“I’m fine.”
He swept her into a hug, and she didn’t resist. She felt like a spectator, standing outside herself.
“I had another vision,” he whispered into her hair, and now she could smell the alcohol—whiskey, or maybe rum. “I saw smoke. . . . I had to come here.”
She pushed away, fully seeing what was happening from the outside. “Why are you here?”
“I told you,” he said, annoyed at having to repeat himself. “I saw this. I came.” Once again, she smelled alcohol on his breath. Beer.
“Hey—hey you.” A police officer approached. Em prayed he wouldn’t come too close.
Crow disengaged and turned to face the officer. “What?”
The police officer was staring at him suspiciously. “What’s your name, kid?”
“Colin,” Crow answered, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “I’m—I’m a friend.”
The officer, whose brass nametag read D. GOUDREAU, glanced to Em for confirmation.
She nodded, still in a daze. “It’s true,” she said. Please cooperate, she begged Crow in her mind. Please don’t make things worse.
“And why are you here?” Goudreau’s pencil was poised above a small notebook. Em’s senses started to kick back in, one by one. The air was tinged with the chemical scent of firefighting foam mixed with acrid smoke.
“I was—I was just dropping by,” Crow stuttered. They all heard how feeble the excuse sounded. Em shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, feeling the night breeze whisper along her bare arms.
“You two boyfriend and girlfriend?” Goudreau asked.
Em sensed eyes on her; she looked up to see her parents staring at her and Crow from where they were standing in a clump with the Founts.
“No,” she said quickly. “Nothing like that.”
“Uh-huh?” The cop wrote something down in his little book, seemingly unconvinced.
“No, sir,” Crow said, speaking in a clipped tone Em had never heard come out of his mouth. “We’re just friends, and I was just coming over because . . . just to visit.”
The officer looked Crow up and down. “You were coming over in the middle of the night? Strange timing, huh?”
It was strange timing, that much was true. Em didn’t want to consider the implications of what Goudreau was implying.
“What do you mean?” Crow’s eyes narrowed.
“Just what I said. It’s a pretty good coincidence that you stopped by while there was a fire going on.”
“Look, you want to accuse me of something?” Crow took a menacing step forward.
“Crow, stop,” Em said, putting a hand on his arm. A snap of electricity went through her fingers. “Officer, Crow—Colin, I mean—Colin is just my friend. And he stopped by. That’s all.”
Mr. Winters appeared behind them. “Is everything all right here?”
“I’m just trying to figure out why this friend of your daughter’s is skulking around in your yard in the middle of the night,” Officer Goudreau said. “Right before a fire almost takes down your whole house. Reeking like he just came from Eddie’s Tavern.”
“Well, I think the morning is as good a time as any to figure that out,” Em’s dad said, giving Crow a quick—and disapproving—glance. ?“I think we’d all like to go inside and warm up. ?Our neighbors have offered us their guest room for the night.”
Em turned to see her mom walking in the Founts’ front door, looking curiously in their direction.
But Crow wanted to have the last word. “Sorry to disappoint, Officer,” Crow sneered. “But I wasn’t at Eddie’s. But maybe you just came from there yourself?”
Goudreau reared his head, pissed off. “Don’t mess with me, boy,” he said.
“How about you not call me ‘boy’?” Crow countered. As he spoke, he pitched slightly to the left, like he’d been pushed by an invisible force.
Em’s father cleared his throat and Em dropped her head, mortified and angry. Why did Crow do this all the time? She wanted to slap it out of him—and pray he’d just shut the hell up.
“These goddamn kids,” Goudreau said, more to Em’s dad than to anyone else. Then, to Crow: “I’ll be in touch.” He stalked off into the night.
Once he’d gone, they made an odd, awkward trio—Em, her dad, and Crow, standing silently on the lawn. Firefighters milled around the yard, shouting to one another and trudging back and forth between their trucks and the house.
“Well, the fire seems to be out,” Mr. Winters said. “Didn’t get upstairs, thank god. Just the kitchen and the laundry room, mostly. Dryer lint, they said.”