Before the Storm (23 page)

now.”

“Well, he won’t be in for another thirty minutes, and he’s

really not the one who knows what’s going on,” she said. “You

go talk to Dawn, honey.You can find her at Jabeen’s Java. She’ll

give you more work than you’ll know what to do with.”

I sat in my car across the street from Jabeen’s for twenty

minutes, trying to figure out what to do. Maybe there was

some other way I could help. There were still six kids in the

hospital—four at New Hanover and two at the burn unit at

UNC in Chapel Hill. The elementary schoolkids had made

cards for them and Amber and I’d volunteered to take them

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to the hospital in the next day or so, which I knew was going

to really upset me but I had to do it. Still, that just wasn’t

enough.

I saw something move inside Jabeen’s. Just a flash of white

by the window. Someone’s shirt or something. Suddenly,

though, I spotted Uncle Marcus on the corner walking toward

the café. I held my breath until he reached Jabeen’s door and

pulled it open.
Yes!
Instant courage. I wouldn’t have to face

Dawn alone.

I got out of my car and crossed the street.

“Hey, Uncle Marcus.” I stopped behind him at the counter

where Dawn was pouring coffee into a cardboard cup.

“Mags!” He grinned and gave me his usual one-armed hug.

“What are you doing here?”

“I took off school this morning so I could talk to Dawn about

volunteering.”

Dawn looked up when she heard her name.

“You know—” I forced myself to look her in the eye “—for

the Drury Memorial Family Fund.”

Dawn snapped a plastic lid on the cup. “Well, bless your

heart, Maggie,” she said, handing the coffee to Uncle Marcus.

“I can use all the help I can get.”

I’d seen Dawn plenty of times, but not this close up. She was

pretty, with reddish hair and freckled skin, but there were

crow’s-feet at the corners of her eyes and I realized I didn’t

know how old she was. A whole lot older than seventeen, that

was for sure. The thought of Ben having sex with her made me

feel nauseous.

“You know,” she said, “I was hoping your high school would

get involved in some kind of organized way, but so far, nothing.”

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“Maggie’s gonna be valedictorian,” Uncle Marcus bragged.

“Maybe she could organize something at Douglas.”

“I’m not going to be valedictorian, Uncle Marcus,” I said,

trying to get him to shut up.

“No?” He raised his eyebrows.

I shook my head. “I haven’t told Mom yet, though, so—”

“My lips are sealed.”

A woman next to me asked for a latte, and Dawn rang up

the sale.

“Doesn’t matter, sugar,” Dawn said to me as she handed the

woman her change. “You’re going to graduate, right? That’s

what counts. But what d’ya think? Could you get something

going at Douglas High?” She started working on the latte.

I liked the idea. I’d be doing something useful without

having to actually work with Dawn. Douglas was great at car

washes and pancake breakfasts, but maybe I could come up

with something more original.

“Yeah, maybe,” I said. “I’ll talk to some of my friends and a

couple of teachers and see what I can figure out.”

“You’re a doll!” Dawn said. “Call me in a few days and tell

me what you’ve come up with.”

Uncle Marcus’s hand was on my shoulder. “Have a few

minutes to sit?” he asked.

“Sure.” I knew he was curious about the valedictorian thing.

It was going to have to come out sooner or later.

We walked toward the table by the window, but before we

got there, Reverend Bill came through the door and we had

to do one of those move-to-the-left, move-to-the-right maneuvers as we tried to pass him. He didn’t say anything and

neither did we, and it felt really bizarre.

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Uncle Marcus rolled his eyes at me as we sat down.

“Reverend Personality,” he whispered.

“Sara told Mom he orders some kind of giant fattening

drink here every day,” I whispered back.

“That must be all he has.” Uncle Marcus looked down at his

pager, then back at me.“So, Mags.” He drew out my name.“You

upset about not being valedictorian?”

