Summer Shadows

“You’re joking, right? You can’t be serious, Maggie.”

I looked down at my plate; it was barely touched. The pork-chop had a tiny corner taken off; the corn was shuffled around, pieces of it in various places across the ceramic surface. The potatoes were the only thing had a chunk taken out of them, and with my father’s words even they had lost their appeal. I had expected it though, the disbelief, and the scrutiny. I set my fork down carefully, reaching to grab the cool cup of water beside it instead.

“No, I’m not joking,” I replied slowly. “He asked me about a month ago. I said yes. He said he would keep funding my education if I agreed.”

I heard the slam of his silverware against the table, jumping slightly I turned my attention to my father. His head was down-turned, not looking at me, eyes starkly set on the table.

“Is that what this is about? The money, how much Brown’s costs? Maggie we can cover that. This is a good business and I can afford to give you an education like that. What else do I have to spend our money on?” He asked.

I swallowed, “It’s not about the money, Dad.”

“Then what the hell is it?” He shot back quickly. “Why would you accept an offer from that man after his wife nearly killed you, after all the shit that you went through? I still don’t get why you got yourself in that situation in the first place, I don’t understand any of it, but I didn’t ask questions. But this? Accepting that man’s offer to run his sinking bank after you graduate and he retires? What the hell are you thinking anymore, Maggie? I thought you were going to take over the funeral home once I stepped down. I figured the drama thing was just a phase you’d outgrow, but now this? I’m not sure I know what’s going through your head anymore.”

“I never wanted to inherit the damn funeral home, father. That was all you, you pushed me to that, you had everything mapped out for me. I actually hate that place if you didn’t notice. I wanted to act, I love my Drama courses. I may not be the best at them, but dammit, I did enjoy them. That’s what I wanted, if you must know. Never the funeral home. I’d take the sinking bank over that place any day,” I hissed. “Besides, Mr. Dreyton, unlike you, actually asked me if I wanted to run the bank. He gave me an option. You never once did that. You just expected me to take over. Your father may have done that to you, and you may actually enjoy it, but I don’t want to spend my entire life surrounded by death. And you really think after what all did go on back in January that I want to be anywhere near that place unless I absolutely have to? I watched to people plummet from a fucking window, father, I could go the rest of my life without being anywhere near the funeral home again!”

My words echoed through the air as he and I sat in a silent stare-off. His face had become flushed, mouth set in a hard line. We had never truly spoken about January, always danced around it. Just like we’d never truly spoken of what I wanted to do with my future. It had just always been assumed that I would take over the family business upon his retirement; it had been drilled into me from such a young age. It wasn’t ever truly an option; it had always been a fact, until Simon appeared. That’s when things had changed. That’s when I had changed and actually started to consider just what I wanted, not what was expected of me. The newfound self-awareness was now driving a stake through my father’s long-standing plans. It was driving a rift between us, for the first time ever.

“You know, I expected some change in you after what happened, but not this. I don’t even know you anymore, Maggie.”

With those final words my father stood, leaving the table and a half-eaten plate of food behind as he walked out of the house, slamming the door in his wake.

**

Orange, I decided, truly was a wretched color. Back on the day Simon had disappeared from my life, it had been what painted the horizon, and the world around me. It was what the two bodies had basked in the glow of as they lay bleeding in the snow. It was the color of the sky the evening Simon had initially told me of his not-so-innocent death. Orange, I should have known, wasn’t done plaguing me. But this time it wasn’t because of the setting sun.

Red and blue were also thrown in the scene before me, flashing violently before my eyes, yet not quite distracting enough to pull me from the orange billowing below a thick blanket of black; the two colors that held most of the scene in their grasp. It reflected off the hood of my car as I stepped onto the mostly blocked street, the orange dancing wickedly in front of me, my stomach bottoming out at the sickening smell of the smoke.

I watched in horror as the house I had grown up in was enveloped in a sea of flames. They poured from every window, every door, licking hungrily at the blackened wood they crawled upon. The water spraying from the fire men’s hoses didn’t seem like near enough to even begin to tame the wicked fire as it continued to rage. My legs shook as I pushed myself forward, closer to the flashing lights of the emergency vehicles, closer to the flames consuming my home.

I didn’t notice the man in the black uniform stepping towards me, not until I felt a firm hand on my shoulder. “Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to step back behind the police tape.”

I looked over at him slowly, uncertain of what I was seeing. Was this real? Was this really happening?

“That’s my… my house,” I stated shakily. “That’s my house and…”

My voice trailed off, the shock of the situation maintaining a steely grip on my mind. The officer’s face seemed to soften, dark eyes falling a little as he heaved a sigh, reaching up to wipe the perspiration off his forehead before looking back up.

“Magnolia Walton?” He asked.

I nodded, eyes trailing slowly back to what was my house, what would probably be reduced to a pile of charred wood and ash before the night was over. It was something I had never been able to imagine, like a horrid nightmare reality had somehow let slip through.

“I’m going to need you to come with me,” He said, lightly steering me over towards his car.

“What… what happened?”

“Honestly we’re not sure, Ms. Walton. We got a call from one of your neighbors that your house was on fire. By the time myself and the fire-department had arrived both floors were ablaze. The paramedics arrived a few minutes later, we weren’t sure if anyone was in the house when—“

“Where’s my father, you contacted him too, right? Does he know?” I felt the panic rising in me again as I stared at the flames, sickening smell of the fire nauseating me to no extent. No matter how badly we had been fighting, I realized I needed him then, and when he saw he would probably need me as well. Everything I owned was roasting in that house; aside from the clothes I had on my back. Every picture of my mother was probably no more than ashes then, every book Simon had ever touched had probably already vanished under the touch of the all-consuming flames. I needed my father. I needed someone to hold on to as I watched the only home I had known burn to the ground.

