Laura's Fire

"I hope you like it," he said.

"Thank you," she said. "I think I will."

She read the back cover. It talked about the competition, it was some sort of a writing competition with multiple categories, erotic novels being just one of them. Apparently it was held annually.

"Have you read this?" she asked.

"I have," he said. "Tell me what you thought of it when you've read it? Especially the last one."

"Oh?" she asked, paging to the table of contents. "I will."

They drank their coffees and got started with the day. Tommy had also prepared with ingredients to cook them a Christmas meal, something she also hadn't thought of, and it was very good.

"You're so prepared," she teased him. "Have you got mistletoe hidden somewhere?"

"No," he said and smiled. "You can kiss me anytime you want to, you don't need greenery for that."

She laughed and did.

-#-#-#-#-#-

A few days after Christmas he was due to another meeting with his parole officer. He asked her if she would want to come with him again. He also said there was going to be a small New Year's party hosted by some of his old friends, and asked if she would like to stay for it with him. She was surprised and a little apprehensive, she didn't really want to meet any of his old friends, or actually anyone at all, but she was also warmed by his request and so she agreed.

They would be gone for a few days and so they packed Patchy in a cat carrier as well as Goldie and set on the road. She could see the same change in him she'd noticed on their previous trip, how he relaxed and got to be more at ease as they drove away from his house and towards Cleveland.

They settled into the same motel. For the first evening they followed closely how Patchy and Goldie got along, being confined in the same room. The animals treated each other with some sort of polite indifference and seemed to pretend the other one wasn't there.

Laura got up in the middle of the night to go to the toilet. She spotted Patchy curled up to sleep between Goldie's legs, against her stomach as she was laying on her side, and smiled. It seemed it was just for show that Patchy pretended to be grumpy towards Goldie.

He went to meet his parole officer and she stayed at the motel, finishing the book she'd given him. The stories were nice, and they turned her on, and she contemplated if she'd have enough time to masturbate before he returned. She wasn't embarrassed to admit she did that, but would be embarrassed if he walked in on her.

The last story was especially nice. The plot wasn't very unique but she liked the style. It was tender and lingering, there was an emphasis on the emotional connection of the characters. Sex scenes were written in captivating detail but weren't sleazy or exaggerated, and they were used more to accentuate the growing love between the main characters than to just display the sex. She wondered why he had asked for her opinion on it.

They were having dinner at the mall, in the same restaurant where the waiter had called them a "cute couple" on their last visit, although this time it wasn't the same waiter and this one didn't compliment them. She told him she had finished the book, including the last story, and that she'd liked it. And she asked why he had asked for her opinion on it.

He looked sheepish and looked down at his plate for a while before saying, "Because I wrote it."

She almost choked on her food. "What?" she exclaimed.

"I became aware of the competition while I was in prison," he explained. "There was a great demand for any sexual content, as you might well imagine, but actual porno wasn't allowed. So there was all sorts of erotic literature at the prison library. You'd think inmates wouldn't go for the sort of romantic literature usually associated with bored housewives or whatever, but they probably think that's better than nothing, so they do, anyway. Suppose most of them aren't that blessed with imagining things themselves.

"Well, anyway. I found the anthology of another year's competition in the prison library, and so it came to my attention that there was this competition held annually. And when I got out I decided to participate, because there was a chance of a reward. Don't exactly have that much money coming my way now that I'm done with petty theft. So I participated. And I won the second prize."

"Wow," she said.

She had written some erotica herself, but it had never occurred to her to try and get it published anywhere, not for money or for...fame or any other reason. Well, definitely not for fame. He had used a pseudonym as well, as had all the other authors.

"So, what did you think?" he asked, looking at her across the table.

"It was really good," she said. "I liked the emphasis on the emotional connection. I think it was really stylish. And sweet."

He looked bashful but pleased and fidgeted with his food.

"And I think you're really brave," she said. "For publishing it. And for telling me about it. I mean, I've written some myself, but I have never dreamt of trying to publish anything."

"Oh?" he said and looked at her. "Well I for one would be interested to read yours."

