21
The drive back to Seacroft was silent. Tense. Even though the highways were empty at that time of night and Seb drove well beyond the speed limit the whole way, it took forever. He hardly spoke. There was a fire. No one was hurt. That was all he knew. Martin watched the mile markers ghost by.
As they drove into town, it was still dark. It was fall, and the sun wouldn’t be up until after seven. Martin didn’t know what he expected. An orange glow on the horizon to light their way?
The first change was the smell. Seb had the window down, probably to keep himself awake after hours of driving, but as they got closer, the air changed. Martin should have thought of campfires, or Brian cooking chicken skewers in the backyard, but instead his stomach turned. It wasn’t any of those things.
It was the bookstore.
There was no orange glow. Therewasthe flicker of red lights spinning on the top of fire trucks forming a perimeter around the bookstore as it smoked and steamed. The smell was overwhelming here, making Martin’s eyes water as they got out of the car. Puddles covered the street, even though the sky was clear, and Martin needed a moment to realize they were from the firehoses, not rain.
Dog Ears Book Shop was a ruin. The black-and-white sign that might have been a cow or a dog was scorched. The lettering faded into the blackened wood, so only the “D” on the front and the “P” on the end were visible. The front windows were empty sockets gaping at the sidewalk. It was too dark to see very far inside, but the counter where the cash register had stood was gone, and the shelves that ran to the ceiling closest to the door were charred pillars.
Upstairs, the street light outside showed the marks like giant claws on the brick where the flames and smoke stretched out from the broken windows of Seb’s apartment, looking for more to consume.
“Seb.” Martin could barely tear his eyes away. He felt too many things at once: the queasy twist of fear at what the rest of the bookstore looked like, the sadness for what this meant for both of them, the exhaustion of stress, and too many wordless hours on the road.
Seb’s face was blank. His hands were jammed into his coat pockets, and he barely blinked as he stared up at his home. Martin linked an arm through his, but Seb didn’t respond, either to pull him closer or push him away. He simply stared, his face turning strange shadows in the revolving lights on the street.
“Dr. Lindsey?” Martin barely recognized Mrs. Green as she came toward them. Her normally immaculate hair and face were covered in gray soot.
“What happened?” He took a step away from Seb, but couldn’t make himself go farther.
Mrs. Green’s eyes were wide. “I called you as soon as I saw what had happened. I was so worried Sebastian was upstairs!”
“We were away.”
“It was a relief to hear that. But the store. The apartment.” She glanced around them, but they were alone, the firefighters still working on the building. “Dr. Lindsey, I think it was my fault.” Her voice was thin and ragged.
“What?”
A tear tracked a trail over her dirty face. “Seb, I am so sorry. Your home. Your work, I didn’t—”
Martin put an arm around Seb’s shoulders, but it was like hugging a statue. “Why don’t you tell us what happened?”
“I...” She pulled her coat tighter against her chest. “I went in this evening—yesterday evening, rather—to do the weekly bookkeeping. I normally do it on Sundays, but I have a number of obligations today. I was only there for a few hours, but it was cool inside, and bookkeeping can be tedious. I made a pot of coffee. Dr. Lindsey.” She gripped his arm. “The coffee maker has been a bit temperamental for years andit’s possible I may have forgotten to turn it off before I went home. Do you think this—” She gestured at the blackened building behind her, and her voice cracked. “Do you think that’s what caused this?”
Martin didn’t know, and he didn’t want to speculate. Mrs. Green seemed convinced, though, and she burst into tears right there on the street. Martin had to let go of Seb to console her. The whole time, Seb still stared dispassionately at what was left of his home. He really might have been a statue, except for the way his throat worked up and down, like he was also swallowing tears—or maybe a scream. Martin wished he would let it out.
After that, Mrs. Green seemed to decide Martin had some kind of authority and made him stand with her as the fire department asked questions and gave out information. They didn’t comment on her coffee maker theory, but no one talked about arson or anything suspicious either.
Eventually, most of the fire trucks pulled away, and Martin convinced Mrs. Green to go home and get some rest. The sky turned gray and then pink, like the sun was finally ready to greet the day without knowing what had happened over the course of one night.
The daylight didn’t make anything better. It illuminated the inside of the store, and everything was black and ash or sodden and gray. About halfway back was a hole in the ceiling, and only black was visible in the space that should have been the apartment.
Seb still didn’t say anything.
People started to appear, residents out for a quick run before their day started. Business owners came and gaped at the sight.
Somewhere along the way, Brian arrived. “I heard about it when I got to work. How long have you been here?”
Martin shivered. When had he gotten so cold? “A few hours.”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
Brian drove them home. Brian’s home. Martin’s home, sort of. The whole time they drove, all Martin could think was that Seb didn’t have a home. Not anymore.
“Do you want breakfast?” Brian said as they walked inside.
