"A handful of fires, over the years. None that could be tied to our house. The previous one was seven years prior, the old schoolhouse. No discernable pattern to any of them that I could see."

Sheila nodded and finished her drink. She stared down at the bottom of the cup.

"I remember that night, though. Norma hugging me under her big jacket, the smell of her flowery perfume and cigarette smoke. The two of us standing there while the Gingerbread House burned, the volunteer fire department dousing it with water so cold you could see vapor coming off it the second it left the hose. And I remember Norma suddenly pointing, leaving me sitting in the back of the fire chief's Suburban. 'That's her!' she shouted, running out into the street. 'She's one of them, Chief!'"

"Them," Sheila repeated again. "Who was it? Did you see?"

"That's the weird thing. It was just some pasty-faced old lady. And when Norma shouted after her, the woman backed into the shadows until she disappeared."

"And she never told you who the woman was?"

"Never. I asked, but she'd always say 'Best you not know,' and close the subject. After a while, I guess I just forgot about most of that night. I only just now remembered the old lady standing in silhouette under a streetlight. Like she'd come to watch it burn."

He shivered, holding Sheila's gaze. "I remember she wore one of those big hats like the Queen wears. And when she stepped into the light, I could swear she was smiling."

After Martin's story they fell into a thoughtful funk. They each had another drink and Sheila dragged her comforter and pillows into his room from hers because the idea of sleeping alone, even with the door left open between them, didn't feel right to either of them. Martin spread his pillows out on the floor, leaving Sheila the bed.

He lay awake staring at the stucco ceiling for an indeterminate period after Sheila's light snoring began. Thinking about how good it would be to see Aunt Norma again after so many years. To finally get over his irrational fear of going back to that place, of seeing the house and his mother again.

Nobody wanted him dead in Barrows Bay. Death was behind him, in the city. Hopefully, it would stay there.

It was possible someone really had tried to kill them that night, but that was almost forty years ago. There was no longer any reason to fear that place. He'd already dredged up the most terrible of his childhood memories and it hadn't killed him. He would survive a visit with Aunt Norma and Ruby, who'd been released from the mental hospital nearly a decade ago. They could get a few rooms at a local B&B for the duration, but Norma would urge them to stay at the house, to sleep in his childhood bedroom while Sheila stayed in the guest room, and Ruby likely wouldn't put up a fuss. He supposed he might even survive that.