What a Long Strange Trip

"Mr. Andrews?" he asked, turning to me and extending his hand. I nodded and took it.

"Detective Neal Simmons," he told me. "Please, have a seat. Can I get you some coffee?"

"No, I'm good," Angie answered before I could. So I declined the offer as well.

"So, what's going on?" Angie was very direct and it didn't seem to surprise the detective.

"Probably what you suspect," he told her. "Does Mr. Andrews..."

"Steve knows exactly what's going on," she interrupted him. "Anything you want to tell me, you can say in front of him."

"Okay..." He leaned back in his chair. "That was a smart move, putting in the video, Angie. You won't have much trouble getting a judge to okay your divorce, now. We have him casing the house, setting the fire, hanging around long enough to make sure it was started and then leaving. We also have a nosey neighbor who watched him do part of it. She is more than willing to testify to what she saw."

"The arson investigation is being run by the State, the Sheriff's Department is coordinating with local law enforcement and the fire department, and you're going to need a hotel tonight. As soon as the investigation team is done, we'll call Aftermath for you. I've already notified your insurance agent. If you go to the house tonight, it is definitely look but don't touch! And since you probably care, yes, your safe is intact. Some of the furniture isn't, particularly the stuff you had stored in the basement. I'll have Officer Morris go with you, to make sure no evidence is compromised."

"The important thing is, you're alive and we know who did it. You may want to take a few days off while you get things sorted out. In the meantime, we're looking for Edward. Unsurprisingly, he isn't at home."

"No," Angie told him and floored me. As upset as she had been in the truck, I figured she was going to need some major decompression time. "I'll take tomorrow to make my calls and figure things out, but I absolutely refuse to let Edward screw up my life anymore. I'll plan on going to work Monday." Then she turned to me.

"Steve, would you take me by the house? I want to see how bad it is. And then, if you don't mind, could I crash at yours tonight? I don't feel like hunting down a hotel." And she said it with a straight face.

I shrugged my shoulders and looked at the detective. "Sure, I suppose," I told her. "You need anything?"

"Since we just got off the road, I have enough for tonight, and I can shop for clothes tomorrow, thanks," she told me.

"Okay," I told her, keeping my face as neutral as I knew how. The detective, on the other hand, had a rather wily look on, and I suspected that he suspected. Right then, I didn't care.

He got ahold of Officer Morris and Angie and I got an escorted tour of her house. Asshole had apparently poured gasoline into the basement through the dryer vent, stuffed a rag in and lit it. A good portion of the basement was burned and the stairwell was charcoal. The first floor had some fire damage, but mostly smoke and the second floor was mostly smoke damage. Angie asked for and got permission to take some personal items from her dresser and closet, cataloging them for the Officer, and then we headed out to my place, where I intended to fix her dinner with a side of booze.

"That bastard is going to burn, Steve," she told me in very determined tones as we drove.

"Angie..." I started. I was going to remind her of what she told me about not doing something stupid.

"No, I mean it, Steve," she interrupted. "Some of those pieces of furniture in the basement were my great-grandmother's and are irreplaceable. They were there pending my finishing the parlor upstairs. I don't see any way they can be restored. I have more hope for the oil portraits of my mother's parents. They at least were covered, but only with linen. I want to see that asshole be a boy-toy at 26^th and California for a lot of years." She paused and looked steadily at me.

"I think I have finally learned to hate."

"Remember something, Angie," I told her and made sure I had her attention. "The opposite of love isn't hate. It's indifference. To hate something, you have to care about it. The best thing that comes out of this is, he gets his punishment courtesy of the courts and you get to forget about him. Maybe even concentrate on us?" I actually got a slight smile.

"Yeah, I guess you are a phenomenal consolation prize," she nodded.

"Ouch!" I mocked. "Only a consolation prize?"

"Well, yeah..." and now she was smiling. "You're great at consoling, right?"

Okay, she had me on that one. "What do you want for dinner?" I changed the subject. "I'm hitting the store on the way home."

* * * * *

Life hasn't been the same. Wonderfully not the same.

I drove her into work on Monday and she got to tell the water-cooler gang all the gory details about the fire, and Asshole setting it, and her prevailing on me to rescue her. They'd seen the story of the fire on the news, but her details just set the place buzzing. And they didn't even see anything unusual about me helping her out.

There were occasional remarks and Angie fielded them while I went back to being Mr. Grumpy, who was now known to have a soft spot for damsels in distress. It took three months for her house to get straightened out. She was right about the furniture. She wasn't right about the help that came out of the woodwork. Literally.

The neighbor lady who had seen Asshole setting the fire also knew a gentleman, in his 80's we found out, who had been a furniture maker in Germany before immigrating. He offered to look at the damaged pieces and see what he could do. What he could do turned out to be a lot. It wasn't original, so the value of the pieces fell, but the work was A-1 craftsmanship and you really had to look hard to see the repairs. Angie insisted on paying him, but I'm sure he gave her a cut-rate. He claimed it was a joy to work on such fine pieces again.

They found Edward. In Indiana. He'd screwed up again and added interstate flight to avoid prosecution to his list of offenses. He ended up remanded to a psychiatric hospital for evaluation. His lawyer was having a hell of a time trying to keep him out of jail. Especially with the beautifully clear video. I'm saving a bottle of vintage champagne for the day he goes into Cook County.

It took six months, but Angie finally got her divorce, and almost all of the remaining marital assets. We celebrated by flying out to Spokane and spending a week with John, Juanita, Gus and Gus' family. I haven't proposed, yet. At least, not officially. We're waiting for the dust to settle a bit more. We're planning a trip out to Tacoma this coming Christmas time, so Angie can meet Caroline and her family, and vice versa.

I'm still thinking about relocating to Spokane, along with Angie. I'm not ready to quit work, yet, but I am finally taking a serious look at my future and not just marking time. In retrospect, I have to borrow from that wonderful group, The Grateful Dead... "What A Long, Strange Trip It's Been."

~Finis~