Chapter 32
APRIL
BY THE TIME WE ARRIVE in Argyle for more sorting and cleaning, the tarp over the kitchen is slapping at the house.
Trees are frenzied and bending low, as if waving their limbs to get our attention.
Wind seems so innocent until a day like this, when it could lift a pole from cement or throw a cottonwood through a window.
We knew the forecast was iffy, but we thought we had more time.
We spring out of the car, and I narrow my eyes to block the swirling dust and dirt. We only have half a house for shelter, but it’s better than nothing. Grabbing as much loose miscellany as I can, I push through the front door. The tarp is even louder inside, and I’m not sure if it’s going to hold.
I round the corner toward the unburned side, my eyes adjusting to the darkness. An angry whistle of wind surrounds me. There’s a pile of stuff in the hall, so I unload my armful on top of it.
The pile shifts and yells, “Ow!”
I let out a scream.
Leo appears fast by my side as a bearded face emerges from the heap.
Leo steps in front of me and says, “It’s okay, we won’t hurt you.”
My heart races. We won’t hurt him?!
Both men hold their arms up. The man makes no move to rise, and Leo is towering over him. I whisper, “I think he’s on something.”
Leo says impatiently over his shoulder, “And?”
Their arms lower slowly, and Leo sits down on the floor with him.
I’m left standing frozen in place, heart thumping.
The man seems to barely be with us, and Leo begins to gather the bilge from around him. “Hey man, sorry to say but you’ve got to leave our house.”
The guy groans as Leo continues. “I’m not calling the cops—I’ve squatted before too—but you have to let me take you somewhere.”
I double back at the ease with which Leo lied.
The man nods. “Okay.” His voice sounds like it hasn’t been used in a century. He stands up, holding a green knit baby blanket. He is skin and bones and sweat. “Can I have some food first?”
Apologetically, Leo says, “We don’t have a kitchen. Is a drive-thru okay?”
The man nods.
—And then the storm siren goes off.
I cover my ears, locking eyes with Leo and saying through gritted teeth, “We don’t even have a solid house!”
He scans our dilapidated home. “The hall will be fine.” Another lie. The windows nearest us are gone from the fire, nothing but planks of wood. Having no better option, the three of us sink to the floor, hunkering down in the grayscale dark as the whistle of wind becomes a scream.
I breathe through my mouth: our guest is unshowered.
I text to check with Mom, and she says it’s only a light drizzle over there, so at least the kids are safe.
The tarp whips up and down. I shut my eyes, and Leo grips my hand as it gets to the point in the storm when we can’t tell what the crashes and clanks are.
Metal, wood, plastic, who knows. We can’t know whether our remaining roof is about to lift away, or whether a tree trunk is going to fly at our skulls, killing us on impact. All we can do is wait.
“I’m Leo.”
I open my eyes to see Leo addressing our squatter, who is shaking.
“Nathaniel.”
Leo turns to me expectantly, so I say, “April.”
“Hey—” Leo stretches to pick something up. “A book.”
Our bookshelf was on the other side of the kitchen wall, lost to the fire. This one must have been hiding somewhere else in the house. Nathaniel and I watch Leo shine his phone light on the cover. The Little Prince.
The sirens are quiet now, but the storm is still ramping up.
The warning won’t expire for twenty more minutes, which might as well be eternity with a storm like this.
Lightning flashes around us. Wind is lashing what remains of our house, and the sounds are horrendous.
Leo’s phone light still on, he asks if he should read.
Neither of us responds, so he just starts reading, loudly.
Once when I was six I saw a magnificent picture in a book…
We can hear it the instant the tarp flies off our roof, ratcheting up the volume of the storm.
We hear branches snap as if they’re close enough to reach out and touch.
Thunder vibrates through us. Leo reads louder, telling the story of a planet-hopping child, and I feel like I might weep.
Like we might die. Nathaniel and I stare at each other in the shadows.
When the world quiets at last, we all exhale, alive.
