smoldered. Reggie looked down at him.
“Are you
nuts
?”
Henry stared at the blaze. The flames flickered in his eyes.
“I just wanted to see how hot it was.”
Henry looked at his hand. It was red, and the tips of his fingers had already blistered. He examined it like a new toy.
“It feels ... funny.”
“Henry, we’ve got to run that under cold water. I don’t know what is going on in your head lately, but you know what fire —”
Their father stormed into the den.
“What the
hell
is going on?”
He stamped out the rug with his bare foot, leaving a blackened circle the size of a quarter, then picked up the poker and slammed it back into its stand. He grabbed Reggie by the collar, lifted her off Henry, and dropped her on the other side of the hearth.
“Who lit this damned fire?” he hollered.
“Henry did,” said Reggie. “I was just trying to stop him from burning himself.”
“Me?”
cried Henry. “I didn’t do it! I don’t even know
how
to make a fire! The smoke smell woke me up. She said I’d be sorry if I told on her, and she pushed me at the fire.” He thrust his hand up at Dad. “See?”
“He’s — he’s lying!” Reggie stuttered, stunned. “He started it! I came downstairs because he wasn’t in bed! I was worried about him!”
Dad’s lips curdled. “
Worried?
You were beating up on him!”
“No, I wasn’t! I was trying to stop him from hurting himself!”
“Regina!” Dad bellowed. “There will be no lying in this house. Are we clear?”
He was boiling. But he wasn’t the only one.
“You are
so
wrong about this, Dad!”
Dad suddenly swatted the fire screen with his arm and knocked it over. “I thought I could depend on you, Regina. I thought this family mattered —”
Dad was looking at his daughter but he was seeing someone else.
“Don’t you dare,” she seethed. “I’m not
her.
”
Dad’s anger deflated before Reggie’s eyes. He looked at the floor, because he couldn’t bear to look at his daughter.
Henry squeezed Dad’s leg.
“We know you love us, Dad. You’re here for us a hundred percent.” Henry peered out at Reggie. A grin flitted across his face. She fumed, but she knew she’d lost.
“Can I go to my room now?” she said.
Dad nodded. Reggie glared at Henry and marched out. She heard Dad behind her.
“And as for you, little man, let’s fix up that hand and get you in bed. I’ll bring you an extra blanket. You’re freezing.”
7
Dad left for work before dawn Christmas Eve morning. He had a new development contract for a subdivision of low-income housing in the poor, ghostly town of Wennemack, a half-hour’s drive from Cutter’s Wedge. The ground was frozen solid and no foundation work would begin until the end of March, but her father was a meticulous planner who would take a small crew to new sites months in advance and map out every step a dozen times before spring arrived. He’d promised his crew an early finish so they could go home for Christmas Eve dinner with their families. Reggie wondered if he felt the same obligation to his own family.
From bed Reggie smelled the burnt coffee wafting up the stairs. Her dad drank mud-like coffee, black, thick, and sugarless, a bitter but familiar aroma that evoked the comfort of predictable routine. That felt like a lifetime ago to Reggie now.
Dad had confined her to the house for the day, and even though he was gone until tonight, she was pretty much under house arrest. He’d call home every hour or so, making sure she picked up. She’d violated the rules once before and it cost her an entire month of cell phone, friends, and freedom. Even if she snuck out for an hour and made it back before the next check-in, Henry would snitch for sure.
Henry. He’d turned on her last night.
They’d fought countless times before; argued, yelled, wrestled, argued, slapped, smacked. Henry had tattled, baited, blamed, annoyed, meddled, and eavesdropped on her like any little brother. But
“Are you
nuts
?”
Henry stared at the blaze. The flames flickered in his eyes.
“I just wanted to see how hot it was.”
Henry looked at his hand. It was red, and the tips of his fingers had already blistered. He examined it like a new toy.
“It feels ... funny.”
“Henry, we’ve got to run that under cold water. I don’t know what is going on in your head lately, but you know what fire —”
Their father stormed into the den.
“What the
hell
is going on?”
He stamped out the rug with his bare foot, leaving a blackened circle the size of a quarter, then picked up the poker and slammed it back into its stand. He grabbed Reggie by the collar, lifted her off Henry, and dropped her on the other side of the hearth.
“Who lit this damned fire?” he hollered.
“Henry did,” said Reggie. “I was just trying to stop him from burning himself.”
“Me?”
cried Henry. “I didn’t do it! I don’t even know
how
to make a fire! The smoke smell woke me up. She said I’d be sorry if I told on her, and she pushed me at the fire.” He thrust his hand up at Dad. “See?”
“He’s — he’s lying!” Reggie stuttered, stunned. “He started it! I came downstairs because he wasn’t in bed! I was worried about him!”
Dad’s lips curdled. “
Worried?
You were beating up on him!”
“No, I wasn’t! I was trying to stop him from hurting himself!”
“Regina!” Dad bellowed. “There will be no lying in this house. Are we clear?”
He was boiling. But he wasn’t the only one.
“You are
so
wrong about this, Dad!”
Dad suddenly swatted the fire screen with his arm and knocked it over. “I thought I could depend on you, Regina. I thought this family mattered —”
Dad was looking at his daughter but he was seeing someone else.
“Don’t you dare,” she seethed. “I’m not
her.
”
Dad’s anger deflated before Reggie’s eyes. He looked at the floor, because he couldn’t bear to look at his daughter.
Henry squeezed Dad’s leg.
“We know you love us, Dad. You’re here for us a hundred percent.” Henry peered out at Reggie. A grin flitted across his face. She fumed, but she knew she’d lost.
“Can I go to my room now?” she said.
Dad nodded. Reggie glared at Henry and marched out. She heard Dad behind her.
“And as for you, little man, let’s fix up that hand and get you in bed. I’ll bring you an extra blanket. You’re freezing.”
7
Dad left for work before dawn Christmas Eve morning. He had a new development contract for a subdivision of low-income housing in the poor, ghostly town of Wennemack, a half-hour’s drive from Cutter’s Wedge. The ground was frozen solid and no foundation work would begin until the end of March, but her father was a meticulous planner who would take a small crew to new sites months in advance and map out every step a dozen times before spring arrived. He’d promised his crew an early finish so they could go home for Christmas Eve dinner with their families. Reggie wondered if he felt the same obligation to his own family.
From bed Reggie smelled the burnt coffee wafting up the stairs. Her dad drank mud-like coffee, black, thick, and sugarless, a bitter but familiar aroma that evoked the comfort of predictable routine. That felt like a lifetime ago to Reggie now.
Dad had confined her to the house for the day, and even though he was gone until tonight, she was pretty much under house arrest. He’d call home every hour or so, making sure she picked up. She’d violated the rules once before and it cost her an entire month of cell phone, friends, and freedom. Even if she snuck out for an hour and made it back before the next check-in, Henry would snitch for sure.
Henry. He’d turned on her last night.
They’d fought countless times before; argued, yelled, wrestled, argued, slapped, smacked. Henry had tattled, baited, blamed, annoyed, meddled, and eavesdropped on her like any little brother. But
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