Regret is the Punishment novel · Chapter 7 of 24

Chapter 7: Ash House

Two days later, the fire marshal released the house.

Jerome called me himself, which he had not done since the night of the fire.

"One box," he said.

"You have an hour. I'll be there."

"Thank you."

"It isn't a favor. It's the law. A spouse gets one hour."

He hung up.

I got there before him and stood at the end of the lane, looking at what was left.

The oak was scorched on one side.

The blue door was gone.

The porch swing Jerome built the summer Darla was born hung from one chain over a black hole where the steps had been.

He drove up in his truck, cut the engine and stepped out.

He did not say good morning.

He cut the padlock off the chain fence with a pair of bolt cutters and held the gate open for me.

Inside, everything smelled like a wet match.

The front room was a slick of gray ash and shapes I couldn't name.

The ceiling had come down in sheets.

"Stay on the joists," Jerome said. "The floor by the stairs isn't safe."

"I know how to walk."

"You don't, though. Not in here."

I followed him through the hall in my sneakers, treading in his footprints.

The kitchen was at the back.

It was the only room I had ever really loved in that house.

Now the cupboards were black teeth and the windows had burst outward.

The stove stood in the middle of the floor with a skillet fused to its top.

Jerome stopped in the doorway and looked at it for a long second.

I started to ask him why, and he went past me into the room.

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