16. Zoe

After cleaningup and blowing out all the candles, Paolo and I retreated back to the dayroom where my things still were. It sounded like the rain was starting to let up, and there were no more cracks of lightning and rumbling thunder to be heard. Time certainly flew once we got cozy in his office.

“I should probably head out soon,” I said as I checked my phone, seeing a few notifications on my home screen. An email from work. A text message attachment from Matty that had to be some sort of meme or funny photo. And a photo memory.

I tapped on the photo memory and felt my heart lurch at the sight of a photo of me and my mom in our old kitchen. We were posing with bright smiles in front of a sheet of freshly baked peanut butter cookies, and maybe it was just the sun in the background, but it looked like we were surrounded by a warm, golden aura.

A picture-perfect moment.

“Are you okay?” Paolo asked.

I blinked my eyes, not even realizing they were watering until then. I cleared my throat and showed him the photo.

“Me and my mom. It was years ago, but I actually remember that day really well,” I explained, fighting past the grief weighing on my heart. “Ironically, she taught me about fire safety that day. You know, don’t throw water on a grease fire. Baking soda, not baking powder.”

Paolo smiled and placed his hand on my back, rubbing gently as I continued staring at the photo.

“You look a lot like her,” he commented.

He was right. Her eyes were mine. Her hair was mine. So much of her spirit passed down to me. What I did get from my dad was the ability to shut down but to also love hard. He was never the same after she passed, but I guessed the same went for me.

We never saw my mom’s death coming. Everyone said that, but my mom was cautious and always prepared. Nothing caught her off guard, and on family TV nights, we always joked that my mom could win any survival show based on sheer determination and preparation.

That type of person wouldn’t be sloppy and lose the proof she found about the arson cases. She would’ve been prepared for something to go wrong and stashed the information somewhere safe. Somewhere only she and maybe those who knew her best would think to look.

“Zoe?”

My wide eyes shot up to his.

“My mom was investigating the arson cases that happened in the past before she died,” I told him. “She had proof, which means it’s hidden away somewhere. If I can find it, maybe I can figure out who is behind this entire arson disaster.”

Shock filled his face.

“You really think she found out who’s behind this?” he questioned me.

“She had to have come close,” I replied as I started gathering my things. “But I won’t know until I find her research.”

“Where would you even look?”

There was only one other person who knew my mom more than I did.

“I… I have to go home,” I murmured, the strength of my voice faltering as my eyes dropped.

I had to go back to my childhood home where me and my dad drowned in our grief for years until the place was unrecognizable. It didn’t feel like home. It was just a structure full of painful memories.

Paolo gently grabbed my hand to prevent me from rushing off.

“Are you okay? You got this?” he asked as concern filled his eyes.

I peered up at him, realizing that he didn’t just care about the case. He seemed to care about me too. Just having that support encouraged me to take a deep breath and focus, the side of my mouth turning up in a small but determined smile.

“I got this,” I assured him. “I’ll let you know if I find anything.”

Paolo mirrored my smile and drew his hand away, letting me walk off.

The smell of rain and asphalt filled my nose the moment I stepped out of the fire station, small puddles of water rippling beneath my boots as I crossed the parking lot. Nervousness still lingered in my chest like a trapped cough, but if I wanted a chance at figuring out where my mom’s research was, I had to ask my dad.

My dad was in sales when I was growing up, so I doubted he had any knowledge about the investigation. But knowing my mom was just as good, and if there was some sort of secret hiding space in the house, he had to know where it was.

Maybe they used to hide my Christmas and birthday gifts there.

When I got into my car, I turned on the engine and then froze with my hands on the wheel, unable to move my foot off the brake. I knew what came next. I had to drive through town until I reached Hardy Road. Then, I had to take a right where the laundromat was on the corner. Next was another left a quarter mile down the road to turn onto Twin Lakes Drive where my childhood home was, the third house on the left.

My stomach flipped as I mapped out the whole drive, attempting to prepare myself for what came next. I didn’t even know what my dad looked like anymore.

I was a terrible daughter.

My eyes closed as my head lowered, guilt seeping beneath my skin and into my soul. He was still struggling with his grief when I left this town behind, and I was a selfish, weak person for doing that.

But I couldn’t handle it. I couldn’t deal with my sadness while also feeling smothered by his at the same time. It suffocated me to the point that I couldn’t even breathe in that house.

I squeezed my eyes shut for a second before releasing a slow exhale, my entire body wilting like a dying plant. As nervous as I was to go back there and face my dad, I had to do it. This case depended on my ability to face my past, and I refused to let everyone down.

Whether they were dead or alive.

So, I was doing this!

Gritting my teeth, I eased my foot off the brake pedal and pulled away from the fire station, leaving a place of comfort behind in exchange for a house of grief. Maybe things had changed since I was last there.

Or maybe everything was the same, and it was a shell of the happy family home it used to be.