What We'll Burn Last, page 29
“Mostly for leaving you so early. I’d always planned on leaving the day I graduated.”
Leyna nodded, remembering the calendar pages Grace left on her pillow, counting down the days to graduation.
“I had to go earlier, for Ellie, but later—it felt like too much time had passed, but really, I was a coward. Growing up a Clarke, I’d learned to avoid the difficult conversations. But I kept up with what you’ve been up to.”
Leyna put it together. “Your son’s name—Kyle. Are you Kyle’s Mom from the message board?”
Grace shrugged. “It’s where you spent most of your time, but I admit, it was heartbreaking.”
Yeah, for me too. Leyna wished she’d known. She would’ve saved all those exchanges, meaningless at the time but priceless in hindsight.
Grace buried her attention in her paper cup before she looked up again. Her expression softened.
“I’m also sorry about asking Amaya to lie to you,” she said. The corner of her mouth quirked up. “Ellie can be dramatic—she’s going to study theater at NYU—and she did find you through the message boards.” She paused, studying Leyna’s face. Trying to gauge whether Leyna judged her? “But she found the Polaroid of the four of us first. I asked Amaya to exaggerate so you wouldn’t connect Ellie to me, but if you hadn’t been so stubborn…” Her eyes sparked. “We would’ve lost her. So thank you for being stubborn.”
Being a Clarke too, Leyna had learned her own lessons.
“You were right about Adam,” Grace said. “We were all wonderful friends, the four of us. Your heart. Adam’s wit. My—flair. And Dom—he was always the best of us.”
Always. Leyna tried to picture him as he’d been before the fire. That grin that always set her off balance. But she couldn’t erase the image of the bear trap snapping on his leg or the knowledge of how much he’d lost.
Grace finished her coffee, then crumpled the cup. She squeezed the wadded paper in her hand until her knuckles turned white. “But all that changed when it became something more between Adam and me. He changed too. He became more like his mom. Controlling. Jealous. I had to protect Ellie from him.”
“Is that why you two fought that night?”
Grace shook her head. “He never knew about her.” Relief in her voice. “That night, we were fighting about you. About what he’d done.” Her gaze fell to the spot on Leyna’s arm where her scar had once been visible; now it was covered by a patch of burned skin, pink and inflamed. “About what I’d done, too, by not stopping him. If Mom hadn’t interrupted us that night—”
“She thinks you started that fight. That he was holding you down so you wouldn’t hurt him or yourself.”
She shrugged. “I’m okay with her believing that. And honestly? Maybe I would have hurt one of us that night. Like I said, it was a rough year.”
“Did you kill him?” Leyna had already guessed the truth, but she wanted to see if Grace trusted her enough to confirm it.
Grace’s face scrunched, another expression familiar enough to cause Leyna’s chest to constrict.
“Why do you ask that?” Deflect and confuse. Their mom would’ve been proud.
“Because Mom’s right. You’re one of only two options that make sense.”
Grace took another deep breath and met Leyna’s eyes. “Just between us?”
“I’m done with secrets.”
Her sister’s lips thinned. “Then I can’t tell you.”
“Mom said his skull was crushed,” Leyna said. “That’s how he died. According to Mom, at least.”
“I struck Adam with a rock when I found his body, but he was already dead,” she said. “I figured if Mom saw that damage, she’d assume Adam fought with someone after leaving our house that night.”
She didn’t need to say the rest of it, maybe because she couldn’t. Leyna’s heart broke for her sister. How horrible that must have been—for Grace to feel like she had to do that to someone she’d once loved.
“So it was Mom who killed Adam,” Leyna said. “With that strike to his head.” She pictured it clearly: Adam stumbling toward the forest before succumbing to that injury. Grace had covered their mom’s act, just as their mom believed she’d covered for Grace.
At Leyna’s expression, Grace said, “You aren’t surprised.”
Leyna shrugged. “Adam was a big guy. Stronger than you or Mom.” At the end, the only two suspects Leyna had been left with. “Someone crushed his skull, and he didn’t try to defend himself?”
Grace tilted her head, assessing. “It was dark. He could’ve been surprised.” She wasn’t arguing, just seeing what Leyna would say.
Leyna shook her head. The forest was never quiet, especially at night. Leaves crunched. Sticks cracked. Stones shifted. It had been at least a thousand feet from the back door of the Clarke home to where their mom found Adam’s body. Too great a distance for an attacker to disguise her approach.
“So if you knew, why—” Her eyes flashed as understanding dawned. “You were seeing if I’d tell you the truth.”
A current passed between them, and Leyna wanted to reach for her sister’s hand. But it was too soon, or too late. She couldn’t decide which.
“So, I was thinking…” Leyna started, mouth dry. “Maybe you want to come with me to visit Dominic again when he wakes up?”
Grace’s eyes shuttered, and Leyna could feel her preparing to say no. Beg off because she had to get back to her children and husband. To a better version of family that she’d built.
Grace crossed her arms. “I want to help prepare the house for Ellie’s homecoming today,” she said. But then she added, “Tomorrow?”
Leyna gave a quick nod, not trusting herself to speak.
