Chapter 9
The fire department put out the cabin fire an hour later.
Jesse's body was carried away in a body bag. The coroner confirmed it was him this time—dental records, DNA, tattoos, everything matched. He was really, truly dead.
The next few weeks were a blur of therapy and doctor's visits and more interviews with the FBI. The story of the cabin fire made national news. People called Rachel a hero. They called Clara a survivor. They called Lily the bravest little girl in America.
Rachel didn't feel like a hero.
She felt tired.
She'd been having nightmares, the same one every night. She was back in the cabin, tied to the chair, Jesse standing over her with the knife, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't move. She'd wake up sweating, her heart hammering, reaching for her gun.
One evening, she was sitting on the porch of Clara's new house—the one in the quiet suburb, the one with the big fence and the alarm system—drinking a beer, watching the kids chase fireflies in the yard.
Clara sat down beside her, handing her a second beer.
“Penny for your thoughts,” she said.
Rachel smiled, tired.
“Just thinking,” she said. “About how close we came. How if Lily hadn't gotten free, if I hadn't found that gas can—we'd all be dead right now.”
Clara nodded, quiet.
“I think about it too,” she said. “Every night. I wake up and check on the kids three, four times. I have to touch them to make sure they're real. But you know what? I haven't had a single nightmare about Jesse. Not since the cabin. Because I know he can't hurt us anymore. He's gone. He's never coming back.”
She leaned her shoulder against Rachel's.
“You did that,” she said. “You gave us our lives back. I don't know how I'll ever repay you.”
“You don't have to repay me,” Rachel said. “Seeing those kids laugh? Seeing you get to be happy? That's payment enough.”
They sat in silence for a while, watching the kids.
Lily caught a firefly in her cupped hands, showing it to Leo before letting it go. The toddler squealed, clapping his hands, chasing after it into the grass.
“The FBI called again today,” Clara said. “They want me to testify at the trial for the rest of the crew. They say my testimony could put them all away for life. I said yes.”
Rachel looked at her, surprised.
“That's brave,” she said.
Clara shrugged.
“I'm done being scared,” she said. “I spent five years letting Jesse tell me what to do, where to go, who to talk to. I'm not letting his friends do the same thing. If me telling the truth keeps another family from going through what we went through? It's worth it.”
She took a sip of beer.
“Also,” she said, “I have something to ask you. The school is having a father-daughter dance next month. Lily doesn't have a dad. And she asked if you would go with her. She said you're the closest thing she has to a parent who's not scared of everything. I told her I'd ask, but only if you want to. No pressure.”
Rachel felt her throat get tight.
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
Clara smiled.
“I'll take that as a yes,” she said.
Inside, the timer went off for the cookies Clara was baking. She stood, going in to check on them, leaving Rachel alone on the porch.
Rachel watched the kids.
Lily had stopped chasing fireflies. She was standing in the middle of the yard, looking up at the sky, her face lit up by the moon. For a second, Rachel could see the scared little girl from the ambulance, the one who'd whispered that her mom was scared, the one who'd thought no one would ever believe her.
But that girl was gone.
In her place was someone brave.
Someone strong.
Someone who knew she was loved.
Rachel's phone buzzed.
It was a text from Mike.
Just got off the phone with the chief. They're promoting you to detective. Your pick of units. Congrats, partner.
Rachel smiled, typing back a quick thanks, then slipping her phone back in her pocket.
Detective.
It was everything she'd ever wanted.
But as she sat there, watching the kids, smelling the chocolate chip cookies baking inside, hearing Clara laugh at something Leo had done, she realized something.
The job was important.
But this?
This was what mattered.
This was why she'd become a cop in the first place.
Not for the badge. Not for the promotions.
For the moments when you got to give someone their life back.
For the moments when you got to be the person you'd needed when you were seven years old.
Lily ran over to the porch, climbing up the steps and throwing herself into Rachel's lap.
“Mom says you're gonna take me to the dance,” she said, grinning. “I'm gonna wear the pink dress. The sparkly one. And you have to wear a tie. A sparkly one. Okay?”
Rachel hugged her tight.
“Okay,” she said. “Sparkly tie. Got it.”
May you like
Clara came out onto the porch then, holding a plate of warm cookies, the light from the kitchen glowing behind her like a halo. She looked happy. She looked free.
For the first time in a long time, Rachel felt free too.