Leo lowers the prince and his planets.
Nathaniel breaks the silence. “Wonder what happens to that kid.” His words bump into each other as he stands and folds his blanket. His hands are jittery, but he takes care to make neat folds.
Leo holds the book out to him, but Nathaniel says, “Nah.”
Leo insists. “So you can find out what happens to him.”
“S’okay. Can’t read.”
All the starry-eyed dreams of my youth rise up to deride me. Young April who wanted to change the world, one page at a time.
We emerge from the hallway into the roofless part of the house. In the gray light, I can see that Nathaniel’s eyes are blue. Bloodshot, yet blue as a sky that has never known rain. I wonder if he once had a mother who kissed the corners of his eyes the way I kiss Otto’s.
He looks at me. “Sorry, I thought the house was abandoned.”
Before I can respond, Leo inserts, “It’s always startling to find someone in the house you don’t expect to be there.” He stares straight at me and my scarlet letter. Then he turns—first his face, then his eyes—toward our stranger. “Ready to go get some food?”
Nathaniel says, “Give me a sec to take a leak.” And he does a little shuffle out the door.
Leo faces me. “You okay here until I get back?”
I nod, fighting the urge to ask him to do a sweep of the house. It’s not like there’s another person hiding here. So after giving Nathaniel a minute for privacy, we follow him out front.
Everything is now still, branches and brush scattered everywhere. There’s no sign of our tarp, and a lawn chair has blown in from somewhere down the road. Lots of loose paper and plastic bags. Our car is coated with twigs, but it’s undamaged.
When Leo leaves with Nathaniel, I make the call for a new tarp, and I amble through the house collecting trash.
I gather remnants of a foam alphabet mat and the HomeGoods print that I liked but Leo hated.
Another minor tragedy of my marriage is that I was too embarrassed to like what I liked, so the print never came out of its box under our bed.
If we go through with this divorce, I’m going on a HomeGoods shopping spree.
In the bedroom, my heart slows for the first time in over an hour, leaving my limbs heavy.
I’ve spent very little time in our bedroom since the fire, and I realize I’m completely wiped.
I curl up on the mattress that reeks of smoke.
A small plume of dust rises, but I flip the pillow over, too exhausted to care.
I can hear Leo saying gently, We won’t hurt you.
Hear him saying bitterly, It’s always startling to find someone in the house you don’t expect to be there.
I close my eyes and let sleep whisk me away, just for a minute.
Then, Leo is nudging me, perched on the edge of the bed.
The shadows in the room have shifted.
I rub my eyes—I was dreaming of my dad. We were under a baobab tree, his scarf blowing in the wind. He was a young boy, and he didn’t know my name.
Leo holds out a creased photograph of himself. “I don’t know where that pile in the hall came from, but look at this.”
Wait. It’s not Leo. I look closer.
“My dad,” he says. “Knew I had a picture somewhere.”
“Wow.” I take it carefully. “You look just like him.” I’ve always wanted to see what his parents looked like, so I study the young man in the picture. “Cool tattoo.” A lion is inked on his arm, ready to pounce. “You sure I’ve never seen this before?”
“It was in a folder I hadn’t opened since college.”
I pass it back to him, the day returning to me. “Everything okay with Nathaniel?”
“He asked for Wendy’s and St. Andrew’s, so that’s where I took him.”
I tuck my legs underneath me. “Why did you lie to him about being a squatter?”
Leo frowns. “I wouldn’t lie about that.”
“What? When were you in that position?”
“When do you think? After Nacho and Izzy’s.”
A decade with this man, and it’s like I just met him. I didn’t realize it was that bad. I just thought…well, I don’t know what I thought. When I once asked him where he lived after Nacho’s place, he only said, “Here and there.”
My phone dings, and I look down at it.
“Mom’s wondering if we’ll make it for dinner.”
“Doubtful. It’s already late.”
I text her back and tell her about the storm. She sends a photo of Sadie helping with a red velvet cake commission.
