Will Rise from Ashes

by Jean M. Grant

  Chapter Four

  Coexisting

  After a restless night thanks to Will’s protests about sleeping in the car, the uncomfortable seats, and my despondent mind, we left the parking lot at dawn.

  “Mom, can we please find a hotel soon? Or camp again? My neck feels funny.”

  I swallowed the dryness in my throat. “Yes, honey, I will try.” I calculated the money I had still hidden in my handbag and under my car seat. A hotel would be divine. “Soon.”

  We drove for a few hours, each lost in our cogitations. The farther I distanced myself from New York, the better I felt. Even if it was false optimism, I clung to it as I contemplated plan B and plan C if more shit happened.

  I found myself daydreaming. Or rather, swirling back into old times, even if they were laced with melancholy. Harrison’s final birthday last year, only a month before his death, came to the forefront of my musings.

  ****

  June, Last Year

  “Stop fighting with your brother!” I yelled at Finn, who poked Will with a piece of his train track.

  “Mooooom!” Will screeched. “Stop being a brat, Finn!”

  They ran circles around me, and I stepped on the cat. He hissed and darted to safety. Run and hide, Snow! I’d be there with you if I could.

  I tried my mild, rational mom voice. “Finn, please stop poking Will.”

  “See?” Will said, sticking his tongue out at Finn.

  “No fair! You always take his side!” Finn whined.

  “Please play nicely,” I growled through gritted teeth. They ignored me and took their brotherly battle upstairs. Thank God. I rubbed my forehead.

  I rushed through the dishes, a leaning Tower of Pisa in the sink from last night. I’d worked yesterday, so of course they hadn’t been touched. My mind raced through the to-do list. Susie would arrive soon. The grass needed to be finished, and our mower was on the fritz—it had truly become a labor of love. I dripped with sweat. Harrison was on his way home from work hopefully, and I wanted to make his birthday night special. I hadn’t begun working on his favorite dinner. The cake had finger holes in it from the kids, and I fought the urge to cut a slice of buttery heaven right then and there for myself. In the humidity, the cream cheese frosting caused the carrot cake to lean like my tower of dishes. I lifted the platter, carefully balancing the sugary mess, and placed it in the fridge.

  I wiped the sweat from my brow and returned to the dishes. We had been blessed with a hot June day. Blessed. Ha. I panted. One of the dishes slipped from my hand and fell in a loud crack against a few others, spraying broken pieces of stoneware in the sink.

  Shrieks and thumps echoed from the boys’ bedrooms.

  I cursed, tears welling. I couldn’t cry on his birthday! Oh, but I did. Another screech emanated from upstairs. Instead of fuming and yelling at them, again, I bawled into the sink. I dried my hands on a dish towel and picked up the phone and texted Harrison.

  ETA? Kids horrible. Bring coffee home.

  Okay.

  I immediately regretted my terse text. Love you. Good day?

  No. More drama with client and a tech.

  I sighed. They worked him too hard. He was awake past midnight many nights catching up on the workload. He had missed Finn’s final soccer game and trophy presentation the past weekend, too.

  Love you, I typed. Made your favorite cake!

  A grinding belt announced Susie’s car pulling into the driveway. I blotted my face with a dish towel and hoped she couldn’t see the redness.

  We exchanged brief hellos and updates on Will’s behavioral plan. “He has a lot of homework to complete after being sick.”

  “Too much work for such a little guy and at the end of the school year, too,” Susie said in her melodic twenty-something voice that worked wonders on Will. And me. God bless her patience and enthusiasm.

  “He also lost recess yesterday. It dysregulated him. We had to skip karate class because he was off kilter.”

  I was about to apologize for the mess of paper, masking tape, uncapped markers, and scissors that lay strewn on my kitchen floor and living room sofa. I glanced at the chaos in the playroom, which abutted our open kitchen. Upturned marble-run blocks, train-track pieces, marbles, wooden planks of every shape and size, and creative paper mess winked at me, tempting my inner neat freak. I turned away from it and stepped over the kitchen floor mess. I grabbed his homework binder off the counter and handed it to Susie. Kids were messy. Kids like mine were excessive with their creativity.

  Regardless, a thump of anxiety reverberated in my chest.

  “Perhaps I can talk with him about the upcoming trip you’re all taking to Yellowstone this summer?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, good idea. He’s excited about that.” The trip was only two months away. Harrison was stoked, as was Will. Harrison, in fact, had every detail nailed down. He’d purchased the tickets, booked hotels, and mapped the route. Everything was scheduled. We were nervous taking the boys on their first cross-country flying trip, but God, we needed a break. To get away. It would be wonderful.

  Susie and I slogged upstairs. “Come on, Finn. We need to leave Susie with Will. Help me make dinner for Daddy.”

  Finn was wrapped in his favorite fleece robot blanket, rolling around. “I can’t. I have no legs yet. I’m in a chrysalis!”

  Will kicked at him. “Go! Stop being so stupid!”

  “Will, we don’t use that word.” Brotherly love, my ass. They did love each other. Fifty percent of the time. “Come, Finn. I need your help.”

  As I lifted my cocooned child, he giggled. “Wow, this is going to be a big butterfly!” God, I tried. I refused to let the beast emerge from me today even if it was clawing at the edges.

  “No!” Will moaned from behind me. “I don’t want to do homework! It’s stupid. My teacher’s stupid. She doesn’t listen to me.”

  “It’s your choice to get it done now, with me, Will,” Susie began, tucking a long dark lock behind her double-pierced ear, “and then we’ll have time to play later. Or we can take two hours to do this and have no playtime. I brought my chess board…” She stood, unwavering.

