Chapter 47
Chapter Forty-Seven
As the day of his leaving approached, Dylan cleared out the barn, readying to drop Thunder and Mercury at Silver Sky. He closed up the house and the other barns, locking away the dirt bike, the four-by-four and the bicycles he’d ridden with Willow.
In the evening, he sat on the back porch, Elvis at his feet, and watched the clouds roll in over Starlight Mountain.
But instead of the terrible memories of looking out at it as a kid, he thought of moments he’d spent with Willow, pictured them swimming together in the Redemption and riding out in the early morning mist. He was thankful suddenly for those new memories, they didn’t eradicate the past but seemed to overtake it—created a thicker, more vibrant layer over the top.
Even when he looked in the house, he saw Bella now instead of the memory of his mother’s haunted eyes.
He’d done—he supposed—what he came back to do; say goodbye to the past. Close a chapter. But it felt annoyingly like in the process he’d opened a new one, one he felt less keen to escape.
He stared out at the gray sky and the blackened mountain trying not to think about Willow, about what she was doing in New York, whether her knee hurt, whether her hair was straight, whether she was thinking about him.
He must have dozed off, because the crack of thunder took him completely by surprise. He opened his eyes to see thick charcoal cloud rolling in like waves from the mountain. The sky rumbled again, booming above his head. Elvis slunk under Dylan’s chair. He hated thunder.
Then came the first fork of lightning, crackling down to the mountain. As a kid, he used to watch these storms with his brother, both mesmerized, their noses pressed to the window, trying to believe that the sky was alight with magic.
He stood on the veranda, hands in his pockets, staring out at the black horizon and the flashes that silhouetted the mountain.
Then the rain started, first in a light pitter-patter and then heavier, puddling through the holes in the roof.
Elvis whimpered under the chair. The trees whipped in the growing breeze.
The thunder rumbled like great drums above them.
As the stormed moved closer, Dylan walked to the edge of the veranda, leaning against one of the posts and looking up into the rain at the sheets of lightning. The light was so bright it left imprints on his retina.
He got out his phone to try and catch a near-impossible picture of the lightning to send to his brother, when suddenly there was a bang, like gunfire, and the whole decrepit house shook. Dylan flinched, Elvis shot away, moving quicker than he had in years.
Turning around and looking up, he saw that the chimney was on fire—then, before he had time to do anything there was a crash as it fell forward, taking half the old, tired roof with it.
Dylan jumped back off the veranda and jogged out into the rain.
Behind him, fire licked through timber, and glass from the windows shattered.
His main thought was how close the barn was to the house. The wind was already catching the flames, whipping them up so they tore through the upper story of the house. A shutter fell from the window, bouncing off the veranda roof and landing on the grass near his feet.
He ran over to the barn, throwing open the stall doors to get Thunder and Mercury out.
The rain was picking up, pelting down heavy on the barn roof.
Trying to sooth the panicked horses, he led them into the paddock, through the old gates and over the grass to a strip of trees near where his van was parked that separated the land from the road.
Leading the horses to shelter, he talked calmly all the way while the house crackled and burned behind him.
When he was certain they were as safe as they could be, Dylan called 911, then stood in the driveway, arms crossed over his chest, watching the destruction unfold.
Flames licked high from the bones of the roof.
Vivid amber against the purple sky. More shutters fell.
Ones from his old bedroom clattered to the ground.
The wind blew toward the mountain taking the smoke and the heat with it.
The fire caught the old tree that had fallen into the house years before, like matches igniting the branches and spreading the flames out across the veranda roof.
The rain got heavier. Dylan watched as the veranda posts fell, hitting the grass like toppled statues while the already damaged roof creaked and shuddered as it tore slowly from the walls.
All that history collapsing in front of his eyes. The cool rain soaked his hair, trickling down his back as he watched the house burn. The fire leaped and hissed, sending clouds of black smoke up into the already darkened sky.
When he heard the sounds of tires crunching on the drive, he glanced across and saw Emmett Carter’s shiny new truck pull up. Dylan watched him cut the engine, open the door and step outside, hat on, collar of his rain slicker turned up against the deluge.
Emmett looked around as if searching for someone and Dylan took a few paces forward, raised his hand to show where he was. Emmett strode over, head bent against the rain. When he reached Dylan, he said, “I saw the flames from the ranch. Came to see if you need a hand.”
Dylan tried to hide his surprise. He nodded, touched by the gesture, and said, “I’m fine, thank you very much. I’ve got the horses out of the barn and my dog is somewhere off out there.” He gestured over into the distance where the mountain loomed behind the billowing smoke.
The sound of sirens approached.
Emmett stood and looked at the burning house. What remained of the roof was skeletal. Pieces of singed timber, shutters, veranda posts kept falling, their flames flickering against the damp grass and going out.
The two men stood side by side watching the destruction. Watching memories ignite and combust before their eyes. Watching years of history disappear.
Dylan saw his bedroom walls as the front of the upper floor collapsed. He saw the posters on the walls, the bedcover, the shelf of football trophies. He saw the dolls on the dresser in Ruby’s room.
He wondered for a moment what Emmett saw.
Then the firefighters arrived and there was a new kind of commotion. They swept in, taking control, dousing the flames with their water jets.
Dylan wanted to tell them to let it burn. But he just stood and watched. Emmett beside him. The night sky darkening around the slowly fading inferno.
A while later, Emmett said, “You can spend the night at ours.”
Dylan looked at the older man’s profile. The confident jut of his chin, the steadiness of his gaze as he watched the firefighters at work. He wondered if the offer of a bed meant as much to him as it did to Dylan.
“Thank you, I appreciate the offer, sir,” he replied. “But I can sleep in the van.”
Emmett glanced across, didn’t argue with him, just nodded.
Then they went back to watching the blazing downfall of the Hawkins house.