A. Homes - Music for Torching

"Dad's home," he announces before Paul reaches the driveway.

She is nervous. She's not even sure what to feel guilty about: cheating-that it was with another woman, does that even count? — or enjoying it?

Paul comes into view. "What a fucking incredible day," he says, coming up the driveway.

Sammy starts to rattle again. Elaine rubs his back slowly. "Breathe," she encourages him.

"I'm home," Paul says, beaming up at the family.

Elaine looks at him as though he is a foreigner. Her memory of him is distant, divorced, like deja vu-Paul who? "What puts you in such a good mood?"

"I just had the best walk home from the train. It's a beautiful day. We're fixing up the house. We're going to have a deck and French doors."

"The house is giving Sammy an asthma attack," Elaine says.

"Oh."

"And the insurance guy is around here somewhere. He's interviewing our neighbors. He could tell us we have no coverage at all. He could say, 'Sorry, folks, you're on your own.'"

"Why are you being so negative?"

"Somebody has to be," Elaine says.

"You're ruining it," Paul says. "For all of us. We're having a great time." He nods at Sammy. "Right, Sammo?"

Sammy closes his eyes and breathes.

"You might be having a great time," Elaine says. "What did you do today?" she asks.

"What do you mean?" he asks defensively.

"Never mind," she says. They take swipes at each other, scratching, clawing, fighting to hit a nerve, to get a reaction. Elaine pats Sammy on the back. "It's much better now, isn't it?" She rubs a dirty spot on his leg. "What's that?"

"Nate peed on me," he says. "I put dirt on to clean it."

"Nate peed on you?" Elaine asks. "That's disgusting."

"He must have missed," Paul says.

"Uh-huh," Sammy says, getting up, going down the steps and into the yard.

"Take it easy," Elaine calls after him. "Don't go wild."

"All day I tried calling you," Paul says. "You weren't home. Did you get my messages? Did you get my Post-its from this morning?"

"Got 'em all," she says. "Got your Post-its and I got your paint chips, got your names and numbers, shapes and sizes. I got it all like a good little wife."

"Good little wife?"

The insurance guy bursts through the bushes, taking the shortcut through the neighbors' yard. "I'm Randy, your State Farm man," he says, shaking Paul's hand. He is younger than they are, maybe thirty or thirty-five, a baby-faced blimp with a strangely thin coat of fine brown hair like feathers. His belly presses against his pale-blue short-sleeved shirt, straining the buttons. Elaine imagines that when people describe him as a "big fella," he thinks it's a compliment.

"I've got your file right here with me," he says. "I hope you'll be able to clue me in, fill in the missing links so we can dot the I's and cross the T's. I hope we can get it over with here and now."

Elaine and Paul nod.

"I've taken a look around and talked with your neighbors," the investigator says. "They weren't much help. And I've also gone over your claim history. There isn't much."

"We had a flood once," Elaine says. "A pipe broke."

"Yes, I know," the investigator says, looking through his file.

"Give me an idea of how this works," Paul says to the agent nervously. "I always need to know how things work."

The investigator holds up a finger, keeping Paul at bay. He pulls a fresh pen from his shirt pocket. "Things good at the office?" he asks Paul.

"Good," Paul says. "Good. Everything is good."

"Any debt?" the agent asks.

"Not much. The house, the car, and a little home-equity loan we took out a couple of years ago to fix up the bathroom," Paul says.

"We redid the master bath," Elaine says.

Daniel comes around the side of the house and catches Paul's eye.

Paul smiles.

Daniel flips to a clean page in his notebook and writes something down.

Elaine sees it coming. She stares at Paul and shakes her head, no, no, no. She is powerless to stop it.

"Why so dressed up?" Paul asks Daniel. "You going to a funeral?"

Daniel looks at Elaine as if to say, See, you are making fun of me. He scribbles frantically in his notebook and walks away.

"Hey," Paul calls after him. "Your jacket's dirty, you've got a stain on your back." "I hate you. I hate you," Daniel screams, breaking into a run.

"What did I do?" Paul asks Elaine.

"Let's take a walk around back," the agent says, "and see what we've got."

"Did you call Pat to tell her we'll be late for dinner?" Paul asks.

"No."

"Why not?"

Elaine doesn't answer.

"Could you call her now and apologize for not calling sooner, tell her you forgot and that we'll get dinner on our own."

"Could you?" Elaine asks.

"What's wrong with you?" Paul asks.

"Don't investigate me," she says.

"Just call. You don't even have to go inside." Paul points to the blue Princess phone in the dirt.

Elaine dials.

Perfect Pat, Pat from the night before, Pat from the kitchen floor. "Should I hold dinner?" Pat asks.

"No. We'll be fine on our own," Elaine says, pronouncing each word as though reading from a script, trying to say the minimum.

"Are you all right?" Pat asks.

Fine as long as…Fine if it's only…"I'm fine," she says. What else can she say?

"Did I frighten you?" Pat asks. "Are you avoiding me?"

"Oh, no," Elaine says, lying. "I've just been busy with the house, and then Liz was here, and then the boys, and now the insurance man." Elaine turns away from everyone. "I can't talk right now." She stares at the dirt. "I'm out in the yard."

"See you soon," Pat says.

Elaine hangs up.

"So," the agent says, pushing papers deeper into the folder.

"You asked how this works. Basically, I could investigate you upside down and inside out. I could look at your finances and your fingerprints. I could send out a questionnaire to every person on your block. I could interview your parents, your boss, and your first-grade teacher. But why would I?"

A faint line of perspiration breaks out on Elaine's upper lip. The evening air is still, slightly warm. She begins to sweat, to breathe too quickly, to panic. It feels as if the temperature is going up as the sun goes down, and the humidity is on the rise. The air is without air, there is nothing to breathe.

"You tell me you have no debts, and I believe you," the agent says. "But have you got a bank statement I could take a peek at? Do you have a retirement account? How much are you putting in? Are you maxing out?" He pauses and takes a peek at his papers. "Any health issues? Cancer in the family? Either of you recently diagnosed with a horrible, expensive disease?" The agent looks at them carefully. "Anything you don't want me to know?" He laughs to himself: heh, heh, heh.