Page 121 of At First Spark
She sits in the passenger seat with both hands wrapped around the hem of her sweater, staring out into the rain like she’s trying to count all the ways this day could still get worse. Every now and then, lightning flashes across the low clouds, and her face appears in sharp, pale angles before the dark closes back in.
“She could be setting fires,” she says suddenly.
I know exactly who she means. My grip tightens once on the wheel.
“Maybe.”
Lark’s head turns. “That’s not a denial.”
“No.”
“What does she want?”
The question sounds simple. It isn’t. I can feel all the things living underneath it—the woman, the history, the fact that jealousy sharpens some curiosities into weapons.
I take the next turn slower because the road is slick and because I need the extra second.
“She wanted attention,” I say. “Most of the time that was enough.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
“It was.”
Rain drums harder on the roof.
The headlights catch the farm gate, and then we’re turning in, tires crunching through mud-soft gravel, the house glowing warm against the dark, like something stubborn enough to hold back the weather by force of will.
“Was she important?” Lark asks.
I don’t answer right away. The easy answer—the one that keeps things simple—is no, but that’s not the whole truth, and she deserves more than that.
“She wasn’t supposed to be,” I say finally.
Lark doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t rush me. She just waits, that’s what makes me keep going.
“It started like everything else did back then,” I add. “Easy. No expectations. No reason to think it would turn into anything more than that.”
Rain hits heavier against the windshield, the steady rhythm filling the silence between us.
“At first, it was just… attention,” I continue. “She liked being around. I didn’t mind it. Didn’t think too hard about it.”
I shift slightly in my seat, my grip tightening once on the wheel before I force it to relax.
“That changed.”
Lark’s voice is quieter now. “How?”
I exhale slowly.
“Boundaries stopped meaning anything to her,” I say. “Showing up without telling me. Calling when I didn’t answer the first time. Getting… attached to things I never offered.”
The memory hits sharper than I expect. It’s…uncomfortable.
“She went through my stuff once,” I add. “Nothing important. Just… enough to realize she didn’t see a line between what was hers and what wasn’t.”
Lark’s gaze flicks toward me.
“And that didn’t end it?”
