The Lansing House
“Asher, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize what it was at first, I—”
“You shouldn’t have been in here to start with!” Asher rarely yelled, but his voice had taken on a deadly tone.
“I just wanted to know more about you,” she said, and stood up from the chair.
“You had no right, Emerson! No right!” Asher stormed out of the room, and walked to the living room. He knelt in front of the fireplace, and started stacking kindling and balling up newspapers.
Emerson stood behind him, watching his every move. He opened the matchbook and lit a match. The newspapers lit up immediately, the kindling crackling as the flames leaped around them.
Bab Populer