Wildfire, TX
a novel (excerpt)
by Todd M Doray

Dressed in requisite black, I stood in the sweltering Texas summer heat sweating my ass off and wondering which of my sins was collecting payment past due.

This was my first funeral for a child. I don’t know what I expected,
but a toddler-sized coffin is…unsettling. It’s too small. The mind
wants to categorize it as a prop – to deny the truth of what lies
inside. This casket was made of some dark hardwood, polished to a
lustrous finish, almost haloed by the reflection of the severe sun
overhead. I shivered at the sight. The cemetery entombed too many bad
memories already.

I shuffled my feet, making the dead, dry, tawny grass crunch and
crackle like distant gunfire. For the first time in over a decade I
found myself wishing for a cigarette. Instead, plucked my tactical pen
from my jacket pocket . My one constant companion, I carried the pen
everywhere, despite its designed utility, to occupy my constantly
fidgeting hands. The titanium tube felt ever so slightly reassuring as
I started to twist and twirl it in my fingers, the motion smoothly and
subconsciously falling into a soothing rhythm that brought my brain
back to an ever so slightly calmed state.

I stood a bit behind and to the side of the hundred-plus crowd sitting
in the assembled rows of white chairs. Most were used to the local
heat, but you could tell the out-of-towners by their constant fanning
of cards or hats to try and force even the tiniest of breezes on
themselves. I could not understand why anyone would endure this heat
for any reason.

But I’m sure little Jillian cannot understand why she’s dead, either. I straightened my back and told myself to cowboy up. After all, today’s is not the worst heat I’ve lived through.

The crowd shifted in their seats, following a cue from the
well-dressed speaker standing beside the small coffin. Bible in one
hand, he raised his arms and bowed his head. The attendees bowed heads
as well, and all them men took off their hats. I did not follow suit.

I’ve been giving God the silent treatment for years.

However, the removal of so many wide and tall cowboy hats allowed my
first view of the bereaved parents. My chest tightened a little. He
wore his formal uniform, adorned with all the regalia and badge of a
decorated deputy of the county. Even from this distance the creases in
his shirt and pants looked crisp and sharp. She wore a dress as black
as emptiness. A wide black hat with a dark lace veil concealed her
face. My left eye spontaneously twitched and the pen in my hand spun a
little quicker and erratic, out of rhythm. I consciously controlled my
breathing returned the fidgeting pen to its normal pattern. The hats
went back heads, once again obscuring my view of the mourning couple.

A heavy whiff of whiskey preceded the crunchy footsteps approaching
from behind me. A large man stepped in to my peripheral vision. Neither of us looked at the other.

“Son,” he said.

“Dad.” I returned my pen to it’s home and crossed my arms.

There was a long pause. He seemed a bit uncomfortable with it. Some
macho code compelled him to not talk first – as if it was some sort of
Texan sign of weakness. I sighed and broke the silence.

“A little late, aren’t you?”

“You know I hate funerals. Plan to be late to my own.”

“Doesn’t seem the day for jovial banter.”

“I reckon you’re right.” He looked around a minute, I think to see if
anyone else noticed his arrival. No one had. “Wish you’d told me you
were coming.”

“I wish you’d told me this happened.”

“Well, you’re not an easy one to get a hold of these days.”

I looked at him askance, boring an accusatory glare in to his temple.
He looked down at his boot as he toed a divet in the dry, baked clay
earth under the dead grass.

“Yeah, yeah. I should’ve sent you a message.”

I let that hang between us for a minute, then turned to face him. “Why
didn’t you?”

Dad looked around a bit, at everything except me. He never used to
have any fear looking anyone in the eye. Especially me. I felt concern
slowly start to furrow my brow. Finally he couldn’t ignore my accusatory stare. “Dammit Son, I didn’t want you coming back here for this -”

“Why the hell not?”

“Because I’m afraid you’re gonna burn the whole town down again!”

Shock overtook the concern on my face. My right hand clutched his
shoulder in a death-grip. I breathed out the question in staccato. “Why
would I want to do that?”

Dad looked me in the eyes for the first time.

“Because it wasn’t an accident. Jillian was murdered.”

Pure surprise softened my grip, unconsciously I took a step back as if
taking a physical blow. Then he threw the second one.

“And I think it’s because of what you did.”