Chapter 3 - THE BATTERIES
My father’s fear lasted less than a second.
Then it disappeared behind anger.
“Who is texting you?”
I stared at him.
“You tell me.”
He reached for my phone.
I pulled it against my chest.
Margaret stepped closer.
“Mark, I strongly suggest you stop trying to take things from people.”
My father glared at her.
“This is harassment.”
Daniel took the phone from my hand only after I nodded.
He read the messages slowly.
Then he looked up.
“Why would someone ask about smoke alarm batteries?”
My mother’s face had gone colorless.
Emily noticed.
“Mom?”
Linda shook her head too quickly.
“I don’t know.”
Nora stared at her sister.
“Yes, you do.”
My mother’s eyes filled again.
“Nora, please.”
Aunt Nora looked as if something she had suspected for years had finally become visible.
“You told me the investigators found melted batteries.”
My father stepped between them.
“Enough.”
Margaret turned to Daniel.
“Postpone the ceremony.”
Emily gasped.
“No.”
Daniel looked at his mother.
Margaret did not blink.
“You can get married later today, next week, or next year if you still choose to.”
She glanced at Emily.
“But you should not make a lifetime decision while learning that your fiancée may have concealed financial theft and lied about the history of her own sister.”
Emily’s face twisted.
“You have hated me from the beginning.”
“That is not true.”
“You never thought I was good enough for Daniel.”
Margaret’s voice remained calm.
“Until ten minutes ago, my greatest concern about you was that you were overly concerned with appearances.”
She paused.
“You have made that concern look charming by comparison.”
Several guests looked away to hide their reactions.
Emily turned toward Daniel.
“Are you really going to let your mother do this?”
Daniel looked exhausted.
“She is not doing this.”
He glanced at me.
“You did.”
Emily recoiled.
The wedding coordinator hurried toward the priest and whispered something.
Guests began murmuring louder.
Some were already checking their phones.
The perfect wedding was slipping out of Emily’s control by the second.
She knew it.
I could see panic gathering beneath her anger.
Then she did something I had seen her do since childhood.
She changed the story.
Emily turned toward the guests.
Her voice broke beautifully.
“I’m sorry everyone has been dragged into this.”
She pressed one hand to her chest.
“My sister and I have a very complicated relationship because of the fire.”
I felt Margaret tense beside me.
Emily continued.
“Claire has suffered so much.”
Her eyes found mine.
“And sometimes that suffering makes family events difficult for her.”
My stomach dropped.
I knew exactly what she was doing.
She was turning my reaction into instability.
She was making my pain the problem.
Daniel stared at her.
“Emily.”
But she kept going.
“She has had periods where she becomes fixated on what the family owes her.”
Aunt Nora whispered, “Oh my God.”
My mother lowered her head.
My father did nothing.
That was worse.
He was letting Emily say it.
“She isn’t well when she gets overwhelmed,” Emily said.
“I asked her to move because I was trying to protect her from being stared at.”
I felt heat rise beneath my scar tissue.
Not physical heat.
Rage.
She was rewriting the conversation in real time.
In front of me.
In front of everyone.
Margaret spoke sharply.
“That is enough.”
Emily turned on her.
“You don’t know her.”
Margaret’s eyes narrowed.
“Actually, I do.”
The sentence stopped everyone.
I looked at her.
“What?”
Margaret turned toward me.
There was something almost apologetic in her expression.
“I recognized you the first time Daniel brought me a photograph of Emily’s family.”
I stared at her.
“From where?”
She hesitated.
“St. Matthew’s Burn Center.”
My breath left me.
I had spent eleven months there after the fire.
Margaret continued.
“My husband, Thomas, served on the hospital board.”
“He died eight years ago.”
“Before he died, we funded a rehabilitation wing after watching what happened to several young patients.”
Her voice softened.
“You were one of them.”
I remembered donors visiting once.
Faces blurred behind masks, medication, pain, and years.
“I did not expect you to remember me,” she said.
“But I remembered you.”
Emily looked furious.
Margaret turned toward her.