Leo and I manage to pack a few boxes before we head out.
Our little fireproof box of documents and a few breakables that survived.
We wrap them in newspaper pages: Tesla and Ukraine.
Abortion law and Ozempic. Teacher shortages and movie reviews and migrants at the border.
The world’s turmoil to cushion our things, and my hands fall to my sides like birds shot from the sky.
I touch the newsprint in apology—I truly thought I would do more for this world.
Leo’s voice permeates my regret. “We should get going.”
I look around and nod.
We lock the door behind us, pure ceremony since we have no windows or roof.
Leo brings his photograph and The Little Prince.
“I called for a new tarp,” I tell him. “They’ll get it up tonight.”
As we walk to the car, there’s a gentle breeze, all innocent-like.
Behind us, our wind-blasted house is panting for life.
Leo drives us back into Dallas, the photo of his father on the console between us.
We hit a long light beside a homeless encampment under an overpass.
Tents, blankets, trinkets. An American flag is proudly displayed.
Mom was right, not much of a storm over here at all.
There’s a grocery cart, and a wheelchair with nobody in it.
A sun-bleached unicorn backpack is propped carefully against loose bricks.
A man in combat boots is spitting off to the side of a woman who is carefully inspecting another woman’s hair.
The two women are belly-laughing, and a small fire burns in a grate.
I imagine Nathaniel here. Leo. Some of my students.
Like a lightning strike, I realize that I’m not imagining myself here.
Do I see myself so differently? I’m suddenly overcome with the desire to crawl out the window and take my shoes off and learn how to start a fire from nothing.
To ask the women what’s so funny, and to laugh with them.
Maybe need is different than I thought; maybe it’s the avenue that lets us get close to each other, and I’m the one to be pitied.
I want to go back to the hall with Nathaniel and tell him I was chilled to the bone with fear, ask if he could share his blanket with me.
I want to sit at the feet of this world that I thought needed me and say, I’m the one who needs you.
The light turns green. Behind the overpass, the evening sky is a burst of orange petals, fire flowers reaching for heaven like children for their mother. The man in combat boots has joined the women in their laughter, and I look in the rearview mirror just to watch them a little longer.
“I’m sorry.” The words are out before I’ve thought of what to say next.
Leo adjusts his hands on the wheel. “For?”
I pick a cuticle. “I didn’t realize how hard things were for you after Nacho and Izzy’s.”
“Obviously not your fault.”
“Yeah, but I think I’ve sort of looked down on people in similar situations.”
A tired chuckle escapes him. “I know.”
I inhale, processing. “I don’t think I like to confront my own need.”
“What need?”
“Everything. I need the wind to be gentle, and I need somewhere to live, and people who”—I pause, flushing with shame—“love me.”
“Everyone needs that stuff. And it’s stuff you’ve always had.” His tone is impatient, so I look down and say, “Never mind.” It’s hard to have a shift of heart beside someone who is so familiar with it.
The car stays quiet for several minutes before Leo asks, “Does Cody?”
“Does Cody what?”
“Love you.”
I flush again. “I don’t think so,” I say. “But I honestly haven’t talked to him since that day.”
Leo’s eyes stay glued on the road. “And you?”
A shake of my head. “No,” I say quietly. “I never loved him.”
Leo’s grip is tight on the wheel. “Almost makes it worse.”
“Why?”
“Because you blew up our marriage for someone you didn’t even love.”
His words echo through me, through the hollow places I’ve never known how to fill.
He’s wrong, though. I blew up our marriage for someone I did love.
Because even though I lit the fuse, Leo helped build the bomb.
No, I’m not blaming my husband for my affair.
But the affair is much smaller to me than it is to him, merely the final desperate weapon deployed.
And maybe everything would have been different if we hadn’t both been so terrified of our own need—Leo because he knew it too well, and me because I knew it too little.
We drive quietly on through the city. Straight through the dying light.