I started to answer, but Reverend Bill suddenly walked up

to our table and just stood there, skinny as a flagpole, not

saying a word. We looked up at him.

“Reverend.” Uncle Marcus nodded his head toward the third

seat at our table. “You wanna join us?”

Reverend Bill hates my family, so I was totally shocked

when he pulled out the chair and sat down. “I’m actually on

my way to talk to Pete,” he said to Uncle Marcus. “But I think

you need to hear what I have to tell him.”

Uncle Marcus looked like he was trying not to yawn, but

he said, “And what’s that?”

“Well.” Reverend Bill lifted his cup and swirled the drink

around a couple of times.“I went up to the hospital at UNC yesterday,” he said. “As you know, one of my parishioners, Gracie

Parry, is in the burn unit there, along with Keith Weston.”

“Right,” Uncle Marcus said. “How’re they doing?”

“Gracie’s being transferred to New Hanover tomorrow and

she’ll make a full recovery,” he said, then added, “except she’ll

have some scarring on her—” he motioned toward his chest

“—her torso.”

“What about Keith?” I asked. I was afraid of what he would

say. I loved Sara and although Keith could be a total asshole, I

wanted him to get well.

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“Keith Weston’s improving, thank the Lord,” he said.

“Glad to hear it,” Uncle Marcus said.

“Yes, he’s better.” He sipped his drink.“But he’s in a boatload

of pain. That poor child was burnt mighty bad.”

Uncle Marcus frowned. “Isn’t he still in a coma?”

“They brought him out of it yesterday morning.” Reverend

Bill’s lips curled up a little, like a twitch, then flattened out

again. “He’s able to talk now.”

“Good,” Uncle Marcus said. “I bet it was a comfort having

you to talk to.” He actually sounded like he meant it.

Reverend Bill looked at Marcus from beneath his bushy

gray eyebrows. “I think it’s the police he should be talking to.”

I didn’t like the way he said it, like he was saying
Nyah,nyah.

I know something you don’t know.

“Well, we’ll be interviewing him,” Uncle Marcus said. “Did

he give you some information about the fire?”

“Yes, he did,” Reverend Bill said. “That’s what I need to talk

to Pete about.”

“Spit it out, Reverend,” Uncle Marcus almost snarled. I felt

hot and sweaty all of a sudden.

“He told me about that fight he had with your nephew.” He

looked at me. “Your brother.” Up till that moment, I wasn’t

sure he even realized who I was.“And he said that shortly prior

to the fight, he happened to look out the window and saw

Andy Lockwood walking around outside the church.”

“He wouldn’t have been outside,” I said. “It was a lock-in.”

“You haven’t heard all I have to say, Miss Lockwood.”

God.
What a snotty freak this guy was.

“So, go on,” Uncle Marcus said.

“That’s a right sick boy in the hospital there,” Reverend

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Bill said. “I don’t see as he has much cause to be making

things up.”

“So what else did he say?” Uncle Marcus was getting impatient.

“Just that he didn’t think anything of it at the time, since

your nephew’s known for doing strange things. But when the

fire started, he couldn’t help but wonder if Andy had something to do with it. Since it started outside and all.”

“What’s this about a window?” Uncle Marcus asked. “The

windows in the church are stained glass. How’d he look out

of them?”

“My job wasn’t to interrogate the boy,” Reverend Bill said.

“It was to provide comfort. But since he volunteered that information, I thought it important the investigators have it. I’ll

leave a message for Pete and Flip Cates in case you choose not

to tell them what I’ve told you.”

Ouch.
“Get off it, Rev,” Uncle Marcus said. “I’ll not only tell

him, I’ll make sure we talk to Keith ourselves today.”

“Maybe you should stay out of it.You’ve got a bias, don’t

you think?”

“It’ll be taken care of,” Uncle Marcus said.

Reverend Bill scraped back his chair and stood up. “Good

day.” He nodded to me.

As soon as Reverend Bill was out the door, Uncle Marcus

got to his feet.

