Feeding the Fire

by Amy Waeschle

  “Stef was beaten pretty bad,” Zach said, as the worry returned to his eyes. “And I’m guessing that leg injury of yours wasn’t from just falling out that window.”

  Jessie looked away.

  “Did he . . . hurt you?”

  Jessie started to cry again.

  “Do you want to talk to your mom about it?” he asked.

  She looked at him. “No,” she said as the memory of the man’s hands on her waist flooded in. She was trying to push it away, but it kept coming back: in her sleep, when she was riding in the car, or if anyone she didn’t know brushed by her or got too close.

  “Do you want to talk to me?” he said, his jaw flexing.

  She shook her head.

  “Come here,” he said, opening his arms.

  She took in the strange image of his muscular arms in the hospital gown and the thick white hands, like clown gloves. Somehow, the image made her laugh, and she sniffled through her tears.

  “There’s room,” he said with a grin, scooting over in his bed.

  Careful of the bandages on his knees and feet, Jessie crawled up the sheets to nestle into the crook of his armpit. “I remember we used to do this on weekends when you were small,” he said as she laid her head on his chest.

  “I know,” she said. “Mom always slept in and you’d try to get me to go back to sleep on the couch.” She thought back to how little she was then. “It never worked though,” she added with a smile.

  Somehow, this time, it did.

  Chapter 35

  Zach

  Zach woke to a sound in the bathroom and blinked into the grayish light of his hospital room. With the bandages on his right hand reduced to a few thin layers, and the burns on his ears no longer oozing, he was starting to feel more like himself. At least on the surface.

  Dana slipped out of the bathroom and returned to the chair that rarely sat empty. Since her return from Alaska, she had visited every day. Jessie, too, now that she was better. Tomorrow he would go under the knife for the skin graft surgery, and although the doctors were confident everything would go well, Zach was trying not to think about the pain and the lengthy recovery.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, alarmed at her ashen face.

  She took a long time to lift her eyes to him. Her slow inhale seemed to steady her. “I will be,” she said, her shoulders dropping. “In about seven months.”

  Confused, Zach opened his mouth to respond. Then it hit him. He struggled to sit up higher in the bed, his eyes fixed on her. Seven months. “You mean . . . “

  “Yep,” she said, a grim look on her face.

  Everything came crashing in at once: joy, fear, nervousness, but what rose to the top was something else, something bigger and much more complex. “Oh my God,” he said, his voice trembling. “For real?”

  He noticed her hands, knitted tight in her lap. “For real.”

  He looked into her brown eyes, which were shining with emotion but her tight face told the truth. “What’s wrong?”

  Dana’s lips pressed together. “It’s . . . unexpected,” she said.

  Zach knew that the pill wasn’t foolproof. Then he remembered her forgetfulness, her singular focus on The Search.

  “It’s going to be okay,” he said, reaching for her hand.

  She began to cry. “I’m scared,” she said.

  The emotions rising in him popped like a balloon. Another baby. Her difficulties in the past. In a slow synthesis that he could almost visualize, he saw the challenges through her eyes. “Maybe we need to get you some help,” he said with difficulty. His own fears shuddered through him. The help that they’d given Travis had changed him in ways that still hurt to think about.

  Everything in Zach resisted—he wanted to be the help she needed.

  But he knew he couldn’t always be there. That he couldn’t shoulder every hardship.

  “Okay,” she said.

  “Does Jessie know?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “Not yet.”

  An image of Jessie holding a baby flashed into his mind, and it nearly crushed him with longing. More images bloomed—a precious tiny baby cradled in his arms, a baby sleeping in a crib, totally at peace. “Oh God,” he said, as a gasp escaped his lips.

  “Is this . . . okay?” she asked, as tears welled in her eyes.

  A rising bubble of emotion swelled inside him. “Of course,” he said. “Why wouldn’t it be?” This is a gift, his mind told him. Try not to screw it up.

  Dana tightened her lips. “I can’t do this without you,” she said.

  “You won’t have to,” he said, his jaw feeling stiff as the realization of what he needed to do took hold. He had the sensation of being carried along by an ocean swell as it crested higher and higher. Powerless, he gave himself to it, trusting that when the wave released its energy it would wash him safely ashore.

  “I know I’m not perfect, and that we’ve got our share of problems. Jessie too. She’s been through a lot, and I don’t just mean what happened in that fire. Together, we can work through it.” They had already talked through the news that Jessie had only been responsible for the dumpster and the high school bathroom. Stef had done the boathouse, and likely the vacant on Pugh Road, maybe others. The source of the trailer was still under investigation, but the evidence matched the Mexican restaurant’s, meaning Stef’s dad was tangled up with some very bad people. Thankfully, the prosecutor was letting Jessie off with community service.

  Zach paused, feeling a tight breath rattle through his chest. Riding in the back of that ambulance while Brody drove like a bat out of hell and the medic threw every intervention they had at him: oxygen, two IVs, all the good meds, wound care, he had one wish: let me live so I can make my family whole.

