head I know it, but in my heart it feels that way.”

  Mike stroked her cheek. “I know it does, sweetheart, but Spencer Ridley no more caused his illness than we caused Madi’s. It’s not a cause-and-effect world.”

  “Who made you so smart?” Cyndi said. It’d be so much easier if it was, if you always knew whose fault things were. She wiped her cheeks. “Here comes Zach.”

  Mike flashed the headlights to signal for the boy to come over. “Let’s drop this for now,” he said. “Zach has enough on his mind without suggesting his dad is anyone’s fault.”

  Zach tried the handle, then tapped on the back door window. His mouth moved and he pointed to the lock.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll keep it to myself.” Cyndi pushed the unlock button, and little black posts jumped up with a soft cachunk. She needed to think about all of this, anyway.

  Once Zach was tucked behind his seat belt, they headed for the hospital.

  Cyndi usually didn’t like silence when they drove, but today she didn’t feel like striking up conversation. Life was complicated.

  Cyndi felt Mike tense as they walked to the elevator. How many times had they been here over the years with Madi? She’d taken her first and her last breath in this building.

  One the critical care floor, they followed Zach as far as his father’s door. They hung back until Zach had a chance to let his mom know they had visitors. Zach came back to the door to invite them in.

  Cyndi extended her hand as she approached the thin, bedraggled woman who barely resembled the Allie she remembered from not too many days before. “I don’t know if you’ve officially met my husband Mike.”

  She did look horrible, nothing like the primped and coiffed beauty from the other side of the courtroom. “Hi, Mike. I’m Zach’s mom. But you know that.”

  Zach. Safe territory.

  “He’s been a terrific help this year. I’m sure you’re very proud of him.” Cyndi could tell Mike was struggling for words.

  Allie forced a smile.

  She glanced over at Spencer, lifeless on the bed, surrounded by blipping machines.

  “Do you need anything? Can we help with anything?” Mike asked.

  “There is something,” Allie said. She fidgeted. “Um, why don’t you sit down?”

  “It’s okay,” Cyndi said.

  Allie ignored her. She dragged her chair to the end of the bed, next to the only other chair in the room. She motioned for Mike and Cyndi to sit. Once they did, she sat on the bed near Spencer’s feet.

  “I don’t know how to say this . . .” Allie stared at the floor.

  The ventilator hissed and moaned, hissed and moaned.

  Allie pressed her hands between her knees, then wiped them on her jeans. Whatever favor she was about to ask would be a huge one.

  “I—I appreciate how you’ve taken Zach in. He’s a completely different kid from when we moved here.”

  Cyndi smiled up at Zach.

  He blushed at the attention.

  Mike said, “We enjoy him. He’s a big help.”

  “Yeah.” Allie put her hand to the back of her neck. “I, um . . . What I wanted to say is . . . it’s my fault.”

  It was the same thing she’d said to Joe that he got so mad about. But now, hearing Allie say it, she heard how ridiculous it sounded. “No, no. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. Zach said it’s something hereditary. Something in the pancreas or spleen?” Did her words ring as hollow to the others as to her?

  “Pancreas,” Zach said.

  “No, not that,” Allie said. “I know that’s not my fault. I mean the tents. It was me. I mean, I slashed the tents.”

  Cyndi felt the blood drain from her face.

  “I can’t stop thinking about it. I thought it would make everything all right. I can see now it was craziness.”

  Complete craziness. Cyndi tried to grasp what was happening. Not Joe?

  The words poured from Allie, as if the pressure of a million pent-up thoughts could no longer be contained once the first and hardest ones were out. Most of them didn’t register. Surely she wasn’t trying to justify this heinous act. “If only I could get Spencer to slow down and see. If I could get Zach to spend more time at home and . . . well, you know.”

  Cyndi looked to see Zach’s reaction, but he was gone.

  Mike spoke in a comforting, controlled voice. He must be outraged, too, but he hid it well. “Do you mind if we pray about this?”

  “No,” Allie said, a hint of excitement creeping into her voice. “I already did. I told God about everything I did, and I didn’t get struck by lightning or anything, and I think maybe he wants to forgive me, and I just can’t believe that’s possible, but it must be possible or I wouldn’t feel that way, would I?”

  Cyndi didn’t know what to say.

  Allie pressed on. “I’ve cried so much lately. I know it’s weird to be asking you, but you’re the only people I know who say they know God. Can he forgive me?”

  Cyndi thought she was going to hyperventilate.

  Mike leaned toward Allie and laid a comforting hand on hers.

  Cyndi staggered out into the hall. She leaned over the drinking fountain and pressed against its metal bar. A stream of tepid water brushed against her lips, but she did not drink. Every fiber told her to reject Allie’s cry for mercy and to prosecute her for the damage done. For months, she had sought her downfall, and now she wanted forgiveness? She’d wrongly sent Joe to jail because of this woman.