Tomorrow. After sixteen years, Leyna had started to believe they might never have that.
“I almost forgot.” Grace pulled a small square of paper from her purse. She slid the paper to Leyna. It was a page torn from a desk calendar. Written there: One day since I’ve been back. On it, she’d taped a Polaroid of herself and Leyna as kids, lying on the forest floor near a rock that looked like a hedgehog.
“That one never reached the wall,” she said. “I kept it with me.”
This time, Leyna’s hand made it across the table. She rested it on top of Grace’s.
“Thank you. And I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have locked you out that night.”
“I would’ve left anyway, but yeah—that was a pretty crappy thing to do.” But she laughed as she said it.
Leyna knew it would be a while before she trusted Grace again—if she ever could—but she had her sister and Ellie and a nephew who apparently looked like her. And Dominic.
“Ellie would love to see you once she’s settled, and you can meet Paul and Kyle.” At Leyna’s hesitation, she added quickly, “I mean, if you aren’t busy.”
Leyna smiled. “I’d love that.”
Grace returned the smile—as brilliant as Leyna remembered it.
Her sister, one day back.
Since the wildfire, Leyna had been thinking even more than usual about what it meant to be a Clarke. In a wildfire, small grasses burned first. They didn’t generate much heat, but grasses ignited trees, and a small fire became a larger one. That was what it had been like with their family. A hundred small things that grew into an inferno and became nearly unendurable.
Leyna thought of how quickly the weather had turned the night before. The wind died. Temperatures dropped. Humidity rose. And then there was the burn scar of a previous blaze, which stopped the McRae Fire on its most dangerous flank. A fire needed fuel. And eventually, even a burn scar would heal.
Maybe their scars could heal too, in time. For now, knowing their healing had begun was enough.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Around two a.m. on October 9, 2017, my husband and I were awakened when our phones began buzzing on the headboard—texts from his brother and my friend. Both were variations of the same message: Are you okay? We looked outside at our Santa Rosa neighborhood to find orange skies and drifting ash. Our family had minutes to evacuate. We grabbed our cats and dog and whatever else seemed important in the moment. For me, a box of photos. For my husband, his basket of laundry. For my daughter, her favorite jeans and her older brother’s football jersey.
We were lucky; though we were temporarily displaced, our home was spared. But others weren’t as fortunate. At least twenty-two people died, and thousands of homes were lost.
It took six years before I felt ready to tell a story loosely inspired by my experience that day. In researching this book, I was fortunate to be able to draw on the experiences of others, including first responders and survivors of some of the state’s worst natural disasters. Where I’ve strayed from fact should be attributed to artistic license. Thank you to everyone who helped me tell this story, including Jeremey Pierce, Thonie Hevron, Danny Hevron, Karen Liebowitz, Katie Kerrer, Josh Codding, and Chad Hermann.
Thank you, too, to the book community—the booksellers and libraries, the readers and reviewers who’ve given their time to these pages. I know what a precious gift those hours are, and I appreciate it more than you know.
Profound gratitude also goes to the generous authors who’ve commiserated, celebrated, advised, or endorsed; there are far too many to list here, but special thanks to Elle Marr, Samantha Downing, Margarita Montimore, Jan M. Flynn, Vanessa Lillie, Jaime Lynn Hendricks, Megan Collins, Anika Scott, Robyn Harding, and Dawn Ius. If I’ve inadvertently left anyone out, I apologize. Feel free to kill me off in your next book.
Thank you to my wonderful agent, Peter Steinberg!!! (Three exclamation points for you.) And thank you to the stellar United Talent Agency team, including Addison Duffy, Yona Levin, and Harry Sherer. I’m also deeply grateful to the dedicated team at Little, Brown and Mulholland: Judy Clain, Bruce Nichols, Craig Young, Terry Adams, Josh Kendall, Karen Landry, Gregg Kulick, Taylor Navis, Tracy Roe, and the #bestteamever super-trio—Anna Brill, Gabrielle Leporati, and Liv Ryan. (There should be capes, or at least really cool T-shirts.) It’s an honor to work with every one of you.
A deeply heartfelt shout-out must go to my editor, Helen O’Hare, a truly brilliant and insightful collaborator and an incredible human being who I suspect has either cloned herself or has evolved to function without sleep. (If she’s a clone, the publishing world is lucky to have more than one of her.) Thank you, Helen, for the countless hours you spent honing this story and for all you do to make me a better writer.
As always, I couldn’t have done any of this without my family. To my parents, thank you for your ceaseless support. Jacob and Maya, you’re my joy and the inspiration for my fiercest, kindest characters. And, finally, Alex—you’re forever my rock. There’s no one I would rather have beside me on this journey.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Heather Chavez is a graduate of the University of California, Berkeley, English literature program and has worked as a newspaper reporter, editor, and contributor to mystery and television blogs. She lives with her family in Santa Rosa, California. She’s the author of the thrillers Before She Finds Me, No Bad Deed, and Blood Will Tell.
ALSO BY HEATHER CHAVEZ
Blood Will Tell
No Bad Deed
Before She Finds Me
Heather Chavez, What We'll Burn Last