“And I remembered the newspaper story about the fourteen-year-old girl who went back into a burning house for her little sister.”
Daniel looked at Emily.
“You were ten.”
She said nothing.
Margaret continued.
“The article called Claire a hero.”
Emily’s mouth tightened.
“I was a child.”
“Yes.”
Margaret’s voice turned hard again.
“And Claire was fourteen.”
A wave of shock moved through the church.
Some guests had assumed I had been older.
Daniel looked at me.
“You were fourteen?”
I nodded.
His face changed.
Suddenly the story was not one adult rescuing a child.
It was one child covering another child with her own body.
Emily saw that shift in him.
She hated it.
“I never asked her to go back inside.”
The cruelty of the sentence stunned even my father.
He whispered her name.
Emily’s eyes were bright with tears.
“What?”
“It’s true.”
“I didn’t ask her.”
“You were trapped,” I said.
My voice sounded strangely distant to me.
“You were screaming.”
“I was ten.”
“And I was fourteen.”
For the first time, Emily had no immediate answer.
Daniel turned away from her.
He rubbed one hand over his face.
Then he looked at the priest.
“Father Brennan, I’m sorry.”
The priest nodded quietly.
Daniel faced the guests.
“The ceremony is postponed.”
Emily grabbed his arm.
“No.”
He pulled free.
“Daniel, you cannot humiliate me like this.”
He stared at her.
“You just tried to humiliate your sister because her burns offended your photographs.”
“That is different.”
“No.”
His voice cracked for the first time.
“It really isn’t.”
Emily’s entire face changed.
“After everything I have done for you?”
Daniel looked almost bewildered.
“What have you done for me that compares to what Claire did for you?”
The question destroyed whatever restraint Emily had left.
She slapped him.
The sound cracked through the church.
Everyone froze.
Emily stared at her own hand.
Daniel did not move.
A red mark appeared on his cheek.
My mother stood.
“Emily!”
Margaret’s expression became stone.
Emily whispered, “I’m sorry.”
Daniel looked at her for a long moment.
Then he walked away.
Not toward the side corridor.
Toward the main church doors.
Emily’s bouquet slipped from her fingers.
Pearl-white flowers hit the floor.
She ran after him.
“Daniel!”
He did not turn.
The doors opened.
Bright Charleston sunlight spilled into the church.
Then he was gone.
For several seconds, no one moved.
Then every guest seemed to begin speaking at once.
Emily spun toward me.
The grief on her face transformed into rage.
“You did this.”
I stared at her.
“You did this to yourself.”
She took one step toward me.
Margaret blocked her.
“Do not.”
Emily laughed hysterically.
“You think she’s innocent?”
She pointed at me.
“You think Claire is some saint because of what happened that night?”
My skin went cold.
My father shouted, “Emily, stop talking.”
She ignored him.
“You all want the truth?”
My mother stood so abruptly the pew shook.
“Emily.”
But my sister was staring at me now.
Her face was wet with tears.
“She was not supposed to be in the house either.”
I frowned.
“What are you talking about?”
My father crossed the aisle.
“Enough.”
Emily backed away from him.
“No.”
“You lied to both of us.”
My mother covered her mouth.
I felt my stomach twist.
“Who lied?”
Emily looked at Dad.
Then at Mom.
Then back at me.
“The night of the fire,” she whispered, “Dad told everyone we were at Aunt Nora’s.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
We had been supposed to go to Nora’s for dinner.
A storm had delayed the plan.
At least, that was what I remembered.
Emily continued.
“But last year I found an old insurance statement.”
My father lunged for her arm.
Margaret stepped between them again.
Emily’s voice rose.
“The house was insured for almost twice what it was worth.”
I stared at my father.
His face had gone gray.
Then my phone vibrated again.
Another message from the unknown number.
THE FIRE STARTED TWELVE MINUTES AFTER MARK CALLED THE INSURANCE AGENT.
A second message followed.
I WAS THE FIRST INVESTIGATOR ON SCENE.
Then a name appeared.
THOMAS REED.
May you like
My father whispered something I had never heard him say before.
“Oh, God.”