She realized she had shared more than she had intended and blushed. They ate in silence, she kept thinking back to the story. It was so nice, so tender, so romantic, it wasn't at all what she would've expected for him to write. Or any man, for that matter. For some reason she had assumed the writer was a woman. It made her think of her prejudices. Why would she suppose men would write something more straightforward and aggressive and more focused on the act than emotions? And come to think of it, what, if anything, did it tell of him that he would write something like that?

"So is that what you prefer?" she asked.

"What is?" he asked.

"Emotional connection," she said. "At least that was my impression of the story."

"I guess it is," he said. "All I know is that was the first thing that came to me when I tried to come up with a story to write."

"Well it was beautiful," she said and he shrugged.

"I'm getting embarrassed," he said. "Maybe we could discuss it some other time?"

"Yeah, okay," she said and gestured for the waiter to order dessert.

They didn't discuss it again but they did make love that night. They locked Patchy and Goldie to the bathroom, and both of them looked judgemental when they closed the door. It was gentle and sweet, quite controlled, and thinking of his story turned her on but made her somehow wary at the same time.

Afterwards he fell asleep and she read the story again. She didn't know what to make of it, how to relate, but for some reason it made her really uneasy when she tried to imagine them as the main characters.

-#-#-#-#-#-

The New Year's party was at a suburb on the opposite edge of the town. Laura offered to drive in case Tommy wanted to drink something, and he said sure, but that he wasn't planning on getting drunk. And he looked at her nicely, she was nervous and he seemed to notice, and he said they didn't have to stay for very long if she didn't want to. She smiled feebly and thought she'd try her best not to ruin the party for him. She wondered what had made her promise to attend in the first place, but it was too late for regret now, and so they drove to the house and parked beside the road.

It was nice enough. People were alright and it wasn't a very big party. Laura even talked with one of Tommy's friends' wives, Carol.

Around ten Charlene arrived at the party with a man called Mike, whom Tommy seemed to know as well. They greeted each other, and there was an undercurrent of some tension between them all, but no open hostility. Tommy introduced her and then they didn't talk with each other but mingled with other guests.

A little later Charlene approached Laura, who was standing by the wall in the living room by herself.

"Hi again," she said and smiled. She was dazzlingly beautiful when she smiled, especially now that she was dressed for a party and had makeup to match. Laura felt like a sparrow next to a canary.

"Hi," said Laura.

"So, how long have you and Tommy been an item?" Charlene asked.

"Oh, no," she said. "I mean, we do live together, with my house burning down and all, but no, I don't think we are an item."

Charlene raised her eyebrows. They formed two perfect arches on her forehead.

"No? I think Tommy would disagree," she said.

"What makes you think so?" Laura asked.

She thought Charlene was probably a little drunk. It hadn't been obvious from the start and she wasn't teetering, but she had a slight lisp in her speech which there hadn't been in the park. And, well, she was being a little too frank for it to be only the second time they met.

"Well Tommy boy isn't so big on casual affairs," Charlene said. "And now he's introducing you to his friends, right? So what's the deal, is he going to stay out there from now on then? I thought he was just renovating the house."

She didn't know what to say. It suddenly occurred to her that the house was indeed finished, had been even before the fire, and now he was indeed staying "back there" for...yeah, what exactly?

Her. It was obvious he was staying because of her. He had even said as much, but she had been so preoccupied with her house burning down she hadn't really registered it. And she didn't know what to make of it now, but most definitely she didn't want to discuss it with his ex, who was beautiful and confident and gorgeous in every regard. And it occurred to her he might've been with her when he was writing the story.

"So, tell me about you and Tommy," she said. "I take it you have a history together?"

"Yeah, we do," she said. "We had a thing. Not for that long, though. Tommy's a bit too wimpy for me, I'm afraid. No offence."

"Wimpy?" asked Laura. She looked across the room to Mike, who was muscular and heavy set and looked like a human counterpart for a bulldog. Definitely nothing wimpy about him, he looked like a brute to Laura. But in her opinion Tommy wasn't wimpy either, he had muscles and didn't come across as very timid or submissive. She didn't really know what Charlene was referring to.

