Some fires burn where no one can see them.
Dad's news hit me before I could even get my hands up. I staggered against the doghouse wall.
"Son, the old homeplace burned to the ground today."He held my face with those squinted Dad eyes, crusted at the edges with the remnant of dried tears. He let the silence sit there a long time. Then:
"Do you know anything about that?" "God, no, Dad. Why would I?" "Because I heard you say two years ago that you wished it would all just burn down." "Dad, that was — I said that because of the fighting. You and Mom. The kind where the cabinet doors got slammed so hard the hinges bent." I swallowed. "I was fifteen and tired of the yelling. I didn't mean the actual house." I could hear my own voice climbing. "No. I don't know a thing."