“Anna, don’t be daft. There is no miracle. He’s hidden the matches somewhere.”
Anna slouched forward. She’d hoped he would say Yes, I absolutely believe it. “But isn’t a blue flame unusual?”
Stephen bent and kissed the back of her neck. “There are a dozen colors of fire. This is trick of light, of atmosphere. Group hysteria.”
“So you don’t believe in Hell?”
“Anna, I don’t even believe in Heaven.”
IT WAS THE CLOSEST Anna came to a confession. A week after the funeral, a Saturday morning. Mary had come over as she had done every day since the accident. She brought a casserole, a tin of cinnamon tea cakes, another tin, this one filled with walnut fudge, and a bag of various other treats and snacks she thought either Anna or Bruno or Victor might enjoy. “Mary, this isn’t necessary,” Anna said. She knew she wouldn’t eat a bite of it. Mary waved her off and told her it made her happy to do it. It’s how she sublimates her pain, Anna finally realized. Mary put her grief to use. In that way she was as practical as Bruno or Ursula. But Mary had a tenderness they lacked. Is it because she’s Canadian? Anna wondered. No, it is because she’s Mary.
Mary came into the bedroom with mugs of tea and pulled a chair right next to the bed. She told Anna she was there for her. They could talk, or not talk. Mary would listen or they could just share silence. “Whatever you need, Anna.”
Anna lay quietly for several minutes and listened as Mary made neutral, inconsequential conversation about Tim and the kids. She mentioned that she talked to Nancy, who sent love and wanted Mary to let Anna know that if there was anything she needed, she shouldn’t hesitate to contact her. Anna said thank you; Mary said she’d pass it along. The conversation idled.
“Mary, what’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?”
Mary set her mug on the nightstand and put her elbows on her knees and her chin in her palms like a young girl might and thought for a moment. “I don’t know. I’ve always tried to be respectable. I’m boring like that, I guess,” she dismissed herself.
“No, Mary, you’re good like that.”
Mary blushed. Anna had embarrassed her. “Let me think. Maybe it was the time I …” Mary stopped and rearranged herself in the chair. “Oh, Anna, I don’t want to say! Why do you want to know?”
“It will make me feel better.”
Mary didn’t understand what she meant but did not press her to explain. “Okay, Anna. You want to know? I’ll tell you. But it’s a secret—really, please—you can’t tell anyone.” Anna nodded. “In high school I set fire to the shed behind my volleyball coach’s house.”
“Mary!” Anna didn’t know whether to be impressed or appalled.
Mary backtracked. “It wasn’t just me. The whole team. We all set it on fire. And it was an old, dilapidated shed to begin with, so …”
Anna was dumbstruck. “Why?”
Mary sighed. “The girls on the team, most of us, we’d been very, very mean to this other girl. Absolutely cruel. We spread rumors about her, we let the air out of her bicycle tires, we told her a boy she had a crush on wanted to date her when he didn’t, we cut her hair …”
“You cut her hair?”
Mary nodded shamefully. “Anna, we were awful. But we were trying to be. We wanted to make her miserable. She quit the team. She transferred schools, actually.”
“But why did you do this?”
Mary shrugged. “It was just one of those high school girl decisions that got made randomly and early on. I didn’t make it. I can’t even say I hated her.” Mary hung her head. Anna could tell she’d felt bad about this for years. “I honestly can’t tell you how it happened that she became our enemy.”
“But the shed?”
“Oh. Our coach found out and made us forfeit the season. It ruined our record. We were angry. So one night we snuck onto her property. One girl had the gas can, another had some newspaper. I struck a match and set the whole thing going. Then we ran.”
“And you didn’t get caught? Surely she suspected you …”
Mary shook her head. “We covered our tracks. And we kept our mouths shut. We couldn’t be charged on suspicion alone. There wasn’t any proof.” Anna nodded. “So that’s it. The worst thing I ever did.”
“And you had to think before answering?”
“Well, no. But I try not to dwell on it.”
“What happened after that?”
“Well, after that we got a new volleyball coach. So we got rid of her as well. The next year we won every game we played. Then I graduated.” Mary stopped to think for a second. “Well, maybe that’s the worst thing. Running her off. And that poor girl.” Mary shook her head. “You know I can’t even remember her name.”
“That’s pretty bad.”
“I’ve never told a soul about this, Anna. Not even Tim.”