"Yeah," Charlene said. "I don't know if you know, but there was this writing competition he wrote a story to. Not very manly, is it?"

"Did you read what he wrote?" asked Laura, curious now. Was she saying writing wasn't manly or was it because of its content?

"Well not all of it," Charlene said, rolling her eyes. "Bit of a long winded whine, wasn't it? There were some juicy parts, though. Have you read it?"

"Yeah, I have," said Laura. "I thought it was rather good."

"See, you're a match made in heaven," Charlene said happily and made a saluting gesture with her drink, she couldn't toast Laura as she didn't have a glass.

"Because I'm wimpy, too?" asked Laura.

Charlene burst out laughing.

"Now I didn't say that," she said and rolled her eyes again. "You're funny, at least. But nevermind, I was just curious. I think I have to go now. Happy New Year's Lauren!"

Laura was surprised by her quick bailing out of the conversation, she didn't even get a chance to correct her name when Charlene had already walked away. Laura noticed how Mike had stood up and was walking towards the door. He hadn't said to Charlene they were leaving, or gestured to her in any way, but she fluttered after him and they left, possibly to some other party.

Near midnight they all put their coats on and went outside to watch the fireworks. There was a small hill nearby and they climbed it, Tommy holding her hand. Everybody was more or less drunk, they kept slipping and giggling, the mood was giddy and happy. They reached the top and watched the city stretching out in front of them. Fireworks were already going off left and right, and soon someone started the countdown to midnight. Laura thought it was nice. She realized she had never been to a New Year's party before, she had seen such countdowns in TV and movies but had never participated. She thought there was some other custom, wasn't there, and just as she was racking her brain for it Tommy came closer and took her in his arms.

Oh yes. You're supposed to kiss someone at midnight. Right?

Countdown came to zero, and Tommy kissed her, not hungrily or passionately but in a way that was definitely not only friendly. It was nice, but she was painfully aware of his friends around them, and didn't continue for very long. He looked at her when she pulled out of it but didn't insist. Instead he let her turn around in his arms but didn't let go, he hugged her from behind as they watched fireworks together, and he was warm and comfortable and pressed his cheek against her temple.

They left soon afterwards, drove back to the motel and went to sleep. Tommy was a bit drunk, and Laura didn't want to ask him about Charlene or his assessment of their relationship while he was that way.

They drove back home on New Year's Day, or Laura did. Tommy was hungover and sat in the passenger seat gazing at the snowy field rolling by. And again it was like he was dimming, shutting off, he became wary and tired as they got closer to home.

His mailbox had been blown up. Only the pole remained, and a few scraps of blackened plastic scattered in the snow. The house was intact, though, except that someone had urinated on his front steps. It looked like there had been someone here aiming to pick a fight but in their absence had settled for this. It wasn't so hard to imagine who it could be.

She had to go to work the next day, so on that same evening she gathered her courage and took it up. Up until now she hadn't really thought about the future, she had been so caught up in the trauma of the fire. Now that the new year was opening in front of them she felt like they needed to discuss it, she couldn't continue living in this limbo any longer.

"Listen, Tommy," she said as they were sitting on the living room sofa, looking at the fire. "I talked with Charlene at the party, and she seemed to think we're an item."

Tommy glanced at her and then back at the fire. "Yeah?" He said, a little reserved.

"So, I wondered what you think about it," she said. "She said you weren't one for casual affairs, and that you were introducing me to your friends so it was kinda serious."

"She did, did she?" Tommy said and didn't seem pleased. "What else did she say?"

"She said you're a wimp for writing that story," Laura said, watching him closely. He winced.

"Yeah, well she dumped me for it," he said.

"Really?" Laura said, flabbergasted. "She said she didn't even read all of it. How can that be a reason for anything?"

Tommy sighed and rubbed his brow with his palms.

