Page 75 of The Burning
I couldn’t believe I was at this man’s house again. It would be my fucking luck that I had taken inhisonly son and had fallen forhisonly daughter. And I cared so much about the two of them that, at this point, I couldn’t use them as a way to hurt him.
I grabbed my phone as I got out. One text from Elodie. I paused to read it, stalling because Karina was inside. I closed out Elodie’s text and typed in aK. I thought it would be the right thing to do, to text Karina and cut through the tension before I even stepped into the house. My fingers hovered over her name, just a couple taps on the screen away, but I couldn’t do it. I put my phone back into the pocket of my joggers and walked up to the porch.
Officer houses were overdone and big as hell compared to the tiny barrack rooms most soldiers lived in. All the housing neighborhoods were the same, duplicated homes lined up in rows or across cul-de-sacs to reward the soldiers who moved to higher ranks and went to college in exchange for their sacrifices for the country. They deserved it—and way more.
But the officers . . . that was still a hard pill to swallow, knowing that so much of the money to support them came from the bloodshed and sacrifice of others, while most of them kept their hands clean. War was what the United States was built on, and men like Karina’s dad profited off a system that started as something to be proud of, something we are told is to protect our freedom. The thing was, that system had now ruined so many people’s lives and had become an excuse for a lot of motherfuckers who benefitted from privilege and a two-tiered system. So many of them didn’t have to do the groundwork to make a lot of fucking money.
Growing up, I had always wanted to be a soldier, and none of the politics mattered to me. I only knew that I wanted to do something I would be proud of, something that my sister and ma could be proud of. I’d wanted to help the American people feel safe and secure, while earning myself a steady paycheck and getting healthcare, maybe even that college degree the recruiter had promised me. That was my standard line, but deep down, the number-one reason had been to get my ass out of Riverdale before I ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time like a lot of the guys my age did. There weren’t many jobs, even less education, and the hardships I witnessed as the child of a single-mother household drove me to escape that town and do something that would make my ma’s life easier. It wasn’t her fault that my sperm donor got to run off and take no responsibility for me. Even when he was around, he wasn’t really around, and my sister’s “dad” was even worse. Must be nice to be a man with no responsibility and get to run off. Mothers don’t get that chance . . . except Karina’s.
Karina’s story was in many ways the opposite of mine, but somehow we bonded over our abandonment. I knew exactly where the man who’d helped create me was, but she had no idea where her mom, who had raised her from childhood, had gone. I didn’t know which was worse, and we had spent hours lying together, tangled in the sheets and in our minds, trying to decide. It angered both of us that her dad would be set for life—he’d live off a retirement package while I had to live with my fucked-up body and mind. His would be a mostly carefree life while thousands of men and women continued to serve, and to struggle to make ends meet. Don’t get me wrong, soldiers deserved to retire and retire comfortably, but evil men did not. I knew all too well that he had blood on his hands and death on his breath.
I lifted my head back, closed my eyes, and tried to remind myself that I wasn’t like him. I did my fucking best. Most of the people I knew weren’t like him. Checks and balances were still mostly intact when it came to the Army’s battle of good and evil. Karina’s dad could keep his shiny new truck in the driveway, his glowing career achievements, and his fake-ass honor as long as he took his retirement and kept his boots on the ground here, and not hurting anyone else. If I had to, I could live with that, but only because he was Karina’s father.
Hell, here I was about to go into his house, with his whole family inside. I hated that she was related to him. It wasn’t fair that she didn’t have a good dad. She was so pure and generous to the people she cared about, even if they weren’t deserving and nine times out of ten they would disappoint her. Still, deep down she desperately wanted her father’s approval, though she was too proud to ever say it. I lived with the chip on my shoulder that I got fucked over when it came to my dad, but I’d take a ghost over a demon any day.
I looked at the house again. “Fuck meee.”
I rang the doorbell. In short order, the latch on the lock turned and Karina’s stepmom was standing there, looking more like a museum guide than someone opening the door to her own home. She was styled like so many officer’s wives on post: the hair, the clothes, probably at least three Michael Kors bags in her closet. Her eyes were bright, but something was different about her than I remembered. Tonight she was more casual, wearing little jewelry, less makeup.
“Martin, hi. Welcome, come in.” She smiled, waving me inside.
“Thanks.” I nodded, unsure of what to do.
“We’re all in the dining room having cake. Glad you’re here.”