  “I was so sick on the flight,” Dana said. “At first I thought it was nerves, or something I ate. Then, I realized what it had to be. And it sort of startled me out of where I’d been,” Dana said. “All I could think of was coming home, of being with you and Jessie.” She paused to smooth her hand over her flat abdomen. “I couldn’t believe I’d been so blind.” When she looked back, her eyes were full of tears. “I realized that I had to . . . be okay with Evan . . . being gone.” Her voice caught. “Or I would lose you. I would lost both of you,” Dana continued, pressing her fist to her lips. Her eyes squeezed shut in anguish.

  Zach could see the pain she was going through. “I’m sorry about Evan,” he said.

  Dana dabbed her eyes with a tissue she pulled from his side table.

  They sat in silence for a while, with Dana looking out the window.

  “Looks like I’m going to have to build an addition,” he said finally. He could already picture the project, Jessie at his side with her questions and boundless energy.

  “It was wrong of me to avoid going out there,” she said, her reddened eyes filling with regret. “It just felt like something I could put off. You were so enthusiastic, I just couldn’t get there, not until I found Evan.”

  Zach let the guilt wash over him, tried to sit with it. “I’m sorry I pressured you,” he replied, wishing he could hold her hand. “I just thought the house would make you happy, that it would bring you . . . back. When you refused . . . ” He broke off to take a careful breath but it still ached. “I didn’t know what to think. I was going to sell it, you know.” He paused, imagining the pain of turning over this long-burning dream to some other family. “Without you there with me, there’s no point.”

  Dana’s eyes connected with his. “I’m here now,” she said.

  Zach felt like he was teetering on the edge of that wave. He gathered his courage, raised his eyes to hers.

  “Dana,” he said, stroking the soft skin of her fingers. “There’s something I need to ask you. Again.”

  Chapter 36

  Jessie

  Jessie entered the empty classroom, noticing the Christmas decorations on the bulletin board and Mr. Boudreaux’s desk. Tomorrow was the last day before the break.


  “Hello, Jessie,” he said, his oval face glowing.

  “Hey,” Jessie replied, digging her packet from her backpack.

  “Please,” he said, offering her the chair across from his desk.

  Obediently, she perched on the edge of the smooth seat and handed over her work.

  Mr. Boudreaux slid his bifocals down and leafed through the pages, his eyes skimming the worksheets, then lingering on her essay in the back. “I look forward to reading this,” he said, placing it on his desk.

  “So, the egg baby . . . ” she said, scuffing her feet on the hard carpet. “None of it was Cam’s fault. You can take all the points off of my grade.”

  “It sounds like you were under a lot of pressure during that project.”

  Jessie’s eyes traveled from the flecks of yellow in the carpet to the smooth gray-brown edge of his desk to her fingernails, which were ravaged to the quick.

  “I wish you would have felt comfortable telling me about it.”

  “So, you knew about it breaking?” she asked.

  He nodded, a twinkle in his eye.

  “I’m sorry,” she sighed. “I just . . . couldn’t.”

  “I understand,” he said in a voice that made her pause. “Those girls who assaulted you have been reprimanded. They shouldn’t cause any more trouble for you or anyone else.”

  Jessie had heard—on top of the suspensions for bullying, Mrs. Hoffenrichter had found drugs in one of their lockers.

  “I hear you’ll be attending a new school in January,” he said.

  “Uh,” Jessie replied. “Yeah.” Her mom had actually been the one to suggest this. The doctors had found the welts on her side, which had led to a lot of questions. For the past month, she went twice a week to this office with other girls her age. Mostly they just talked about school and stuff, and sometimes the woman who was in charge made suggestions to how they could deal with it. So far it was okay. Some of the girls were really messed up—one had cut herself, another had barfed so much she ended up in the hospital. The first day, she had told everyone about Stef, but so far, she hadn’t been able to talk about what happened to her that night. Maybe someday she would.

  The policewoman they had made her talk to was super nice. She visited Jessie’s hospital room several times, bringing games they could play. By the third visit, their conversations dipped further into the events of that night. Finally, Jessie had talked about what happened, what Stef’s dad had tried to do to her. The woman just listened, and when it was over, she said the weirdest thing. “You were so brave, Jessie,” she said. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.” Her calm gaze soothed her; it felt like being tucked into bed beneath a big, pillowy comforter. “How did it feel to help Stef?” the woman asked once Jessie was ready. Jessie realized that it had felt good, right. Even experiencing what happened with his dad didn’t change that. The woman told her that the white boxes she had seen were prescription drugs. So it was true what people had said—he really was selling them. Apparently he had borrowed a lot of money he couldn’t pay back, and selling drugs was his solution.

  The most surprising news was that they found the source of the fire—a kind of fire bomb thrown in through the windows and sliding glass door. Some kind of revenge play that had to do the money Stef’s dad owed. That Stef hadn’t started the fire should make her feel relieved, but somehow, it made her miss him even more. When she imagined him lighting the fire, it felt like some kind of gift. He was using what he was good at to save her.

  “It’s a lovely program. A bit intense, academically, but that might be good for you,” Mr. Boudreaux said.

  She gathered her backpack straps in her hands, and pushed to stand.

  “How’s Zach and your mom?” he asked.

