Haunted: Part II

This is the second part in a series, so if you have not already done so, you might want to read Part I before continuing.

Getting back in the habit of cooking regularly took me longer than I care to admit. What can I say? Moving is a lot of work, and with the kids and the divorce, it was just so easy to pick up the phone and, with a few clicks, have food delivered right to our door.

But once everything was unpacked and we were out of excuses, Tanya and I got into a routine of switching off meals. I would make breakfast (I was always the first one up anyway, and I make a killer omelette), the kids were old enough to make their own sandwiches for lunch, and Tanya would make dinner.

One day I was in the kitchen, chopping up some veggies for the omelettes when, over my shoulder, I heard Tanya say, “You gonna cook anything over that fire, or are you just using it for warmth?”

“What?” I asked, turning to look at her.

She nodded in the direction of the stove. I turned to find flame coming out of one of the burners and I stopped, frozen in place as my mind tried to reconcile the facts that the burner was lit, I had not lit it, and I was the only one downstairs until a few seconds ago.

Tanya walked over and turned off the gas, then looked at me with pity written all over her face. “You’re really tired, aren’t you? Maybe I should make breakfast while you get some coffee. Think you can manage to make the coffee without burning the house down? We just bought this place.”

“No, you don’t understand, I didn’t light the stove. I know I didn’t”

“Well, if you didn’t, who did?”

I looked around. “Jamie? Charlene?”

“They’re both upstairs. I checked on them right before coming down and they were brushing their teeth.”

“One of them could have come down here, lit the stove as a prank, and snuck back upstairs.”

“That’s crazy.”

“Crazier than the idea that the stove lit itself on fire?”

She gave me that pitiful look again and said, “Sweety, you’re just tired. Why don’t you go sit down. I’ll bring you some coffee and make breakfast this morning.”

“I’m not tired. Well, I am, but that doesn’t mean I lit the stove and then forgot about it. I know I didn’t light it. I always come in, make the coffee,” I pointed at the coffee pot already full of coffee. “Chop the veggies, break the eggs, then I put the skillet on the stove, light the stove, put some butter in the skillet, and let it heat up while I scramble the eggs. I could do it in my sleep. There’s no way I lit the stove before I started chopping the veggies.”

“Maybe you-”

“No. There’s no way. I would never do that.”

“OK, OK.” My sister held her hands up in a gesture of surrender. “You didn’t light the stove. It lit itself. Maybe the cat turned the dial. Who knows? I still think you should go sit down while I make breakfast.”

I glared at her, but couldn’t turn down an opportunity to put my feet up for a few minutes, so I poured myself a cup of coffee and walked in the direction of the living room.

I stopped while crossing the front hallway and decided instead to sit on the ottoman we had placed on the other side of the hall from the bottom of the stairs. I sipped my coffee and waited for the kids to come downstairs.

“Good morning,” I told Charlene as she appeared at the top of the stairs.

“Good morning,” she said cheerfully, no hint of guilt or subterfuge. Still, I watched her carefully for any telltale signs. But she met my gaze without hesitation and even planted a kiss on my cheek before literally skipping off to the kitchen.

I figured it’s highly unlikely for a guilty child to skip, so I stayed where I was and continued to sip my coffee until Jamie appeared.

“Good morning,” I said, trying to replicate the exact pitch, inflection, and timing I had used when greeting Charlene.

“Morning,” he grumbled. He was already turning into a teenager and would have slept all morning if left to his own devices. He barely looked at me, but then again, that was getting to be normal with him. He was at that age where he felt he had to distance himself from me. It hurt, but it didn’t mean he was an arsonist.

“Slow morning?” I asked, although he usually got up at about this time.

“I guess,” he said, still not looking at me.

“Funny thing happened this morning.”

“What?” He finally stopped, having reached the bottom of the stairs and needing to stop if he wasn’t going to walk out on me while I was talking to him. He might be an almost-teenager, but he still knew better than that.

“I turned around and the stove was already lit, even though I hadn’t lit it.”

“Weird,” he said, his tone deadpan and his face expressionless. “You sure you didn’t just forget that you had already lit it?”

“I’m sure.”

He hesitated, but it didn’t appear to be a guilty hesitation. Just the kind that comes when someone is trying to work through a problem. After a moment he said, “Weird,” again, and headed towards the kitchen. I gave up, finished my coffee, and rose to join them.

To be continued…