He knew me too well after years of friendship for me to even try to deny it. “I’m terrified Dad is going to lose his mind again and start a fire at your house by leaving something on the stove.”
Beckett scratched the back of his neck and wouldn’t look at me. Knowing him as well as I did, the longer he remained silent, the more I was sure he was holding back some awful truth because he thought hearing it would hurt me.
I pressed a hand to my stomach and said, “Just say whatever you’re thinking.”
“I don’t think your dad forgot something on the stove, Maise.”
“What? What do you mean?”
“Ron called me today.” He hesitated once more, looking away and back.
I pushed harder into my stomach, hoping to tame the sickening roll. “What did the fire marshal have to say?”
“After the fire was out, I found an empty Sterno can in the kitchen. When I told Ron, he took some samples from the remains of the stove and counters. He got the mass spec results today, and it was, in fact, Sterno that had been spread all over the kitchen.”
“Sterno?” I frowned. “Like the stuff we used to heat the ancient fondue pot?”
Beckett nodded.
I inhaled sharply. “You think Dad did this on purpose? That he started the fire?”
“It’s likely someone did,” he said softly.
My legs gave out, and I landed on the chaise behind me.
The ringing in my ears dimmed the noise of the beach as all sorts of possibilities stormed through me. Dad had looked devastated as he talked about the stroke and losing his job and potentially losing the house.
Had he tried to kill himself?
The ache inside me grew to a blinding pain.
I pushed the thought away, clinging to another possibility—a lesser evil, but still not good. My voice was barely audible when I said, “Do you think he was doing it for the money?”
“I don’t know what he was thinking, Maise. If the entire house had been lost, the insurance payout would have gone to the bank to cover the mortgage, right? As it stands now, you’ll get a bit of money from the claim, but you still have to pay the mortgage. I don’t see him coming out of this ahead, no matter what happened.”
Another horrible thought filtered in. “Do you think Dad is faking his memory issues so he won’t get in trouble?”
Beckett’s response was slow in coming, thoughtful. “No. He was really out of it when we got there, Maise. It wasn’t an act. And even at the hospital, he thought it was years ago, right?”
I rubbed my hands over my arms. “I can’t afford more time off. If I take a family leave to care for him, I won’t get paid. But I also can’t afford to hire someone to stay with him.”
Beckett sat on the lounge across from me, both of us lost in our own thoughts. No matter how I flipped it, I couldn’t see a good reason for Dad to have had the Sterno out. I wasn’t even sure he knew what it was for, let alone how to use it. I couldn’t remember any of us using it in the eleven years since Mom had died. It was yet another item that should have been tossed a decade ago.
Beckett drew me out of my dark thoughts. “Stoney has been griping about his son needing a summer job. With Mikey’s swim practices and meets, it’s been nearly impossible for him to find anything that will accommodate his schedule. I bet we could pay him to stay at the house.”
My throat closed more. “With what money? Everything extra I have is going to the mortgage. The bank was happy to take my savings but then said I’d still have to double up the payments for three months to finish catching up.”
“I can pay Mikey,” Beckett said.
I shook my head, and he leaned over to capture my hands. “Please. Let me do this.”
I closed my eyes so I didn’t have to see the plea in his eyes. He wanted to help me again. Sweep in and come to the rescue once more. Gratitude filled me, like it always did when my friends helped, but I had Chelsea’s voice pounding in my head these days too.
Would I become just another Campbell adult who couldn’t stand on their own? Who constantly needed others to step in and fix their messes?
At least this time, Beckett was getting something out of the situation,but pretending to be his fiancée was nothing compared to what he was doing for me and Dad. Could I live with myself if I let him do more? Did I really have any other options?
“Maisey, sometimes the brave thing to do is to accept help when it’s offered. You want to prove you’re really not chicken, then let me do this.” When I still didn’t respond, he added on, “It’s not like I’m paying hundreds of dollars an hour for a healthcare worker. This is a teenager. We’re basically paying him to babysit, and he’ll eat my food, watch my television, and play video games while he’s at it.”