“I’m sure everyone is,” I said, without her detecting my sarcasm. Dark humor reminded me that I probably couldn’t run, anyway. My leg had been extra-fucked since tripping over the weekend. I tried not to look at my mangled, scarred skin, but I could tell it was going to swell up the moment I hit the ground.
She led me inside and I shut the door behind us, before following her through the living room and into the dining room where Karina sat next to her brother, her arms spread out before her on top of the dining table. She was frowning, looking at an untouched piece of cake on a plate in front of her. She stared at it blankly . . . then her eyes dragged up to mine.
She didn’t break eye contact, but nervously tucked her hair behind her ear. I had thought about her every hour, every day, since we left the camping trip two days ago. We had driven back together, just the two of us, after Turner got a ride with the guy she hooked up with. We hadn’t done much talking because she’d ended up sleeping over half of the time, but that’d made me relax, knowing how drained her social battery must have been after the weekend and that she was comfortable enough to sleep while I drove through the winding country roads. She’d been out of juice, but I was recharged by her. Tonight, she looked so fucking good, even barefaced in a crewneck sweatshirt; her eyes were bright with excitement to see me. She used to get dressed up when she went to her father’s dumb dinners, but maybe her getup tonight was to prove a point that she didn’t want to be there. Karina always found ways to express herself through her appearance like changing her nail or hair color when something in her life felt out of control, wearing an old T-shirt attached to some memory, or a bright-yellow sundress she’d ordered online to match her mood. Unlike me, who assumed the same uniform and identity every day, on my body and inside of my mind.
“What’s up! Glad you came in!” Fischer yelled to me, throwing his hands in the air. “Dad, you know Martin who I was talking about earlier.”
The man himself sat at the head of the table, his lips in a steady line. He nodded his head once, like we were both teenagers meeting in a damn schoolyard. My chest began to rise at the sight of him just sitting there silently gloating while I had to pretend that I didn’t want to rip his fucking throat out. If I didn’t love his daughter and son, maybe I would have actually done it. When Karina stood up and said my name, I could barely force myself to look away from her father even though all of my being wanted to answer.
“Kael, come here.” Her voice was gentle, leading me away from my anger and into her aura. She was like the soft wind right after it rained, like the gentle touch of damp grass in the spring. She was the opposite of her father, an empathetic woman who cared more about me than her father’s opinion. She rounded the table and grabbed my hand, leading me to sit on the other side of her. When I sat down, I could feel my heart rate slowing, my body coming out of flight-or-fight. Still holding my hand, she brushed her thumb over mine and I counted the times as I waited for whatever the hell was going to happen next.
“Would you like some cake?” Karina’s stepmom asked me.
“No, I’m good, thank you,” I answered.
I wondered if Karina and Fischer’s father was realizing that his daughter and me were back on good terms. Could he tell by the way she’d greeted me? Did he see the way she looked at me? Was he aware enough of his daughter’s emotions to know that he could no longer come between us?
Fischer laughed. “Come on. Sometimes we can have our cake and eat it, too.” He tried to be funny, but given the circumstances it was hard for me to muster a smile, let alone laugh at a corny joke. He knew his dad disliked me, even if he didn’t know all the reasons why.
I looked at the cake; not even half of it was eaten. It was extravagant and over-the-top. Like the cake, the Fischer family seemed perfect—a perfect example of appearance meaning nothing. It was all a façade, a Hollywood-level backdrop.
The cake saidHappy Birthday Austin &—Karina’s name had been eaten. I looked at her plate, but there was no sign of the green icing. What was left on her dad’s plate was smeared with it. Hewouldeat her fucking name as if it werehisbirthday cake. Even if I was on the brink of death from starvation, I wasn’t going to touch that fucking cake.
I looked down at Karina’s unashamed hand on my thigh. She was slightly digging her nails into my skin, not enough to hurt, but enough to keep me mentally present. Being back in this house with her felt like a decade had passed since the last time. Fischer’s party, Karina and me upstairs in her old room, her skeptically checking my ID card to see when my birthday was. I’d barely known her then; now I couldn’t know her more.
The slice of cake on her plate had little flakes of yellow and I could smell the lemon as I inspected her picked-at dessert.
“Is this lemon-flavored?” I meant to ask only Karina, but of course the overzealous wife responded first.
“Yes! With Meyer lemons. They’re so popular now, have you tried them?”
I shook my head and looked at Karina, who seemed to be amused and anxious at the same time.
