Before long she was back in Willard Park, bumping over the speed bumps. She parked in front of the White Elephant, and took a box of films to the backyard.

She held the lighter to the edge of a film, experimenting. The film curled and melted where the flame met the plastic. It smelled terrible. She hadn’t expected that. She tamped the melting film against the dirt. She would have to do it inside or someone would notice the stench. They might report it. She tried the kitchen doorknob. It turned. She was in luck.

She lugged the films down to the basement. It took several trips to get everything in from the car. It was hot work, tiring. When she was done she sat beside them in the dark, the moon making shadows of her and her art supplies. She’d get rid of it all and make a new start. She and Lindy both would. The two of them would start over, together. Maybe she’d take her away for a mother-daughter weekend, something to recharge their batteries, a spa or the beach. She opened the windows before she opened the turpentine. She’d always hated the smell of turpentine, but it smelled like real art and she liked that about it. She opened the canister and doused the cardboard, breathing through her mouth, then she lit the lighter and set it to the edge of a film.

The flames crawled and jumped. They slid onto the cuff of her shirt, a pretty white blouse with wide sleeves she’d worn for the welcome dinner. She tried to beat it out, but that didn’t help, so she tore her shirt off and threw it, scared. It was a fireball in the air. She threw down some of the films, hoping to stamp out the fire, but the flames, fueled by the turpentine, leaped and spread. Her heart knocked around, making it hard to breathe. She started coughing. She whacked the flames with a film but it only made things worse. The basement was bright with fire and smoke. What were you supposed to do in smoke? Cover your face with a wet cloth and crawl down low. But there wasn’t any water. Her mother used to tell her to sing when she was afraid, but it was hard to think straight much less sing. She found the wall and followed it around with her hands till she got to the back door of the basement. She turned the knob, hot from the fire, and rushed out of the house and into the yard, into the cold, dark night.