  “Good,” Jessie replied, thinking back to the day before when she and Zach painted trim in the garage while the electricians put in all the wires.

  “I bet you’re happy to have him home from the hospital,” Mr. Boudreaux said, tilting his head to the side in that curious way she recognized. “When will he be back at work?”

  “Um, another few weeks, I think,” she replied, though her mom was going mad because the doctors told him not to exert himself, so he hadn’t been on a bike ride or surfing in almost two months. She’d overheard her mom call him “a rabid squirrel” more than once. At least he could do some of the jobs at the house, like finish Evan’s room. She had helped paint it blue, his favorite color. Her mom had been so happy when they’d shown it to her; the three of them had stood in the doorway and cried. It was still hard not knowing when he would ever come back, but somehow Jessie knew he would. She imagined him with a beard and strong shoulders, wearing the sideways smile he reserved only for her.

  “They’re getting married,” Jessie said, feeling herself grow taller. “This summer. At Hilltop Meadow.” Whether they were going to wait for the baby to be born or not, they hadn’t decided. Her mom had joked that waddling to her own wedding wasn’t what she had in mind.

  “I’m so glad things have worked out,” Mr. Boudreaux replied.

  Jessie slipped her backpack on. “Well, bye,” she said, giving him a wave.

  “Goodbye, Jessie,” he said.

  Chapter 37

  Jessie

  Jessie pounded a line of nails into the half-finished deck, the late-spring sun warming her back. The sound of gravel crunching beneath car tires in the driveway pulled her from her work. She watched Greta’s white minivan pull to a stop next to Zach’s truck. The side door opened and Cam and both of his brothers climbed out, catcher’s mitts in hand, engaged in a heated argument. Greta unclipped May from her car seat and Cam’s dad, James, picked up a large woven basket heaped with what Jessie realized was food.

  Jessie’s mom came out of the house, a screwdriver in her hands and dust coating her oversized denim shirt—one of Zach’s—her small, round belly making a mound beneath the fabric.

  “Surprise!” Greta called out as May squirmed against her hip.

  From inside the house, Zach appeared. His hair had started growing back a few months ago, so he looked almost like his old self. She had caught him rubbing his right hand more than once and had seen the scars. He said it didn’t hurt anymore but she wasn’t fooled.

  Greta set the basket down on the deck, then placed May carefully on her feet. A feeling of sadness washed through her at the realization that she had missed May’s first steps. May picked up a scrap of wood and brought it to Jessie, giggling. Jessie smiled and stroked her soft head. “Thanks,” she said as May dropped the wood and refocused on a scrap of colorful packaging left in the sawdust.

  Will the new baby be like May-May? she wondered. She snuck a look at her mom, who gave her a smile.

  “Thought you might use a hand with the cabinets today,” James said, shaking Zach’s hand.

  Zach’s face burst into a grin. “Sure,” he said.

  James called to Nate and Johnny, who were playing an aggressive game of catch in the driveway. They snapped off one last fastball then trotted over and followed James inside.

  Greta scooped up May. “Let’s get your feet up,” she said to Jessie’s mom. “I can take over installing those fixtures for a while.”

  And then, Jessie was alone with Cam.

  “Hey,” he said, scuffing the toe of his shoe in the dirt.

  “Hey,” she said.

  “So, can I help?” he asked. He jerked his blonde bangs from his eyes to pierce her with his icy blue gaze. They no longer looked cold and angry, like last time.

  “Um, you can help me nail down these boards,” she said. “There’s a hammer right there,” she said, pointing to where Zach had left one.

  Cam took a deep breath, then climbed up onto the deck. He picked up the hammer, and drew a handful of nails from her pile, then lowered to his knees a few feet away. Together, their hammers began swinging.

  After eating Greta’s lunch on a blanket she spread over the half-completed deck, Jessie was once again alone with Cam. “
Want to see the half pipe?” she asked.

  He lit up, as if he’d been waiting for this invitation all day. “Sure,” he said. “I brought my board.”

  Jessie waited for him to retrieve it and his helmet from his car, then led him to the back of the house to the plywood-lined structure.

  “Whoa,” Cam said. “This one’s taller than City Park’s.”

  Jessie grinned. Sometimes she was out here for hours. She had long since perfected her 180. Zach sometimes joined her. “Go ahead,” she said, letting him climb the stairs first.

  She grabbed her board and strapped on Stef’s helmet. The fire inspector had given hers back but she didn’t want it. When she reached the top of the platform, Cam stood poised to drop in, but his eyes drifted to the treehouse. Jessie followed his gaze, the familiar tug of sadness pulling at her gut.

  “I didn’t know all that stuff about Stef,” he said, then chewed his lip. “That his dad . . . did all that stuff to him.”

  “Yeah,” she said, leaning back against the railing. She and Zach had gone up to the treehouse to bring down the gear Stef had borrowed. It was so weird holding the soda can, thinking Stef’s lips had once touched it. After the floor was bare again, they had both cried for a long time.

  “You remember that egg baby thing we did and that report we had to write? About how babies that don’t get the right kind of love get messed up?” he said. “It was like that for him. Neglected, and all that. Wasn’t it?”