Page 72 of We Were Liars
THE PLAN WAS simple. We would find the spare jugs of gas, the ones kept in the shed for the motorboats.
There were newspapers and cardboard in the mudroom: we’d build piles of recycling and soak those in gasoline.
We’d soak the wood floors as well. Stand back.
Light a paper towel roll and throw it. Easy.
We would light every floor, every room, if possible, to make sure Clairmont burned completely. Gat in the basement, me on the ground floor, Johnny on the second, and Mirren on top.
“The fire department arrived really late,” says Mirren.
“Two fire departments,” says Johnny. “Woods Hole and Martha’s Vineyard.”
“We were counting on that,” I say, realizing.
“We planned to call for help,” says Johnny.
“Of course someone had to call or it would look like arson. We were going to say we were all down at Cuddledown, watching a movie, and you know how the trees surround it. You can’t see the other houses unless you go on the roof.
So it made sense that no one would have called. ”
“Those fire departments are mainly volunteers,” says Gat. “No one had a clue. Old wood house. Tinderbox.”
“If the aunts and Granddad suspected us, they’d never prosecute,” adds Johnny. “It was easy to bank on that.”
Of course they wouldn’t prosecute.
No one here is a criminal.
No one is an addict.
No one is a failure.
I feel a thrill at what we have done.
My full name is Cadence Sinclair Eastman, and contrary to the expectations of the beautiful family in which I was raised, I am an arsonist.
A visionary, a heroine, a rebel.
The kind of person who changes history.
A criminal.
But if I am a criminal, am I, then, an addict? Am I, then, a failure?
My mind is playing with twists of meaning as it always does. “We made it happen,” I say.
“Depends on what you think it is,” says Mirren.
“We saved the family. They started over.”
“Aunt Carrie’s wandering the island at night,” says Mirren. “My mother’s scrubbing clean sinks till her hands are raw. Penny watches you sleep and writes down what you eat. They drink a fuckload. They’re getting drunk until the tears roll down their faces.”
“When are you even at New Clairmont to see that?” I say.
“I get up there now and then,” Mirren says. “You think we solved everything, Cady, but I think it was—”
“We’re here,” I persist. “Without that fire, we wouldn’t be here. That’s what I’m saying.”
“Okay.”
“Granddad held so much power,” I say. “And now he doesn’t. We changed an evil we saw in the world.”
I understand so much that wasn’t clear before.
My tea is warm, the Liars are beautiful, Cuddledown is beautiful.
It doesn’t matter if there are stains on the wall.
It doesn’t matter if I have headaches or Mirren is sick.
It doesn’t matter if Will has nightmares and Gat hates himself. We have committed the perfect crime.
“Granddad only lacks power because he’s demented,” says Mirren. “He would still torture everybody if he could.”
“I don’t agree with you,” says Gat. “New Clairmont seems like a punishment to me.”
“What?” she asks.
“A self-punishment. He built himself a home that isn’t a home. It’s deliberately uncomfortable.”
“Why would he do that?” I ask.
“Why did you give away all your belongings?” Gat asks.
He is staring at me. They are all staring at me.
“To be charitable,” I answer. “To do some good in the world.”
There is a strange silence.
“I hate clutter,” I say.
No one laughs. I don’t know how this conversation came to be all about me.
None of the Liars speaks for a long time. Then Johnny says, “Don’t push it, Gat,” and Gat says, “I’m glad you remember the fire, Cadence,” and I say, “Yah, well, some of it,” and Mirren says she doesn’t feel well and goes back to bed.
The boys and I lie on the kitchen floor and stare at the ceiling for a while longer, until I realize, with some embarrassment, that they have both fallen asleep.