Spark

His parents hadn’t made it out of that house alive.

And tonight, he could have caused that kind of damage again.

Michael wasn’t in the kitchen or the living room now, but Gabriel didn’t go looking for him. He just walked out the back door and dropped into one of the Adirondack chairs on the porch. The smell of smoke hung thick in the air, but he didn’t feel any fire nearby. The firemen had been thorough.

He usually told Nick everything, but this, right on the tail of their dinner argument . . . Gabriel suddenly couldn’t stand the thought of telling his twin. Just the thought had him fidgeting, reaching for the lighter in his pocket.

But he didn’t have it. The EMTs must have kept the one in his jeans, and he hadn’t grabbed another from his bedroom.

Gabriel sighed.

The sliding door opened, and then Michael was clomping across the porch. Gabriel didn’t look at him, just kept his gaze on the tree line.

Michael dropped into the chair beside him. “Here.”

Gabriel looked over. His brother was holding out a bottle of Corona.

Shock almost knocked him out of the chair. They never had alcohol of any kind in the house. When Michael had turned twenty-one, they’d all spent about thirty seconds entertaining thoughts of wild parties supplied by their older brother.

Then they’d remembered it was Michael, a guy who said if he ever caught them drinking, he’d call the cops himself. Really, he’d driven the point home so thoroughly that by the time he and Nick started going to parties, they rarely touched the stuff.

Gabriel took the bottle from his hand. “Who are you, and what have you done with my brother?”

Michael tilted the bottle back and took a long draw. “I thought you could use one. I sure can.”

Gabriel took a sip, but tentatively, like Michael was going to slap it out of his hand and say, Just kidding. “Where did this even come from?”

“Liquor store.”

Well, that was typical Michael. “No, jackass, I meant ”

“I know what you meant.” Michael paused to take another drink. “There’s a mini-fridge in the back corner of the garage, under the old tool bench.” His voice was careful, as if he wasn’t sure he wanted to share this secret.

Gabriel didn’t look at him, hiding his own surprise. “You hid a fridge?”

“I didn’t. Dad did.” Another drink. “I found it after he died.”

They both fell silent for a while, Michael probably reliving it, Gabriel imagining it, his brother at eighteen, finding their father’s stash of beer. Gabriel wondered if Dad had only been hiding it from his sons, or if he’d kept it a secret from their mother, too.

Not like it mattered.

“Please tell me this beer isn’t five years old,” he said.

“It’s not.” Michael smiled.

And that, too, was almost enough to knock Gabriel out of the chair.

He stared out into the darkness for a moment, and then took another sip. “You’re not mad?”

Michael didn’t say anything, just took another drink.

Gabriel felt his shoulders tighten. The cold of the bottle bit at his fingertips.

“You remember that summer Chris got mono?” said Michael.

The question came out of left field. But Gabriel did remember. Right after their parents died, Chris had gotten really sick.

A pediatrician had diagnosed him with mononucleosis and given him antibiotics, but his “illness” had probably been more due to the fact that none of them were sleeping, and it was the driest summer Maryland had seen in years. Chris suffered without water.

“You and Nick got into it with Seth and Tyler that week,”

said Michael. “At the mall, of all places. You remember that, too?”

“Yeah.” Gabriel remembered the security guards pulling them apart.

“The custody stuff still wasn’t straight,” said Michael. “Chris was sick, and I didn’t know how insurance worked, if we even had it, what with Mom and Dad . . . and then you two got in all that trouble at the mall. The social worker started saying it was too much for me, and she was going to recommend foster care ”

“I didn’t know that.” Gabriel looked at him.

Michael shrugged. “It doesn’t matter now, does it?” He took another long sip and shook his head. “Anyway, I thought I was going to lose it. I was so angry. Angry at you two for not keeping out of trouble, angry at Chris for getting sick, angry at stupid stuff like missing graduation. I was worried she was right, that I couldn’t do it. And what was worse, I was angry at Mom and Dad for leaving me with such a frigging mess.”

Gabriel almost held his breath. Michael had never talked like this before. Especially not to him.

“I was so mad,” said Michael. “I hated them. I actually went to the cemetery and started swearing at the headstones. Punching them. I almost broke my hand. I looked like a lunatic.”

Another drink.

Gabriel stared.

“But I wanted them back so badly,” said Michael. “I would have done anything . . . well.” He took a breath and turned his head, meeting his brother’s eyes. “You know.”

“Yeah.” Gabriel paused. “I know.”

Michael turned and looked out at the night again. “So I’m kneeling there in the grass, wanting them back, feeding fury into the ground.” Another drink, this time a long one. He finished off the bottle. “The ground opened up and pushed their coffins to the surface.” He paused. “And not just theirs. Like twenty of them.”

Gabriel almost dropped his beer. He was horrified but also a little fascinated.

“Were they open?” he asked, his voice hushed.

Michael shook his head. “It scared the crap out of me. I mean, aside from the obvious, it was the middle of the afternoon ”

“What did you do?”