  Forgiveness? Impossible.

  Cyndi straightened her back and released the water fountain bar. She paced down the hall and back again. On her way past the waiting area, she caught a glimpse of Zach, leaned over with his head between his knees. She had no comforting words to offer, no answers, only questions.

  At the end of the hall, she turned around to take another lap, as if that would help. Mike stood in Spencer’s doorway. She tried to step around him, tried to avoid his inevitable rationality, but he grasped her arm and kept her from walking past.

  “What are you doing?” He kept his voice low.

  Cyndi was not so soft spoken. “Why are you siding with her?” She twisted out of Mike’s grip and stomped away.

  “She said she was sorry,” he yelled at her back.

  She spun around. “S
orry! Sorry?” Cyndi stalked back to him. “All she has to do is say she’s sorry and it all goes away. Is that it? So what if she slashed the tents? So what if she’s done everything in her power to ruin my life? If she’s sorry, that makes it all better.” She let the sarcasm drip off each word. “Sorry doesn’t cut it. She deserves punishment.”

  “Now hold on,” Mike said. “We can discuss it.”

  Discuss? What was there to discuss? She had broken the law. “I’m pressing charges.”

  Allie stepped into the doorway behind Mike, her eyes full of pain. Well, good.

  Cyndi walked away. At the elevator, as she waited for the doors to open, she could feel Allie’s pleading eyes boring into her head. On second thought, she’d take the stairs.

  Cyndi took her keys in hand before crossing the dark parking lot. She found the car key and stuck it between her fingers with the tip pointing out as a precaution against would-be attackers. It was a silly habit she’d picked up in a self-defense class years ago, and she’d always scoffed at the thought that the tip of a key could actually hurt someone bent on taking down a woman her size. Tonight, though, she had enough anger and adrenaline pumping through her to take on the biggest threat. Lucky for any lurkers, she made it safely to her car.

  Once inside, she waited for the defroster to kick in. Despite the freezing cold, Cyndi’s face burned hot with righteous indignation. She’d intended to go hunt for Clark, but she was on autopilot. Before she knew it, she was back at Home Fires.

  Cyndi burst in through the door of the dining hall.

  Joe was wiping down the tables from the Christmas dinner.

  She stormed past him to her little office and slammed the door behind her.

  After a few seconds, Joe tapped on the door and pushed it open a little. “You all right?” he asked.

  “It’s been a rough night,” Cyndi admitted.

  “No fooling?” Joe let himself in. “I’m not much good at comfort, but I’ll give it a try. What’s up?”

  “People are hard to love. Or even like. I thought we were good together, like family. Only you don’t seem to want a family, and I can’t seem to hang on to one.”

  “Love hurts, you know,” Joe said. “It’ll rip your heart right out if you let it. I’ve been scared of that kind of hurt for a long time. But I’ve gotten to feel a bit of it lately. This place gets under your skin; you people do too.”

  “I thought I was being—”

  “A jerk? Yeah. You were, but that’s what family does, is stick together even when not everybody is lovable.”

  Cyndi let a small smile sneak across her face. “Thanks, Joe. That means a lot,” she said. She took a deep breath. “I owe you an apology.”

  “What for?”

  “You were right. I turned you in. I saw the knife sticking out of your pocket with the blue thread stuck in it . . . But now I know it wasn’t you.”

  “I coulda told you that.”

  “You did. Several times. But I’d figured it all out.”

  “They found him, huh? I’ll be. Who was it?”

  “So I guess I owe you an apology. Now I have someone else to be angry at.”

  “Who?”

  “Zach’s mom.”

  “The protest lady? Figures.”

  Cyndi was surprised. “You knew that was his mom?”

  “He talked about her.”

  Cyndi put her head in her hands. “I feel like I’m being tumbled in a dryer. Everything keeps getting mixed up. I’m angry at you, then I’m not. I’m sorry for her, and she stabs me in the back. I couldn’t look at her face anymore. Even now, I feel like punching someone.”

  Joe laughed. “I guess that’d have to be me. Don’t close the door on Zach because of what she did. He’ll need you more than ever now. He’s a good kid, just needs some direction. You and Mike can give it to him if you can keep your cool and keep your feelings for his folks out of the mix.”

  At Zach’s name, Cyndi snapped. “Oh no! I left Zach and Mike at the hospital. They’ll need a ride.” She grabbed her keys and coat. “I’ve gotta go. Do you want a ride home?”

  She caught herself, too late. “I’m sorry. I meant I can take you wherever you’re staying tonight.”

  He chuckled. “If it’s all the same to you, I was planning to pull a quilt off the wall and curl up on one of the couches. These nights when the chill settles, I can’t stand the thought of sleeping outside.”

  “You can curl up here if you want to,” Cyndi said. “But just for the night; then you’ll need to find a more permanent solution.”

