Isn't It Nice to Be Home?
"Thank God you're here." Trent's alarmed greeting surprised Jane, visiting home from the post-collegiate art circuit. For him to break the shell of lethargy that normally surrounded him in a musky haze, she knew there had to be something going on. Then again, Jane's choice of not phoning home would make anything seem to be a surprise. Still, the sight of cardboard boxes lined against the street was not a harbinger of anything good.
"Uh, Trent, what happened?"
"Zachary and Taylor died. Sorry, Janey."
Was that it? "How'd that happen?"
"I think it came from eating charred canvas."
It couldn't come from...no. "Explain."
"It burned in the house fire. I managed to salvage a little bit of your art." His words seemed to fly up and wrap themselves around the charred remains of Casa Lane in the distance. It was painful, but that was what cars were for.
"Damn. Know what started it?"
"I think it started from the candles during Mom's funeral."
"Mom's dead? How?"
"From the heart attack when she found Adrian and Courtney drowned in the bathtub."
She wasn't sure, but she could start to feel a tear forming at the top of her cheek. "Who allowed that?" Her voice was lapsing on the edge of scratchiness.
"Summer couldn't help falling down the stairs. Neither could she the broken neck."
"Shit." That one word encompassed how she thought, how she felt, how it all looked. Dare she continue? "What'd she slip on?"
"Empty beer bottle. The Spiral decided to come over and have a drinking contest, along with Wind, Penny, and Dad. I was too drunk to DWI."
After the waterworks subsided, she had one question left. "Where's Daria?"
Trent looked for a moment, then raised his index finger.
It pointed beneath Jane's car.