"Well, the thing about Charlene is that she's a girlfriend aspiring to be a trophy wife. She's greedy but doesn't want to work for anything, so she'd love to have a boyfriend to get her everything she wants. And not just material, she wants...position, power, something like that. And it's frustrating, because she's not stupid, she's just lazy, there's no ambition in her. It's gonna be a sad day for her when her looks are gone and with it the only currency she can use. But her mom is much the same, so I don't know if it was reasonable to expect anything else."

"But you were with her?" she asked.

"Yeah, I loved her," Tommy said. "I'm not ashamed to admit it. It took me some time to realize how she essentially is. And even after I did I still loved her. But during our relationship she also realized I wasn't what she was looking for, and that story was just the final straw on that particular camel's back.

"I mean, we were together before we were sent to prison, and got together again afterwards, we got on probation at roughly the same time. But when I wrote that story and showed it to her she was...less than impressed. She kept saying it was boring and too long, that nobody in their right mind would read anything so long, and that it was wimpy to write about emotions like that.

"And you understand, I spent my time in prison reading, sometimes a book a day, I can't understand how twenty pages of anything can be too long for anybody. And well, because I'm not that interested in playing the macho game she dumped me for Mike the first chance she got. And I had thought she loved me, and I had thought Mike was my friend."

"I'm sorry," she said. "That sounds painful."

"Yeah, well, it was," he said.

They were silent for a moment, and there was an inviting opening to just drop the subject. She decided to bite the bullet and just go for it.

"So what about us?" she said. "Because talking to her made me really realize that you have stayed back here for me, your renovation is long done but you're still here. You said yourself that you stayed here for me even before the fire. And with Billy and all the other shithead locals I can't think of any other reason for you to still be here."

"That is true," he said.

Silence again. And then he said, "How about you? What do you think of our relationship?"

"Uh oh, don't try that," she said. "I asked you first."

He looked at her, then the fire, then back at her.

"Okay, here goes," he said and breathed in deeply. "I love you. And I would really want to be in a relationship with you."

She stared at him, uncomprehending.

"What?" she asked.

"I love you," he repeated. "I hope it doesn't freak you out. Or scare you off. But yes, I've been hanging back here, despite that shithead Billy, because I love you, and I want to be where you are."

Her head was buzzing. "But you can't live here."

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"You can't live here, it's awful to see how you shut down when we drive away from Cleveland, the closer we get the sadder you become. It's heartbreaking. And Billy won't stop, you know, he has it in for you, he won't stop until he beats you up or you leave town. And he's escalating, first it was eggs, now he's moved on to explosives."

He shrugged his shoulders.

"But you would do that for me," she said, the thought slowly opening to her. "You would stay here, risking getting beat up or aggravated to the point of fighting and being thrown back to prison, in a place where there's not a future for you, for me?"

"I am doing that for you," he said. "Yes."

They looked at each other, and he added, a little grumpily, "...because I love you."

"You keep saying that!" she said. "I don't even know how to love! I'm not capable! I'm not, I'm not...worthy!"

"Of course you are," he said as passionately. "You're wonderful in every way I can think of. Now I understand if you don't return my feelings and I understand if you don't want to try it out with an ex-con like me, with no future and no nothing, but I don't want you to say such crap about yourself!"

They stared at each other.

"But you can't stay here!" she repeated. "I don't want you to stay here. I don't want you to throw your life away because Billy's too pigheaded to give up, and I don't want you to have to suffer from everyone's small town small mind bullshit for me."

They paused for a minute. It felt like silence was ringing around them.

"Are you throwing me out?" he asked, and his tone of voice startled her. He sounded afraid. And hurt.

With a sudden stab of pain she realized it was exactly what she was doing.

"I can't let you ruin your life for me," she said. "I can't live with that on my conscience. So yes, I suppose I am."

He stared at her, then towards the fire, he was tense and acutely unhappy. He stood up abruptly and walked out of the room, and she could hear a door closing.

He had gone to the guest room and he didn't come out that night. She listened behind the door and it sounded like he was crying. She didn't know what to do, there was this squeezing feeling in her chest, like her heart was being pressed smaller and smaller. She rolled around in his big bed and it felt too big, and she couldn't sleep. She realized she hadn't slept alone since the fire.