A Conflagration Artist by Bradley Denton

Author:Bradley Denton [Denton, Bradley]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781880448427
Publisher: Wildside Pr
Published: 1993-12-15T00:00:00+00:00

I took the long way home on back streets even though I wasn't really too drunk to risk driving the main drags. In fact, I was dead cold sober despite the dull buzz. Bobby wanted to stay away for a while. It had sounded good at the bar, but now I wondered if I'd be able to avoid worrying about him. On the other hand, lately I'd been as worried about my own life as about his.

By the time I got home I'd kicked things around so much that I didn't feel much of anything except tired.

All I wanted to do was curl up and sleep.

It was after one when I stepped into the apartment, and I wondered why most of the lights were still on.

Peter never stayed up past midnight.

"Lynne, that you?" Peter's voice called from the bedroom.

"Who else?" I said dully. "What're you doing up?"

He stepped out of the bedroom fully dressed, looking at me as if I'd just killed someone.

"You know it's almost two?" he said. "You said you'd be back by eleven."

I shrugged off my jacket and headed for the bathroom. "Sorry," I mumbled. The buzz had become a steady drone that made everything seem as if it were being played to me on a faulty television set.

Peter followed me into the bathroom. Normally I reacted violently to that, but this time I couldn't work up the energy to care.

"You weren't with your little friend, were you?" he said. Accusation and derision mingled in his voice and should have had me up and fighting. Instead, though, I squeezed toothpaste onto my brush and began to methodically scrub my teeth.

"You still claiming nothing's going on?" Peter said.

I spat into the sink. "I've told you a hundred times," I muttered. "He's like a brother. I worry about him.

We grew up together. That's all there is to it."

Peter laughed sardonically. "You've been worrying over him until two in the morning? I don't buy it. Not this time."

He paused as if he wanted me to say something, but I kept on brushing my teeth. Somewhere inside, I wondered at myself. Why was I so dull, so unfeeling? Why wasn't I reacting?

Peter sucked in a deep breath, and I looked at him with a feeling of detachment greater than I'd ever experienced before. He was gorgeously attractive—tall, deep-chested, wavy chestnut hair, clear blue eyes—but at that moment he might as well have been a potted plant.

"Lynne, I love you," he said solemnly, "but I'm going to leave if you don't stop seeing this guy. If you want him instead, okay, fine, just say so. But you can't have me too. I've got two suitcases packed and the third one half full. D'you want me to finish or to stay here?"

I spat again and tried to think of something to say. Nothing came.

"You going to stop seeing him or not?" he said.

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