Where Fires Dare to Burn

Chapter 08 - The Burning-Eyed Man

The Matlock residence was a modest, two-floored house of red wood panels and white trim; a low, long building that lounged comfortably in the south of Lasquette Bay. A road wound through the stretch of woodland, connecting up the ten or so houses that made up the local neighbourhood, but it was an otherwise remote spot, away from the bustle of the town centre and the college.

On the back porch, smoke coiled merrily into the sky from a barbecue, the sizzle of meat sending an enticing smell wafting through the trees. Kenny leaned over the grill like he'd been born to it, with a crimson apron draped over his clothes. A bottle of beer dangled from the fingers of one hand while in the other he wielded a set of tongs with surprising grace, deftly turning the burgers and sausages that simmered away over the coals.

Luke and Kyan lounged nearby at the wooden table set up on the decking. Half a dozen chairs ringed it, stuffed with a random assortment of cushions that he sank happily into, sipping at an ice cold beer of his own. They might not have been allowed to drink at the Growler, but the Matlock house had no such reticence. Not that this was Luke's first time cracking a beer or anything close to it, but it was nice not to have one eye looking constantly over his shoulder.

"Dad!" Kenny bellowed suddenly, craning his neck backwards to look through the back window into the house. "Dad, can you get out the buns and the sauce? I'm almost ready." For a moment there was no reply. Kenny rolled his eyes. "Dad?"

"I'm comin', I'm comin'!" a muffled voice from inside the house barked back. "What's the rush? You starting a fire or something out there, son?!"

"It's either that or starve to death."

"Not on my watch." A moment later Pete Matlock came shuffling out onto the back porch, sliced burger buns piled precariously on a plate, and a bundle of sauces cradled in one arm. He was a portly man in his fifties, with a scalp edging to bald and a grey goatee around his small mouth. A dark grey shirt patterned with white flowers hung down over the waistband of his brown corduroys.

Luke put his beer down and shoved up out of his chair. "Need a hand?"

"A few," Pete rumbled, rotating so Luke could rescue some of the sauce bottles. Between them they piled out the plates and laid out the condiments, as in the background Kenny began decanting the cooked food onto the upper level of the grill to keep it hot.

"Right then," his dad said, slapping his hands together. "I think that's us all set." He clicked his fingers at Kyan who's beer was decidedly empty. "Hand us that, son. I'll grab you a refill."

"Oh, thanks, Mr. Matlock."

Pete ambled back into the house and Luke heard him clattering around in the kitchen. He lived here alone, and Luke now understood his room mate's desire to stay in Lasquette Bay. There were photos of his mother inside; Kenny had quickly explained that she'd passed away a few years ago, cracks appearing in his breezy demeanour. Neither Luke nor Kyan were about to press him on the subject.

A wedding band remained on Pete Matlock's finger, however. He got the distinct sense that Kenny felt guilty going off to college, even one in the same town. He didn't want to leave his dad alone, and had seemed almost desperate when he invited them around for a barbecue and poker evening. Luke felt suddenly very grateful in the knowledge that his parents still had each other.

Pete re-emerged a moment later with fresh beers and a plump cigar jutting from the corner of his mouth. Kenny served up the food while his dad busied himself dividing up a set of poker chips and shuffling the deck of cards in preparation for the game. Each of them kicked in ten dollars to add a small incentive to win; Pete Matlock fired up his cigar and in a matter of moments the game got underway.