Chapter 73

“Don’t you get to go home?” Jennalee asked him as he took the juice with thanks.

“My replacement will be here soon. I’m used to long hours.”

“Any sparks?” asked Harley.

“Couple. That first unit won’t quit. I don’t see how that guy survived it without burns.”

“They said he was in the bathtub, in the water, I guess,” offered Jennalee.

“Good thinking.”

They walked down the row of rooms, peeking into the last one, Harley’s. It reeked of smoke. Everything was intact though wet, and he found his pinstriped vest, his orange shirt, his white dinner jacket. “I think cleaners can get the smell out,” he said. He then began to gather any clothing he found, piling some into Jennalee’s arms, and the two took it to the campsite by Building Seven where the Laidlaw motorcycles and little trailer remained. He piled it all onto the trailer. “They must be at breakfast or something,” Harley said.

But the Laidlaws weren’t at breakfast. Jane had fetched them with an offer to use her bathroom to wash up, since theirs wasn’t available. So the crowd in the living quarters had grown. Gerald had finally stepped out to man the desk and tend to departing guests. He’d told Jane he couldn’t wait to get every last Sutherland out of the place.

“Now Gerald, they’re not that bad,” Jane said.

“They burned down a building!”

“Right, okay, yes, they did that, but we have insurance so don’t get all worked up.”

“Did it every occur to you the insurance may not pay because the fire was arson?”

“Arson?”

“That boy set it, that Sutherland boy. He confessed.”

Jane grew pensive. “I hadn’t thought of that, but why not wait until we talk with the insurance people, get a claims man out here? We don’t have to tell them it was set, at least not right off.”

Gerald moaned, and when he settled at the desk in the lobby, he was still thinking in terms of net losses for the weekend.

Jennalee, meanwhile, rolled her pink sleeping bag, after which she and Harley walked toward the main building. Knowing their time together was winding down, she became determined to glean all she could from him, so she asked if he was excited about his upcoming competition.

“Looking forward to getting back to preparations,” he said.

“What are you playing?”

“Brahms violin concerto.”

“I love that. I can’t ever decide which I like more, the Brahms or the Beethoven.”

“I thought Chopin was your guy.”

“Oh, he is,” said Jennalee. “I love him, He’s my soul mate, but the B’s, they’re really something. I wish I could have known them all.

“Chopin and Brahms, yes, but Beethoven might have put you off.”

“Oh, I know he was crude and all, but still, just to see him, be there in some way. When I play Chopin, I feel like he’s beside me or at least looking over my shoulder.”

Passing Building Three, Jennalee asked, “Who’s your favorite performer?”

“Nigel Kennedy.”

“Mr. Mendel loves him, has all the CD’s, and we watched a tape, yes, a tapeif you can believe it, of Kennedy’s Four Seasons. He’s amazing. A lot like you.”

“No, I’m like him, only not. He inspired me to dress the way I want.”

“How old is he now? He was young on that tape.”

“No idea. In his fifties, I guess, but he’s brilliant. I’d love to see him perform in person.”

“That would really be something.” Jennalee pictured herself at a concert with Harley. “I wish you didn’t live so far away,” she added, growing wistful.

“Such is life.”

Stopping at the living quarters, they found quite a gathering. “Hey,” Harley said to his folks, who were having coffee with Jane and Marian at the kitchen table. Jennalee hurried to her room, threw the sleeping bag inside, and rushed back out.

“Is Phyllis still at the hospital?” she asked her mother.

“She’s back there now. Marian took her to the police station to collect Daniel. They released him into her custody, but he has to be back for court next month.”

“How’s Noel?”

“Better, but he’ll be in the hospital a few days.”

“So Daniel is there with him?”

“Whoa,” said Harley.

“It’s an awful situation,” injected Marian. “Phyllis is a wreck. Daniel is holding up better than she is.”

“Hey, Mom,” said Harley, “I pulled some clothes out of our room. They aren’t burned, just wet and smoky. That can come out with cleaning, right?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Well, we can try, can’t we? It’s my good stuff.”

“We’ll try, absolutely. And now, Jane, I think it’s time for us to check out. Thank you so much for your hospitality. I wish things had gone more smoothly.”

“Mom,” said Harley. “It’s the Sutherlands. Things never go smoothly.”

“Alright, Harley, enough,” said his mother.