“What do you mean, what did I do?” Michael swung his head around. “I put them back. ”

“Holy shit.”

“No kidding.” He made a face and added, “I don’t even know if I put them back right.”

“You mean, Mom and Dad ”

“No, they’re right. Just . . . everyone else.” Michael paused.

“Jesus. What a week that was.”

“I’m surprised you came home,” said Gabriel, and he meant it. He’d never thought about what would have happened if he and his brothers had been thrown into foster care. If he and Nick had been split up.

“I did,” said Michael. “And that night was when I found the fridge. Fully stocked and all. I don’t even remember what made me go into that corner of the garage, but I swear to god, it was like Dad was standing right there, saying, ‘Here, kid, you look like you need a drink.’”

He stopped talking, and Gabriel let silence fill up the space between them for a moment.

Then he looked over. “Thanks.” He paused. “Does anyone else know?”

“No. Just you.”

That meant something. The beer, the story Michael was saying he trusted him. Gabriel wasn’t sure he deserved it.

“You’re not alone, you know.” Michael hesitated, as if he wasn’t sure Gabriel would keep listening. “Fire’s not my thing, but the pull, the power . . . I understand it. Nick and Chris do, too.”

Gabriel didn’t say anything.

Michael sighed. “I’m just saying. You’re friends with half the school, but you don’t have any real friends. You’re with a different girl every week, but you’ve never had a girlfriend, you don’t ”

“Wait a minute. Are you seriously trying to talk girls with me?”

“No Gabriel.” Michael sounded frustrated. “I’m trying to talk about being alone ”

Gabriel couldn’t decide if he was pissed or amused. “When was the last time you spoke to a girl? Are you even aware the firefighter chick was checking you out?”

His brother faltered. “She’s just a girl from school.”

“You should call her up. Ask her out.”

“Please.”

“God knows getting some would probably improve your mood.”

“I think that’s enough.”

Gabriel didn’t often think of Michael in terms other than overbearing and pain in the ass, but the secret beer had him wondering what else he didn’t know.

“Have you gone out with anyone since Mom and Dad died?”

Michael didn’t move, and Gabriel didn’t think he was going to answer. But he finally nodded. “Yeah,” he said, his voice low.

“Once, when I was twenty-one. She said I had too much baggage.”

“What a bitch.”

Michael rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I’m a real catch. I’m shocked they’re not lined up at the door.”

Gabriel reached out and gave his ponytail a yank. “Maybe if you didn’t look like Charles Manson, they would be.”

“I do not look like Charles Manson.”

Gabriel gestured at the door. “Go tap-tap on your laptop and look him up. Dead ringer.”

Michael laughed. It was a good sound, one Gabriel couldn’t remember hearing since . . . forever.

But then Michael stood up, and Gabriel lost the smile. He shouldn’t have mentioned the laptop. Their landscaping business was probably on the brink of collapse since Michael had spent ten minutes not being an ass**le. That familiar wall was going to fall back into place between them; Gabriel could feel it.

Michael stopped and turned. “I won’t tell Chris and Nick.”

Gabriel glanced up, surprised. “Thanks.” He paused. “I won’t either. About . . . the other stuff.”

And then Michael was sliding the door open, pushing through, leaving Gabriel alone on the porch. Game over.

But Michael stopped before sliding it closed. “You know, they won’t be home for a while. You want another beer?”

Gabriel smiled. “Yeah,” he said. “I do.”

CHAPTER 8

Gabriel dribbled the basketball a few times and threw, making the basket for an easy three-pointer. He was alone on the court, killing time until Nick was done with whatever after-school do-gooder activity he’d signed up for.

Layne hadn’t said a word to him in class.

Gabriel hadn’t known what to say to her, either.

Dribble, dribble. Shoot.

Basket.

If Nick hadn’t broken his leg, Gabriel would be finishing the soccer season this week. He’d played under his twin brother’s name so he could get around the school’s stupid rule limiting students to playing on two varsity teams per year. Gabriel missed the team, the camaraderie, the physical exertion fed by a common goal.

He didn’t really miss any of the guys.

It made him think of Michael’s comments.

Stupid. He didn’t need friends. He had his twin brother.

His phone chimed. Speaking of Nick.

Go ahead without me. I’m going home with Quinn.

Of course. Gabriel shoved the phone back in his pocket.

Nick hadn’t even talked to him last night. Usually they did the postmortem when one went out without the other. But maybe Nick didn’t feel like he had to. He’d been with Chris, after all.

Whatever.

Dribble. Shoot.

The ball hit the rim and ricocheted sideways, toward the bleachers.

Gabriel swore and jogged to retrieve it but Layne’s brother stepped out of the shadowed corner by the door and picked it up.

Simon wore basketball shorts and a loose T-shirt, the clothes making him look smaller than he really was. Sweat darkened his shirt and matted his hair at the temples he’d probably been out running. The JV coach always made them run at the end of a practice. Gabriel remembered.

If Simon had stayed late for practice, did that mean Layne was still around?