“What’s your name?”he asks.
“Clementine,” I say.
He laughs a little, a dry laugh.
“That’s a pretty name,” he says.“Like the song.Oh my darlin’, oh my darlin’...”
“I hate that song,” I say, laughing.
“It’s a nice song,” he says.
“Clementine stubs her toe, falls into a river, and drowns,” I say.“It’s not a good way to go.”
Better than burning to death in your own home,I think, but I don’t say it.
He just shrugs.
“What’s your name?”I ask, because I have to say something.I’ve got my radio on my belt, and if I need to leave, someone will tell me.
“Harold,” he says.
Whatever I was about to say just dies on my lips.
“It’s not as pretty,” he says.
“My boyfriend wanted to name the fire Harold,” I say, the words just tumbling out of my mouth.“He was joking, but...weird, huh?”
He thinks about it for a moment, and I can’t help but thinking about Hunter and I, standing on the path, on the way out of the forest.A perfect, sunny day, him suggesting I name the fire something stupid.
“The Harold Firedoes lack a certain gravitas,” he says.
“That doesn’t mean it won’t burn your house down with you inside it,” I point out.
He takes a long drink of the water, just looking at me.Then he holds his water glass on his lap and takes a long, slow look around the room, like he’s remembering something, and like he’s deciding whether to tell me something.
“Think you can humor a silly old man for a moment?”he asks, his voice even softer than it was.
I lean my elbows on my knees, both hands around my water glass, and hope that Harold doesn’t suddenly say something perverted.
“Okay,” I say.
“I don’t want to leave the house where Mildred died,” he says softly.
I look down into my water glass, my mind going blank for a moment.That’s not what I was prepared for.
“Who’s Mildred?”I ask, even though I think I already know.
“My wife,” he says simply.“We were married for fifty-three years.Forty-five right here.She built this cabin with me.”
Suddenly there’s a lump in my throat, and I’m pressing my lips together, trying to keep my breathing normal.
I want that, I think, unbidden.
“That’s a long time,” I say.
“People don’t stay married that long any more,” he says.
“No, they don’t,” I say, my voice sounding a little hollow.
