Miracle Creek(110)
“Meh-hee-yah,” Pak said. “Don’t say that. It’s not your fault—”
“Of course it’s her fault,” Young said. Pak looked at her, his mouth open in shock as if to say, How dare you say that? She said to Mary, “I’m not saying you intended for people to die, or even that you could’ve foreseen it. But your actions have consequences, and you’re responsible for them. I know you know that. I’ve seen you, how tortured you’ve been, all your tears. It’s been killing you, going to court, seeing how your choices have destroyed so many lives.”
Mary nodded, a fresh wave of relief flooding her face at this acknowledgment of her culpability. Young understood—sometimes, when you were guilty of something, others’ pretense that you weren’t responsible was the unbearable part. It was infantilizing, demeaning.
“When I first woke up in the hospital,” Mary said, “I thought maybe I imagined the whole thing. It wasn’t that I didn’t remember. I had a clear memory of that night—something happened earlier and I was really upset, more than I’ve ever been, and I was walking by the barn, and a cigarette and matches were right there. I didn’t plan to do anything, but when I saw that, it was like … like fate, like that was exactly what I wanted to do right then, just burn it down and destroy it, and it felt so good when I started the fire. I stayed there watching it and feeding the flames and making sure the barn caught on fire.” Mary looked at her. “But I was so confused because I didn’t think the oxygen tank would explode when it’s shut off, so I kept thinking, it must have been a dream, like the coma messed with my memory. And that made sense, because why would a cigarette have been right there?”
“So that’s why you never came forward? You really didn’t know?” Young said, careful to keep doubt out of her voice. She could see how much Mary wanted to believe this, that she’d honestly dismissed her memory as fake until Pak confirmed today that the cigarette was real and told her how it came to be there.
Mary looked away, toward a square of bright blue out their faux window. She breathed in deeply and looked at Pak, then Young, and smiled a sad little smile. “No, I knew that was”—she shook her head—“just me being stupid. I knew it really happened.”
“So why did you not come forward?” Young said. “Why did you not tell me or your father right away?”
She bit her lip. “I was going to. The day after I woke up, when Abe came to visit. But before I could, you told me about Elizabeth, how they had all this proof she planned to kill Henry, and I thought, she must be the one. She built the mound of twigs. She put the cigarette and matches there. I figured she ran away after she lit it, so she wouldn’t be nearby when the tank blew up, but the cigarette went out by accident before I found it, maybe a strong gust of wind. And it made me feel so much better, like I didn’t really start the fire. Elizabeth did, she’s the one to blame, and my relighting the cigarette was more a technicality, just allowing it to continue doing what Elizabeth meant for it to do.”
Young said, “So that’s how you made peace with her being on trial?”
Mary nodded. “I told myself she was guilty. She deserved it because she meant to do it and would have if the cigarette hadn’t happened to go out. I figured, she probably didn’t even realize anyone intervened at all. For all she knew, her plan worked, and everything that happened was what she planned. It made me feel less guilty, but then…” Mary closed her eyes and sighed.
“But then you saw her this week.”
Mary nodded and opened her eyes. “It wasn’t like what Abe said at all. There were so many questions at trial, and it occurred to me for the first time: What if she’s not the one? What if someone else set everything up, and she had nothing to do with the fire?”
“So you didn’t realize she might be innocent until this week?” This was what Young had guessed, hoped, but it was important to verify this, that her daughter hadn’t hurt an innocent woman on purpose.
“No. Just yesterday, I started thinking it might be”—Mary bit her lip, shook her head—“some other person, but I still thought Elizabeth was the most likely one. But then this morning, Ap-bah told me it was him. That was the first time I knew it wasn’t her.”
“And you?” Young turned to Pak. “When did you realize it was Mary? How long have you been covering for her?”
“Yuh-bo, I thought it was Elizabeth. All this time, I was convinced she came across my setup and started the fire. But last night, when you showed me the stuff from the shed, I got so confused. I started getting suspicious, but I couldn’t figure out how Mary could possibly fit into all this. It scared me, just thinking about it, so I covered for her. She saw the bag from the shed when she came in, and she told me everything this morning. That’s when I told her that I left the cigarette, not Elizabeth. That’s when you heard us.”
Everything made sense now. All the pieces fit so elegantly. But what was the picture they formed? What was the solution?
As if in answer, Mary said, “I know I need to tell Abe everything. I almost did it earlier this week, in his office, but I kept thinking about the death penalty, and I was so scared, and I…” Mary’s face contorted into a mass of shame and regret. Fear.
“Nothing will happen to you,” Pak said. “I’ll come forward if she’s found guilty.”