How to Start a Fire by Lisa Lutz Page A

said Kate.
    “Mitch has a pathological fear of most things one would find in the wild. Insects, squirrels, legless creatures,” George said.
    “Snakes mostly,” Mitch said.
    “And worms,” George added. “He can’t even look at those things on television.”
    “I usually just watch sports,” Mitch said.
    “To a lesser extent, he’s afraid of rodents, wolves, bears, hyenas, mountain lions, and giraffes, which I really don’t get.”
    “The long neck,” Mitch said, as if it were obvious.
    To the casual observer, it might have appeared that Anna had tuned out the conversation, but then she briefly lifted her eyes from the mesmerizing remote. “Where do you stand on trees?”
    “I like trees,” Mitch said. “And I don’t mind birds. The nice ones. Not pigeons or vultures. But nobody likes pigeons or vultures.”
    “I love vultures,” Anna said.
    “It’s kind of funny how a forest ranger and a guy who hates nature end up together,” Kate said, not in a finding-it-funny way.
    “Opposites attract,” Mitch said. That was his cue to them that the nature conversation was over. It was a friendly transition but one that made it obvious to everyone that the subject was not to be mentioned again. “So, can I get anyone a drink?”
    Anna raised her hand as if she were in the third grade.
    “What’ll it be?” Mitch asked.
    “Doesn’t matter,” Kate said. “She’ll drink anything.”
    “Let me make you my specialty.”
    While Mitch peacocked his mixology skills, Kate noted without having any feelings of attraction that she might never have seen a more attractive man in real life. His home, his hair, even what passed as his casualwear, seemed magazine-worthy. And his small talk was impressive. He managed to put a pleasant spin on Kate’s career inertia.
    “So, Kate, George tells me you’re a student of the world.”
    “I’m a barista,” Kate said.
    “Oh my God!” Anna shouted, pressing a button on the remote.
“This thing makes rain.”
    A shower of water cascaded over the terrace outside. Anna approached the window and put her hand on the glass, as if she were visiting rain in prison. She watched the window waterfalls with rapt attention.
    “It waters plants,” Kate said, taking possession of the remote and pressing the Off switch. She turned on the stereo. The first phrase of
Kind of Blue
encased the room.
So predictable
, Kate thought, even though she liked it too. Charles Mingus would have surprised her. If Sun Ra’s
Space Is the Place
had suddenly blasted from the speaker system, she would have changed her mind about Mitch completely. But now her opinion was as immovable as the Sierras.
    “What do you think?” Kate whispered to Anna.
    “I try not to think,” Anna said, taking back the remote and turning on the rain again.

2010
    Boston, Massachusetts
     
    “Who are you?” Anna’s father asked as she stood over his bed.
    Anna used to think of her father as the boss of everyone. Now Donald Fury was just a shrunken old man in too-large pajamas. She wondered why her mother hadn’t bought him a new pair.
    “It’s me, Anna. Your daughter.”
    “I know,” Don said impatiently. “When did you get here?” His voice hadn’t lost as much weight as his body.
    “I flew in yesterday,” Anna said. “Do you want me to fix the pillows?”
    Don slept propped up. An invalid angle, as he called it, to ease his sleep apnea. The pillows had shifted during his slumber and left him bowed precariously on the side of the bed.
    “No, I want to get up.”
    “Should I get Alvita?” Anna asked.
    Alvita Bailey was the full-time nurse Anna’s mother had hired the moment Donald took ill. Her father had fallen the week before, and Anna had been cautioned not to let him move on his own. A painter’s palette of a bruise had overtaken his forearm and splattered onto his cheek.
    “I don’t need Alvita’s permission to sit on my own couch,” Donald Fury said with the air of authority that he once