a pay phone up the road,” Daniel said. “But I wouldn’t risk going there in the middle of a blizzard. And anyway, they’ll be closed now.”
“Of course,” Emily mumbled, feeling frustrated and completely at a loss.
Daniel must have noticed that Emily was put out and feeling dejected. “I can get a fire going for you,” he offered, nodding toward the living room. His eyebrows rose expectantly, almost shyly, making him look suddenly boyish.
Emily wanted to protest, to tell him to leave her alone in the freezing cold house because that’s the least she deserved, but something made her hesitate. Perhaps it was that having Daniel in the house made her feel suddenly less lonely, less cut off from civilization. She hadn’t expected to have no cell phone service, no ability to communicate with Amy, and the reality of spending her first night alone in the cold, dark house was daunting.
Daniel must have read into her hesitation because he strode out of the room before she got a chance to open her mouth and say anything.
She followed, silently grateful that he’d been able to read the loneliness in her eyes and had offered to remain, even if it was under the guise of starting a fire. She found Daniel in the living room, busy constructing a neat pile of kindling, coal, and logs in the fireplace. She was struck immediately with a memory of her father, of him crouched by the fireplace expertly creating fires, spending as much care and time over them as someone might a great work of art. She’d watched him make a thousand of them, and had always loved them. She found fires hypnotic and would spend hours stretched out on the rug before them, watching the orange and red flames dance, sitting for so long the heat would sting her face.
Emotion began to creep up Emily’s gullet, threatening to choke her. Thinking of her father, seeing so clearly the memory in her mind, made long suppressed tears well in her eyes. She didn’t want to cry in front of Daniel, didn’t want to look like a pathetic, helpless damsel. So she balled her emotions up inside and strode purposefully into the room.
“I actually know how to make a fire,” she said to Daniel.
“Oh, you do?” Daniel replied, looking up at her with a cocked eyebrow. “Be my guest.” He held out the matches.
Emily snatched them up and struck one alight, the little orange flame flickering in her fingers. The truth was, she’d only ever watched her father making fires; she herself had never actually made one. But she could see so vividly in her memory how to do it that she felt confident in her ability. So she knelt down and set fire to the bits of kindling Daniel had place at the bottom of the fireplace. In a matter of seconds the fire went up, making a familiar whomp that felt as comforting and nostalgic to her as anything else the great house contained. She felt very proud of herself as the flames began to grow. But instead of going up the chimney, black smoke started billowing into the room.
“SHIT!” Emily cried as plumes of smoke billowed around her.
Daniel started laughing. “Thought you said you knew how to make a fire,” he said, opening the flue. The plume of smoke was immediately sucked up into the chimney. “Ta-da,” he added with a grin.
As the smoke around them thinned out, Emily gave him a displeased look, too proud to thank him for the help she’d so clearly needed. But she was relieved to finally be warm. She felt her circulation kick in, and the warmth returned to her toes and nose. Her stiff fingers loosened.
In the firelight, the living room was illuminated and bathed in a soft, orange light. Emily could finally see all the old antique furniture her dad had filled the house with. She glanced around her at the shabby, uncared for items. The tall bookcase stood in one corner, once crammed full of books that she’d spent her endless summer days reading, now with just a few remaining. Then there was the old grand piano by the window. No doubt it would be out of tune by now, but once upon a time, her father would play her songs and she would sing along. Her father had taken such great pride in the house, and seeing it now, the glowing light revealing its unkempt state, upset her.
The two couches were covered with white sheets. Emily thought about removing them but knew it would cause a dust cloud. After the smoke cloud, she wasn’t sure her lungs could take it. And anyway, Daniel looked pretty cozy sitting on the floor beside the fireplace, so she just settled down beside him.
“So,” Daniel said, warming his hands against the fire. “We’ve got you some warmth at the very least. But there’s no electricity in the house and I’m guessing you didn’t think to pack a lantern or candle in that suitcase of yours.”
Emily shook her head. Her suitcase was filled with frivolous things, nothing useful, nothing she’d really need to get by here.
“Dad used to always have candles and matches,” she said. “He was always prepared. I suppose I expected there to still be a whole cupboard full, but after twenty years…”
She shut her mouth, suddenly aware of having articulated a memory of her father aloud. It wasn’t something she did often, usually keeping her feelings about him hidden deeply inside of her. The ease with which she’d spoken of him shocked her.
“We can just stay in here then,” Daniel said gently, as though recognizing that Emily was re-experiencing some painful memory. “There’s plenty of light to see by with the fire. Want some tea?”
Emily frowned. “Tea? How exactly are you going to do that without any electricity?”
Daniel smiled as though accepting some kind of challenge. “Watch and learn.”
He stood up and disappeared from the vast living room, returning a few minutes later with a small round pot that looked like a cauldron.
“What have you got there?” Emily asked, curious.
“Oh, just the best tea you’re ever going to drink,” he said, placing the cauldron over the flames. “You’ve never had tea ’til you’ve had fire-boiled tea.”
Emily watched him, the way the firelight danced off his features, accentuating them in a way that made him even more attractive. The way he was so focused on his task added to the appeal. Emily couldn’t help but marvel at his practicality, his resourcefulness.
“Here,” he said, handing her a cup and breaking through her reverie. He watched expectantly as she took the first sip.
“Oh, that’s really good,” Emily said, relieved, at last, to be banishing the cold from her bones.
Daniel started to laugh.
“What?” Emily challenged him.
“I just hadn’t seen you smile yet, is all,” he replied.
Emily looked away, feeling suddenly bashful. Daniel was about as far away from Ben as a man could be, and yet her attraction toward him was powerful. Maybe in another place, another time, she’d give in to her lust. She’d been with no one but Ben for seven years, after all, and she deserved some attention, some excitement.
But now wasn’t the right time. Not with everything going on, with her life in complete chaos and upheaval, and with the memories of her father swirling round in her mind. She felt that everywhere she looked, she could see the shadows of him; sitting on the sofa with a young Emily curled into his side, reading to her aloud; bursting in through the door beaming from ear to ear after discovering some precious antique at the flea market, then spending hours carefully cleaning it, restoring it to its former glory. Where were all the antiques now? All the figurines and artwork, the commemorative crockery and Civil War–era cutlery pieces? The house hadn’t stood still, frozen in time, like it had in her memory. Time had taken its toll on the property in a way she hadn’t even considered.
Another wave of grief crashed over Emily as she glanced around at the dusty, disheveled room that had once been brimming with life and laughter.
“How did this place get into this state?” she suddenly cried, unable to keep the accusatory tone out of her voice. She frowned. “I mean, you’re supposed to be taking care of it, aren’t you?”
Daniel flinched, as though taken aback by her sudden aggressiveness. Just moments earlier