There was a stifling silence for a moment between the officer and me. I looked up at him, read the name in the light of the flames pouring from my house. Officer Calton; the one who had contacted me a mere ten minutes prior.

“Ms. Walton, there was another contact in your school registry for emergencies. A Mr. James Dreyton, is that name familiar to you?” He asked objectively.

I stared at him. “Yes. But why did you contact him? Where’s my dad?”

“Mr. Dreyton said he’d be here as soon as he could, I expect five, ten minutes tops.”

Deputy Calton wouldn’t meet my eyes. I stood, quaking in the heat of the flames, an all new sickening sensation pulling at my insides, horrifying, unspeakable thoughts surging forward. I looked past him at the burning house, something catching my eye that hadn’t initially because I was so accustomed to it. Something that pulled forth a stinging sensation in my eyes, and an inexplicable sense of despair in my heart.

No, no, no.

My father’s black SUV sat at its usual spot on the driveway, coated in a thin layer of ash that fell from the sky like snow. I stared at it; throat tightening as I suddenly found myself gasping for air. I didn’t realize I had taken a hold of the officer’s arm, I didn’t notice how tightly I was squeezing it.

“There’s no way he was in there,” I croaked. “There’s no way. He’s out here, somewhere, right? Officer Calton?”

The officer’s face melted to exhaustion and sorrow before my eyes. “By the time we arrived the flames were too intense, and the structure appeared too unstable to even considering sending any men inside. Your neighbors have been watching since they first noticed the flames. No one has exited that house, Ms. Walton.”

“But…his car is here… he’s…not… is he…?”

It isn’t possible. This can’t be happening. He’s somewhere else, not here, even if his car is. He’s not here. He’s not still in the house. He’s not still in the house.

“We haven’t been able to get in contact with your father, Ms. Walton,” The officer replied, voice strained. “The receptionist at the funeral home said he left for the day two hours ago. We won’t be able to know for sure until the fire calms down enough for us to go look for a body.”

There are no words to describe the sensation that comes with your world crashing around you. Nothing to voice the screams of agony and disbelief that rip and tear at your heart as you hear words like that. There is nothing to remotely convey the terror of realizing that someone you love probably didn’t come out of it alive. The only person you have left.

There was a constant replay of our last conversation rolling through my brain; the anger, the pain, the immerging distrust between father and daughter that had never been resolved. There were words I had spoken that I hadn’t had the chance to apologize for, to take back. There were things I hadn’t explained that would have probably made a difference. There were things I didn’t get the chance to tell him, that I loved him for all he had done for me, that I appreciated everything he had given me and tried to do for me in the absence of my mother. That how, even if it had just been the two of us all along, that was fine, because he was all I needed in my life, and I loved him, no matter what. He would always be my father, no matter what I said, no matter how we fought.

I felt it then, the hot tears burning at the corners of my eyes, the jagged breathing. I didn’t even notice I had been speaking as Officer Calton stood silently over.

“Daddy, oh god, daddy, no, no please, daddy don’t be in there… please, daddy, please…”

I stepped forward then, stumbling away from the officer before he realized just what I was doing. My feet hit the ground uncertainly as I rushed forward, towards the blazing house, not believing that my father was trapped somewhere inside, not processing that the vicious fire had already taken him from me. Somewhere behind, a voice called my name; it was just a distant echo to the sound of my father’s voice ringing in my ears, a voice I would probably never hear again.

I saw it then, a figure blurred by my tears, standing in front of the upstairs window of my father’s room, between the flickering flames. It pulled me forward even more, a shock of hope hitting me like a bullet. But it only lasted momentarily as the figure cleared up with the wiping away of my tears. It wasn’t my father in the window. The sick, twisted smile that glared down at me with a delighted malice was in no way the man who had raised me, the brown, hate filled eyes not the blue-gray stones I had inherited from my dad. It pulled my steps to an abrupt halt just before a pair of arms wrapped around my torso, dragging me forcefully back.

“No, Maggie, calm down!” A voice shouted in my ear. It jerked my attention quickly, and I met the startled face of James Dreyton, still pulling me away from the smoldering building I had once called a home. “You can’t go in there, it’s too dangerous. Come on, Maggie, come on.”

I didn’t struggle against him, looking back at the house. The window was empty. What figure had been there now gone, vanished entirely.

“He was in there,” I stated, tugging lightly against James Dreyton’s grip. “He was in there, he was in the window. I saw him, he was—“

“No, Maggie, you didn’t see him. You’re not going to see him, it was your imagination. Maggie, it’s going to be okay, it’s going to be okay,” He chanted over me. “I’m so sorry, Maggie.”

James maintained a firm grip on me as I looked up at him, dazed, confused, welling with a fresh pain similar to what I had only recently recovered from.

“He’s…he’s gone, isn’t he?” I asked, voice quaking.

James said nothing, his usual cold, unreadable mask falling away. Sorrow and pity resonated in his clear blue eyes. He put a gentle hand on my head, and I felt the tears rise. I cried, reaching out without much though to grab the front of his black business suit. I cried as I felt him pull me in, my grip tightening as the guilt and agonizing pain blazed in me like the fire that was destroying my house, that had taken my father.

I wept for the second time that year at the loss of someone I loved, I wept for the loss of the only parent I had left. There was also a tiny part of me that cried in fear; the figure in the window looming over my already torturous thoughts. Imagining my father at the window would have been plausible. But imagining who I had seen seemed much less probable. I wanted to see my father’s face again. But what had been there was Darren; the face of a boy I presumed dead, a face I knew I wasn’t able to recall with such startling clarity as the one that had looked down at me minutes before.