Page 47 of Burning For You

“Raspberry?”

“Raspberry jam. My mother makes the best jellies and jams, but raspberry is my favorite.”

“There you are, being funny.”

One shoulder twitched upward. “I’m not trying. It’s just me.”

“I get it. I think maybe back then, or years ago, I thought you tried.”

“I did more with you, but it’s still how I am. I can take a hint.”

“I meant nothing by it all. I had a lot going on in my life.”

“Tell me about it, if you want.”

“I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors.”

“What rumors are those? I try not to believe too much unless it comes from the source. It’s how I was raised.”

“You’re of the minority. But my parents were drunks. Functioning ones. Sean and me? We were just two bodies in the house to push around.”

“They physically abused you?” he asked, sitting up straighter.

He’d never heard that.

“No. I mean, my father and Sean fought. They might have pushed each other around some, but there were no punches thrown that I know of. We were two people for them to tell what to do. I did a lot of cooking and cleaning. Sean did a lot of other things around the house. The night of the fire...” Her voice just trailed off.

“What happened that night?”

“It was nothing more than normal. I’m not sure why I remember it.”

“Because it’s the last time you saw your parents.”

“You’re right. My father and Sean were fighting. He wanted to go out and was told no. Argued he was eighteen, but my parents’ favorite comeback was always until you start paying your way, it’s their way.”

“Even at fifteen they said that to you? You didn’t have a job, right?”

“I didn’t. So I cooked dinner more than half the time. My mother had come in from the store, put the food away and then told me to start dinner. I asked if it could wait until I was done with my schoolwork, but she was hungry and wanted it then.”

“Then she should have started it,” he said before he could stop the words from carelessly spilling out.

“That was my thought too. I got lippy with her. She got lippy back. She got in my face and my father came in to break it up, they each grabbed their first of many beers that night. Though I’m positive they were both drinking prior. It was the first that I’d seen that night.”

“It was nonstop?” he asked.

“My mother was a bartender. She was around it all the time. I know she drank while she worked, then drank more when she got out, and sometimes more when she was home. My father would go sit with her and they’d drink together on the weekends. Or if he was home at night and she was working, then he was drinking in the living room, falling asleep with empties next to him. The house was always a mess.”

“Unless you cleaned it?”

“Pretty much.”

“I’d heard that there was junk and boxes around and that just helped the fire spread.”

“That’s what they said.”

“But you don’t believe it?” he asked. “You don’t believe it was an accident, do you?”

“I just need to talk to someone who will listen to me.”