Chapter 6: The Body Eternal

The fire started at three in the morning.

I was in bed, wrapped in Cape’s arms, dreaming of nothing in particular. The night was quiet, the fog thick, the river rushing past outside. It was the kind of night that made you feel safe, protected, as nothing bad could ever happen.

And then the phone rang.

I woke up with a start, my heart pounding. Cape was already reaching for the phone, his face groggy with sleep.

“Hello?” he said. His eyes widened. “What? When? Is everyone okay?”

I sat up, my body tense. “Cape, what is it? What’s going on?”

He hung up the phone and turned to me. His face was pale, his eyes filled with something I’d never seen before.

“It’s the bingo hall,” he said. “It’s on fire.”

We ran.

I didn’t bother with clothes—I never did—and Cape didn’t bother with shoes. We just ran, barefoot and half-dressed, through the foggy streets of Randolph. The air was thick with smoke, the sky glowing orange in the distance.

By the time we reached the bingo hall, the flames were already consuming the building. The roof was gone, the walls were crumbling, the fluorescent lights were nothing but twisted metal and melted plastic. The fire department was there, hoses spraying water into the inferno, but it was too late. The hall was gone.

I stood there, naked and frozen, watching my sanctuary burn.

“No,” I whispered. “No, no, no.”

Cape pulled me into his arms. I buried my face in his chest, sobbing. The tears came in waves, unstoppable, uncontrollable.

“It’s going to be okay,” he said. “It’s going to be okay, Rill.”

“It’s not okay. It’s not okay.” I pulled back, looking at the flames. “That was everything. That was my life. That was—”

I stopped. I couldn’t finish the sentence.

Floras arrived, her face streaked with tears. Myrtle was beside her, her hands shaking. Coquille came, and Sixes, and Langlois. The community gathered, watching their beloved bingo hall burn to the ground.

“What happened?” someone asked.

“Electrical fire,” a firefighter said. “Started in the wiring. By the time anyone noticed, it was too late.”

I felt the world tilt beneath me. Nine years. Nine years of memories, of community, of freedom. All gone. All ashes.

The next few days were a blur of grief and shock. The bingo hall was gone, and with it, the heart of the community. People didn’t know what to do with themselves. Tuesday and Thursday nights had been a ritual, a touchstone, a reason to gather. Without the hall, there was nothing.

I stayed in bed for three days. I didn’t eat. I didn’t sleep. I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, reliving the moment I’d seen the flames.

Cape tried to comfort me. Larkin tried to comfort me. Even Sibley came, her eyes red from crying. But nothing helped. I felt like I’d lost a part of myself.

“Rill, please,” Cape said one night, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Please, talk to me. Please, eat something.”

“I can’t,” I said. “I can’t do anything.”

“You can. You’re stronger than this. You’re the strongest person I know.”

“I’m not strong. I’m nothing.” I turned away from him. “I’m just a woman who made a bet. A woman who kept a promise. A woman who—” I stopped. “A woman who lost everything.”

“No.” He took my hand. “You didn’t lose everything. You lost a building. But you didn’t lose us. You didn’t lose the community. You didn’t lose your freedom. That’s still there. That’s still in you.”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.

The next day, Larkin came to see me.

She was fourteen now, a young woman who’d chosen freedom for herself and never looked back. She was naked, as always, her body bare and unashamed. She sat down on the edge of the bed and took my hand.

“Nana, I need to tell you something.”

“What?”

“I know you’re sad. I know you’re grieving. But you need to get up. You need to come with me.”

“Where?”

“To the bingo hall. Or what’s left of it.” She squeezed my hand. “There’s something you need to see.”

I didn’t want to go. I didn’t want to see the ashes, the rubble, the ruins of everything I’d built. But Larkin was persistent. She wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“Fine,” I said, finally. “I’ll go.”

We walked to the bingo hall together. The fire had reduced the building to a pile of charred wood and twisted metal. The electronic board melted, the fluorescent lights were gone, the carpet was nothing but ash.

But there was something there. Something I hadn’t expected.

People. Dozens of them. Standing in the ruins, their faces smudged with soot, their eyes red from crying. They were all there—Floras, Myrtle, Coquille, Sixes, Langlois, Prosper, and dozens of others. They were all naked, their bodies bare and unashamed.