  “Fair enough,” Joe said. “I noticed you’ve got a pretty nice tent city set up over there. Think they’ve got room for one more?”

  Cyndi patted him on the back. They’d both made progress tonight.

  When she got back to the hospital, Cyndi tried calling Mike to tell him to meet her in the car. His phone went straight to message, though. It must be off.

  She reluctantly climbed the stairs and walked toward Spencer’s room. She hoped to catch Mike’s attention without having to face Allie again. But when she looked in the window, she was surprised to find only Mike sitting by Spencer’s bed.

  “Where’s Zach and his mom?”

  Mike looked up. His eyes were swollen like he’d been crying. “They went home. Allie is going to turn herself in, and they wanted a few minutes alone together before they have to face whatever comes next.”

  “And you trust her to actually call the police?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. I do.”

  Cyndi took a deep breath. She pulled a second chair up beside Spencer’s bed. Such a handsome man, now reduced to a pile of flesh held together with life-giving machinery. It was hard to hate someone who had fallen so far. She reached out tentatively and placed her hand on his arm. She’d almost expected it to be cold, but it still held the warmth of life.

  “God help me, Mike, I can’t live with all the hostility. I sustained it as long as I did because they kept egging me on. But with him like this and Allie facing her punishment, I just don’t think I can keep up the fight.”

  Mike laid his hand on top of hers and pulled it to his lap. “I’ve been sitting here thinking about how we’ve been sidetracked from what’s important. The only fight I want to keep up is to get Clark back.”

  “Me, too.” Cyndi leaned her forehead against Mike’s. “Me, too.”

  Once Allie turned herself in, Cyndi’s hard heart started softening. Slowly, but it was softening. That’s how she could stand to sit at a table in Home Fires a couple of months later with Joe and Mike and watch a recap of the day’s events play out on the news.

  Rebecca Whitt stood on the courthouse steps, her hair blowing about her face. She yelled into her microphone to be heard above the wind. “A few minutes ago, in a bizarre turn of events, Allie Ridley, wife of the plaintiff in the recently dismissed lawsuit of Ridley v. Riverton Plaza, was sentenced for the crime of vandalism. She pled guilty to slashing and upending sixteen tents in Tent City Three, which, at the time of the crime, was housed on the property of the very group her husband was suing. The tent city has since moved to another temporary location. Criminal damage of this degree is a class-six felony, which carries a maximum jail term of one year.

  “When the judge gave her opportunity to express her remorse to the court, Mrs. Ridley made the following statement.”

  Footage of Allie Ridley standing before the judge in a black business suit played behind Rebecca’s voice. The words were burned in Cyndi’s memory, but she listened anyway. The sound faded to the courtroom as Allie read a prepared statement.

  “Your Honor, I wish to express my sincere regret and remorse for what I did. I had no excuse for destroying those people’s homes. I thought, somehow, that I could scare them out of my neighborhood. But I see now that my actions were unreasonable and wrong. Even if they had produced the results I sought, they would have been wrong, and I am truly sorry for what I have done. I am ready to pay for my actions. I’ve changed
a lot in the past three months. I’ve learned to look less at myself and more at the people around me. Please give me a chance to prove my change of heart.”

  Cyndi imagined the words might sound insincere to people watching the newscast, but she’d spent enough time with Allie lately to know the woman had truly changed.

  So had Cyndi.

  Rebecca resumed her report on the cameraman’s cue.

  “Mrs. Ridley confessed in December, two weeks after the crime was committed. The judge today sentenced her to four months in jail, but suspended this portion of the sentence. She was also sentenced to four hundred hours’ community service. The owners of Home Fires, the very soup kitchen she was suing, have requested that her community service time be spent with them, serving the homeless people she tried to hurt.

  “Whether she has truly turned over a new leaf, only time will tell.

  “I’m Rebecca Whitt, News Channel Seven.”

  As soon as the story was over, Joe turned away from the news on TV and back to Cyndi and Mike, who sat across from him.

  “I guess that’s a wrap,” he said. “I don’t think they’ll have anything to report about us again.”

  “I sure hope not.” Cyndi was done in. It had been a rough few months for everyone, but she felt like the men carried their fatigue more easily. The problems with Allie were nothing compared to Cyndi’s continuous worry over Clark. She stayed awake every night praying for the girl’s safe return, every afternoon searching the streets for her.

  “It’s only a half hour until we’re supposed to meet with Allie,” Mike said. “You look beat, honey. Why don’t you go home and rest, and we’ll take care of making arrangements with her.”

  Cyndi didn’t want to rest . . . couldn’t rest. “I’m fine,” she said. “I’ll go with you.” Not that the men couldn’t show her everything, but this felt like Cyndi’s mountain to climb, a last challenge in overcoming the bitterness that still fermented in corners of her heart. She knew it was her problem, not Allie’s, but she was ready to get through it.

  Cyndi knew her own scars were still tender. “I feel like it might be too soon.”