Page 30 of Burn for You

Hopefully those contractors are quick, or I might have to go into hiding for the next year.

I was spooked earlier, seeing her at the bar. I didn’t know how to act after last night, or how she would act. But it’s apparent that nothing has changed, even though a part of me was convinced things would be different between us. She still looks at me with obvious distaste and it bothers me more than I care to admit, but it’s for the best. I can’t let myself get any closer to her.

If I had been even five minutes later last night, things could have ended up very differently. May might not have been moseying her way around my house right now. And the thought of that makes my gut churn enough as it is.

My mind flashes back to the image I haven’t been able to get out of my head. Of her standing there in the flames.

I shake my head as if to toss away the memory, but I know it will claw its way back to the forefront of my mind as soon as I close my eyes tonight.

I lift her last few boxes out of the bed of my truck and walkinside, kicking the door closed behind me. And then May is there, lifting the boxes out of my arms. “I’ll take those.”

I hand them over and she takes them into her new room before she stands in the doorframe, looking at me from down the hall.

“Look,” she starts. “I really appreciate what you're doing for me, but I know you don’t want me here. I don’t particularly want to be here either. So I’ll do my best to stay out of your way if you do the same, okay?”

And then she shuts her door.

I spraywater over my truck with the hose.

When I woke up this morning, May was nowhere to be seen. The house felt eerily quiet, and in the silence, I couldn’t stop hearing the spark of flames. It’s the sound that kept me from sleep last night, and it’s the sound that left me rolling out of bed at six a.m. with nothing to occupy myself. Hence why I’m washing my truck at seven in the morning.

I’ve got my old school radio sitting on my front step, the music filling the quiet of the morning. It’s loud enough to distract my mind, but quiet enough that I won’t wake any of my late rising neighbors.

I don’t really know any of them. Most of the people who were around when we came here as kids have either died or moved away, leaving me living next to complete strangers. I keep to myself, and seemingly, so do they. Meryll lives a few houses down the road. I’m sure she knows everyone that lives on this street and the next five over.

I dunk a sponge into the bucket next to my feet and scrub it over the bonnet, working over any spots or smudges on the light blue steel, using the work as a welcome distraction instead of replaying the events of last night.

“Is this how you spend your Saturday mornings?” My headsnaps to where May is sitting. Her knees are hugged to her chest as she sits on the top step.

She raises her eyebrows, taking in my appearance. I’m bare chested, with splashes of water over my upper body from the sponge.

“The hat is a bit young, isn’t it?”

Her lightheartedness catches me off guard, considering yesterday’s events. I frown, pulling on the edge of the cap that’s sitting backwards on my head. I didn’t think so.

“How old are you anyway?” she asks.

I dunk the sponge back in the soap and move to washing the driver's side door as I try to recall her age. I think Caio told me when she first showed up in town that she was a year older than Isla, making her twenty-five, nine years younger than me. “Thirty-four.”

Her eyebrows shoot to her head.

“What?”

She shakes her head. “Oh, nothing.”

I lean my arm against the car and face her. “What?”

Her eyes rake over my body, taking their time to meet my own once again. “I just didn't think you werethatold.”

I narrow my eyes. “Is that meant to be a compliment or an insult?”

“It’s up for interpretation,” she shrugs.

I send my focus back to my car, scrubbing the sponge over the window. What is that supposed to mean, exactly? And wasn’t she supposed to be avoiding me? So why is she out here on my front step, commenting on my age?

“Don’t you have work or something?” I ask.

“Are you not enjoying my company, Rafael?” I scowl over at her, and she just grins back before it falls. “I don’t know what bars you’re going to, but usually they aren’t open at…” She looks at her phone. “Seven-thirty-six in the morning.”

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