Chapter 10: Aftermath and Accusation

That was a night in November 1996, three months before New Year’s—no one would set off fireworks then.

So, it could only have been an accident.

The explosion happened at the fireworks plant’s defective goods warehouse by the pond. The warehouse wasn’t inside the plant, but built by the pond on the far side of the woods.

That place was remote, usually used to destroy defective fireworks, and rarely visited. The explosion didn’t affect the surroundings.

Besides the plant manager, only my father had the key to the warehouse.

The accident happened at 11 p.m. Most people were asleep, but were woken by the explosion and witnessed a grand fireworks display for no reason.

Everyone hurriedly dressed and headed toward the pond, wanting to see what had happened—including my mother and me.

Neighbors poured out of their houses in pajamas, some clutching flashlights, others just following the glow on the horizon. My mother, struggling with her cane, moved as fast as she could.

My mother, with her limp, stumbled through the crowd, already sobbing halfway there.

Her cries were raw, echoing off the dark water as the crowd reached the pond’s edge. Someone offered her a hand, but she shook them off, determined to get there herself.

When we arrived, we saw the warehouse engulfed in flames, waves of heat rolling off it. The sky was filled with lingering smoke from the fireworks, and the air was thick with gunpowder, making our noses sting.

The air tasted of sulfur and ash, and my ears rang from the boom that rattled every window in town.

Neighbors stopped my mother from going further. She collapsed to the ground, wailing uncontrollably.

The area was quickly cordoned off, and the fire extinguished.

The police found a charred body at the scene, burned beyond recognition, but soon identified a possible victim based on the crowd’s accounts.

They found my mother and comforted her briefly, then began to question her.

A young officer named Luke asked, When did your husband, David Bell, go out?

Mother said he left around ten, saying there was a batch of defective goods misregistered and he needed to check.

The police asked, Why go so late?

Mother said she didn’t know.

The police pressed, "He left that late and you didn’t think to ask why?"

Mother said, Whatever he says, I always listen. I never doubt him.

The officer was silent for a moment.

Mother’s account was corroborated. Everyone knew my father managed the warehouse, and someone had seen him heading there alone.

Besides my father, only the manager had the key. But the manager was playing cards at the time, some distance from the accident, and his key was still on his waistband.

The answer seemed obvious.

Officer Luke looked at my mother, wanting to ask more.

Mother wept, saying, Please, just tell me it wasn’t him who died…

This Officer Luke had been my mother’s classmate in high school. He looked at her and sighed deeply.

He said, You really have changed.