Free The Ice Cradle by Mary Ann Winkowski, Maureen Foley Page B

matter of arson. For nauseatingly selfish reasons, I sort of hoped that Frank was right. It was awful to contemplate the possibility that my own self-centeredness had prompted Vivi to act out in childish fury and ignite the blaze. I wondered if anyone had mentioned to Mark the possibility that the fire had been set.
    “I’ve never seen flames that color,” I said, hoping this comment might lead to the subject. “And all that black smoke.”
    “That’s my fault,” said Mark. “I had a couple of cans of gas out there, for the lawn mower and the snowblower. It’s the first thing I thought of when I saw the flames, how stupid I’d been to leave gasoline lying around.”
    “Heck,” said Bert. “Everybody does it. Or worse.”
    Mark shook his head. “I didn’t dare go near them. I was afraid they’d blow up in my face.”
    “Good thinking,” said Bert.
    Lauren gave an exaggerated shiver, obviously imagining what might have been.
    “What happened to them?” I asked.
    “They both exploded. Didn’t you smell the gas?”
    “I did,” said Bert.
    “Me, too,” said Lauren.
    “There must have been some leakage from those old metal cans,” Mark went on, “because that whole area back there lit right up before the cans exploded. It was just after the trucks got here.”
    “So those bright orange flames came from
your
cans of gas?” I asked.
    Mark nodded.
    I let out a deflated sigh.
    “Well, the good news,” said Bert, “is that everything can be fixed. Lou Markham and I went around and checked the foundation, and it held up pretty well, all things considered. I don’t know about the stuff you had stored in there …”
    “A lot of it was junk,” said Lauren. “Well, not
junk
, but things we don’t have room for in here, stuff we just collected over the years. Some of it was nice, definitely, but the reason it was out there was because we didn’t know what to do with it.”
    “So the inn’s completely furnished?” I asked.
    “Oh, yeah,” said Mark. “I was actually thinking we might have a barn sale this summer and get rid of a lot of that stuff.”
    “Oh you were, were you?” Lauren said.
    “You’re the one who hates clutter,” Mark said. “Fussy little B and Bs with doilies on all the tables.”
    “Mama?” I heard.
    It was Henry. He was standing in the doorway in his footed pajamas. His hair was sticking up in tufts, and he looked like he was about to cry.
    “I woke up,” he said.
    “Oh, honey, come here. I’m sorry. Were you scared?”
    He blinked rapidly in the bright light of the kitchen and looked around in bafflement. I put out my arms, and he padded over to where I was sitting, then crawled into my lap. He didn’t want to admit that he had been unnerved to wake upand find me gone from the room, so he buried his head in my shoulder. I took a deep breath and suddenly felt exhausted.
    I stood up. He was heavy. I wouldn’t be able to carry him this way for much longer.
    “I guess I’ll head up,” I said. “I hope you two can get some sleep.”
    Lauren and Mark nodded. “Thanks for all your help,” Mark said.
    “No problem.”
    Bert stood up. “You need a hand?” he asked.
    “I’m okay,” I said. “But thanks.”
    Bert reached over and laid a hand on Henry’s back. “Sleep tight, sailor,” he said.
    At the sound of his voice, Henry looked up.
    “See you in the morning,” I said to Lauren and Mark.
    “See you—sometime—maybe,” I said to Bert.
    “Good night,” he answered.

    “Where
were
you?” Henry demanded.
    “Right there in the kitchen, honey. I was just talking to Lauren and Mark.”
    “And Bert,” Henry added.
    I laid him down on his bed, disentangled the covers, and tucked him in. I hoped he would close his eyes and drift right off, but I knew this was unlikely.
    “I didn’t know where you went,” Henry said.
    “You were sound asleep. I didn’t think you’d wake up.”
    “You left me all by myself!” he whined.
    “I was only downstairs.