Free Charred by Kate Watterson Page A

over the house … we didn’t push it. Her father’s a doctor and he stood firm against us seeing her. It made for a difficult argument.”
    “You have to admit it was one hell of a day for her.” He rose and went to dump out the last bit in his cup in the sink.
    “I’m sorry I was late. Stood your parents up and then I missed dinner.”
    The change in her tone caught his attention and he turned, capturing her gaze. “I told you last night it was okay, Ellie.”
    “People tell other people all the time something is fine when it really isn’t.”
    The insecurity wasn’t her. But neither was dancing around a touchy subject.
    Was he in love with her?
    They had almost discussed it the night before, but not quite. She wasn’t convinced she wanted to discuss it.
    You don’t want me to tell you I’m in love with you .
    “I’m being honest.” He said it in a prosaic tone. “My parents like you, they get your job, and they never have sweated the small stuff.”
    “I’m not worried about them.”
    “Oh? Then?”
    “You.” Now she was being really honest.
    “Me how?”
    “Cops don’t have the greatest relationships. There’s a reason for it.” Her mouth lifted at the corner. “We’re suspicious and don’t usually think the best of people because too many of them are assholes, and have I mentioned we work long, irregular hours? I’m sure I wouldn’t date a police officer if I was at all a normal person.”
    “I’d use ordinary if it was my choice. Abnormal implies something much worse than my possible inference of greater sensitivity.”
    “Okay.” It was reluctant, but she laughed as she downed the last bit of her coffee. “I’ve got to go.”
    “Can we have dinner tonight?”
    “Sure.” Her voice went soft. “Absolutely.” She could use a night out.
    “Preference?”
    “What do you think?”
    “Lulu’s it is.”
    She yawned. “I’m going to take a shower. Santiago is swinging by to pick me up in half an hour.”
    She knew he wasn’t thrilled about Santiago. Cocky males weren’t Bryce’s favorite type. All he asked was, “Here?”
    “I hope you don’t mind.”
    “I prefer it, actually.”
    She padded over in bare feet and rose to kiss him very lightly on the lips, her breasts brushing his chest through the thin material of her shirt. “Possessive doesn’t suit you at all, but it is cute in fleeting moments.”
    It was, and maybe even more so since it was out of character. She worked with men and that wasn’t going to change.
    He caught her as she went to turn away and gave her a much more satisfying version of a good morning kiss. He tasted like coffee with a hint of mint toothpaste and his lips were firm and warm. Afterward, when he received a quizzical look, he merely said, “I think I forgot yesterday to put a new bar of soap in the shower. You might want to check.”
    Half an hour. Not a lot of time, but …
    She lightly touched his cheek. “Or you could just join me.”

 
    Chapter 7
     
    There’s a swamp in my brain. It sounds melodramatic put that way, but in a metaphorical sense it is accurate enough. Muddy and deep, opaque and dangerous . I can’t see what’s in there sometimes until it is just too late.
    I dreamed my first fire.
    It was magnificent … orange running into scarlet, licking upward, shadows leaping, the heat searing, destroying everything it touched. It was alive, rippling with power, devastatingly beautiful.
    It singed me, washed me clean, took off every strip of skin, melted my bones into puddles of cells and atoms and crushed the blackened stumps. I was devoured, swallowed whole … and I woke screaming in the middle of the inferno, drowning in the boiling swamp.
    My mother told me later my fever was 105 and that the flames licking up the walls and covering the bed were part of the delirium.
    She was wrong. It was vivid and real, and I can prove it.
    It left me irrevocably scarred.
    The way I see it is if the saints can experience divine