“I’ve gotta run, babe.” He bent over to kiss my cheek.“Don’t

worry about that whole Reverend Bill thing. I’m sure it’s

nothing.” He headed for the door. “Love ya,” he called over his

shoulder.

“You, too.” I stared after him, thinking about Keith. I knew

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his arms and half his face had been burned. What did that feel

like? When I was a kid, I touched the handle of a hot frying

pan. It was a small burn. Mom cut an aloe leaf from the plant

she kept on the windowsill and rubbed the juice onto the

burn, but it still hurt enough to make me cry. How could

anyone tolerate pain like that on so much of his body? My eyes

filled, thinking of Keith going through that. I didn’t want to

cry in public. Especially not in front of Dawn. I got up to leave,

but even outside in the fresh air, Keith was still stuck in my

mind.

Why would he lie about Andy being outside? And why

would Andy be out there? I didn’t believe it; he knew the

whole point of a lock-in was to stay put. I was afraid, though,

that Keith might screw things up by spreading lies about

Andy…and even more afraid he could be telling the truth.

DAMN, IT WAS HOT IN KEITH’S HOSPITAL ROOM.

I’d driven the three hours to Chapel Hill with my pickup

windows down. Sucked in fresh air like I was storing it. I knew

what it would be like at the burn center. Sure enough, the smell

of bleach and ruined flesh nearly knocked me over when I

walked into Keith’s room. I’d forgotten, though, about the

heat. Ninety degrees at least in there.

Keith was asleep. His arms and hands lay above the covers

in massive bandages. Five surgical pins protruded from the

bandage covering his left hand. Thick gauze padded the left

side of his face, though the right side looked nearly untouched.

Just like he’d sat out in the sun too long. An IV ran beneath

the covers, probably to a port in his chest.

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I pulled a chair close to his bed. Breathed through my

mouth. Sat there without saying a word until I was sure I could

speak without a catch in my voice.

I leaned forward. “Keith?”

Nothing. I was ready to say his name again when he made a

humming sound and his right eyelid slowly opened. He turned

his head toward me, flinching.

“You,”
he said.

Me, what? What did I hear in that one word? Disgust? Disappointment? Or was I projecting my own feelings on him?

How many times had I asked myself,
What if we’d gotten there

one minute sooner? What if we’d had one more firefighter?
Would it

have made a difference?

“How’re you feeling?”

“Like shit.” His words were slurred. “How’s it look like I’m

feeling?”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I know you’re hurting bad, but I have to

tell you, I’m glad to see you awake and talking.”

He closed his eyes.

“Reverend Bill told me you remembered some things from

the night of the fire. If you’re up to it, I’d like to hear what

you remember.”

He groaned, shifting a little on the bed.“No, you wouldn’t.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Your nephew, is why,” he said, his eye still shut.“He started

the fire.”

“What makes you think that?”

“He was…walk around church…just before it started.”

“Keith?” I moved my chair until my knees were up against

his bed. “Try to stay awake for a few more minutes, all right?”

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No response. I kept going. “My understanding is that you and

he were in a fight just before the fire started, so that would

place Andy inside right before the fire.”

His eye fluttered open. “Place him?” It came out like
playsh

um?
“Is that investigator talk?”

“I get that you’re angry,” I said. “You have every right to be

angry at what happened.”

Tears pooled in his eye. “Why
me?
” he asked. “Why the fuck

me?
”

I took a tissue from the box on the nightstand and blotted

his cheek. “I know,” I said. “It doesn’t seem fair.” How much

did he know about the other kids at the fire? I wasn’t going to

be the one to say he was lucky to be alive.

“I saw Andy outside,” he growled, “just before the fight,

which started because he came onto Layla.” He sniffled and

started to lift his arm like he wanted to wipe his nose, till he

remembered. “Shit,” he said. “I can’t do nothin’ for myself.”

I reached toward him with the tissue again, but he turned