Chapter 2
Grace Holloway
He saved what little I have left of Guy. The studio.
It was our happy place where we laughed, joked and worked together. We were best friends. Lovers. Husband and wife. All I have left is the space we shared, a few of his creations, and the memories.
I just don’t understand why someone would deliberately set fire to it. If I hadn’t smelled the gas myself, I wouldn’t have believed that someone had deliberately tried to burn it down.
“You haven’t seen anyone lurking around? Out by the studio?” He asks, drying his hands on a paper towel.
“I’m sorry. No.”
“Clay said they found a gas can in the woods, but getting fingerprints is questionable.”
I nod, dropping into the chair at the table. I... I don’t know what to do. I overheard Caleb asking the sheriff if he thought I was safe here. It’s my home. It’s all I have. It’s all I have left of... I’m not leaving. I know they want me to, but I’m not.
“I see you have tea and coffee brewed,” Caleb says. “Which can I pour for you?”
“Tea, please.”
He pours from the pot on the counter and fills another cup with coffee for himself before handing me mine. “Drink a little. It’s been a stressful morning for you.”
I take the cup. Just the warmth of it is soothing. Turning a second chair to face me, he sits.
“So, you and Jaxon have known each other for a while?” he asks before taking a sip.
“Everyone knows Jaxon, even if you don’t know him. He’s always been a presence. It’s just who he is. Some people in town were wary when he first moved here, but he was always kind to me. Guy respected him.” I swallow back a new threat of tears.
“You’ll trust Jaxon and I to fix the studio?”
I nod.
“I notice you don’t have any security. Living alone out here, with a studio of valuable product, I think that would be a good investment.”
“I don’t... How much would that cost? It’s expensive right?”
“It can be, but I happen to have an old unit I don’t use anymore. I’ll talk to Jaxon, he’ll help me install it for you when we fix the studio. Would that be okay? I don’t like that someone could have caused you a lot of damage without warning.”
“You don’t know me, Caleb. Why would you do that?”
“You like Earl Grey tea, you have a bag of coffee from Mugg’s Coffee shop on the counter, and Crunchy Cheetos. What more do I need to know? We’re besties.” His smile lights up his face and makes him seem so boyish.
Behind me, Jaxon clears his throat and I glance over my shoulder.
“Sorry to interrupt. I need Rourke for a minute. We’ll be right outside the door.”
I nod. Seems like I’ve been doing that a lot. Words just... I can’t focus on what I need to say or do.
Someone tried to burn down my studio? Why would they do that?
It has to be a mistake. Or maybe they thought the place was abandoned.
There is a cabin about five miles from here that has been deserted for years.
But... kids around here know how dangerous fires can be.
Could it have been someone passing through?
But why start a fire on someone’s property? Nothing makes sense.
Unless the most obvious is true. Me, or my property, was the target. Why?
Pinching my forehead, I try to sooth the tension. I’m tired. So tired. Clasping the cup a little tighter, I swallow back the tears.
Every time I think I’m taking a step forward it feels like I get kicked back two. At least when I had Guy we could lean on each other. Now... now it’s getting harder and harder to find my footing. What is the point when I always just end up alone again?
Why would someone want to come all the way up the mountain just to light a building on fire? Don’t they have something better to do? Everyone in town knows I’m barely making ends meet. What do they think they’d gain? I have nothing of real value except the house and land.
Did they think no one lived here? I know I’m gone a lot, and the yard is a little rough, the bushes need to be trimmed, and new paint would be nice, but...
Yeah, it could look like an abandoned property. I’m also far enough from town not everyone would know this is where I live. The last few years there’s been more people moving to Kennedy and the surrounding area. Maybe it was an accident—
Gasoline is not an accident.
I can’t lose this place. I can’t lose any more.
Just breathe, I remind myself. Just breathe.
Do something normal. Glancing around, I take in the empty cups and trash.
Pushing from the chair, I collect all the dirty dishes I used to serve the team water, tea, coffee, and cookies.
After washing them I put the leftover snacks away and do those plates, toss all the dirty napkins, empty water bottles, and other trash.
In the living area, I straighten the already folded throw blanket on the couch, fluff the pillows, adjust the angle of the rocker, and go in search of the feather duster. Keep busy. Keep the memories at bay.
Fire. Fire took Guy from me. Now someone tried to take my studio and maybe even my home from me with another fire.
After Guy died, I’d heard the whispers, the confusion, the doubts. Then concern for my mental state. She’s too quiet. She’s too fragile. No more shocks. Not now.
People often mistake quietness for weakness. Control for a lack of strength.
The people in town tried to keep their uncertainty from me. Their speculation. But I heard.
Arson. Need proof. Can’t change what happened. The old schoolhouse had been empty and neglected for years. Kids playing. Accident? Or deliberate?
They had concerns but not enough evidence. What they found was that someone had been using the old school as a dumping ground for old paint, aerosol and gas cans, other flammables, and junk rather than disposing of them properly.
What they discovered, what they learned would never bring Guy back.