  Will was still resisting five minutes later, demonstrated by loud thumps and groans emerging from his bedroom. I ignored it and shifted gears in the kitchen. “Please set the table, Finn.”

  “No.”

  I heaved a sigh. “Set the table.”

  “Why doesn’t Will have to?”

  “He’s doing homework. Go do it. You can get a star on your chart,” I said with my last sanity-inducing breath as I maneuvered around the kitchen and collected the potatoes, veal, eggs, and flour for making Harrison’s favorite dish of Wiener schnitzel that I made approximately once a year.

  “Okay!” He ran and did as told, wrapped in his robot blanket.

  A loud crash erupted from the dining room a moment later.

  I moaned instead of using the colorful language I’d wanted to say.

  Finn was on the floor, bawling hysterically. I swooped in and assessed. One chair was knocked over, and all the silverware was on the floor next to a second broken plate.

  “Ouch!” Finn cried, hugging his elbow. I felt it. Not broken and not bleeding. No ER visit this time.

  “What were you doing?”

  “The butterfly wanted to fly!” He looked at me with tear-streaked cheeks.

  I sighed and sat on the floor next to him. “How about pizza for dinner tonight?”

  ****

  Present Day

  “Those clouds are really dark!”

  “Uh-huh.”

  She wasn’t looking. Will drew a frustrated breath. “Look how gray those clouds are.”

  Mom didn’t answer.

  He continued anyway. “They’re gray on the bottoms, but dark blue on top there. Maybe they’re filled with ash!” Large, puffy cumulonimbus clouds. Tall, towering, gray, and dark blue. They made his head spin with excitement. One of his weather books said those types of clouds were the result
of atmospheric instability, formed by water vapor carried upward by strong air flow—because that’s what clouds were. He remembered Dad coming into his class and talking about the water cycle. “They’re usually on cold fronts, Mom. Do you think the eruption cooled it down? A cold front is coming?” He chewed on his lip. “Will it affect the climate? I read about volcanic winters in my books, where it gets too cold and then crops and plants don’t grow.”

  She mumbled something he couldn’t understand.

  He added, “I’m not sure if I’d rather be a meteorologist or volcanologist when I grow up. What do you want me to be?”

  “Whichever one you want, dear.”

  Mom was different this week. She was quieter. Usually, every morning on their rides to school, she would mention the pretty sunrise, or the green—or golden in autumn—farm fields. She loved green hills, and she especially loved flowers. During autumn, they would talk about the rainbow of leaves. Orange and red were her favorite. Finn liked the yellow. Of course, Finn would say poopy words and spit on the window and try to get him to do it as well. Finn could be annoying.

  “Love you, Mom,” he said, hoping to cheer her up. He wanted her to be happy.

  “Love you, too, sweetie.” She reached her hand back, palm up in her usual gesture, while keeping her gaze on the road. Except Finn’s wasn’t there to squeeze, too. It was always the three of them. Mom did it every day after she picked them up from the bus stop. But that was before Dad’s accident. She didn’t drive much anymore.

  Will used two hands to squeeze instead.

  He then pulled out his map and drew a line from New York to Pennsylvania, through Ohio, then Indiana. “What’s the capital of Indiana, Mom?”

  “Indianapolis.”

  He drew a circle and star and then carefully finished outlining the Midwest states. So far he created regional maps of New England, the mid-Atlantic, and now the Midwest. Indiana had lots of tall cornfields. If he stared straight out the side window, they would pass by in a cool cloud of green and brown. It made him dizzy.

  He drew heaps of gray clouds on Indiana to represent what they saw. He had to keep a precise record of their trip to show Finn.

  ****

  My annoyance mounted after another long day. The plan to travel Route 70 west was thwarted by construction, traffic, and accidents near Indianapolis. It took most of the day to get through Columbus and around Indianapolis. I contemplated how much of the traffic was due to the disaster. Thankfully, I found a gas station west of Indianapolis. I got gas and bought and filled another spare gas container. The car reeked of fuel. I did my best to mask it with air freshener, tight gas container lids, and open windows. Mom and pop shops lined the main street of the town—a hardware store, a bank, a pizza shop…Will begged for pizza, so we grabbed some from the convenience store.

  “Need anything else, ma’am?” the shop clerk asked as I approached the counter to pay. He was a balding, burly guy, with a wide toothy smile and ruddy cheeks.

  “Mom? Can I get a candy bar?” Will interjected.

  “Sure.”

  He placed it on the counter, and I paid. Unease drew my gaze to two men near an old red pickup at the pump. The younger of the two gaped at me while the older, heavyset man pumped gas. The younger man’s sneer gave me the creeps. He was grubby, dressed in hunting clothes, and licked his fingers suggestively while finishing whatever it was he ate. I grabbed Will’s hand. “Let’s go.”

  I had to walk around the truck to get to my car on the other side of the pump. The pungent stench of maleness and alcohol floated off the men. I escorted Will to his door and slammed it behind him, then I hurried to my door, locking the car as I got in.

  “It’s hot, Mom. Roll down the windows.”

  My intuition flared. I ignored him, started the car, and left the lot. Grinning creepy man’s stare remained on us, glossy and disturbing, as I kept an eye on the rearview mirror. His upper lip curled.

  “Mom…,” Will said.

  I rolled the windows down once we were on the road.

  Night was upon us before long, and a drizzle turned into a heavy rain. Like clockwork, as it always did in the last year, my pulse increased with the rain. I gripped the steering wheel, white knuckled. Rain is good for trees. My flowers loved it. It created drinking water and nourished our farms.

  It also made roads slippery.

  It contributed to car accidents.

  And…

  Oh, how I wished I hadn’t chosen now of all times to forget to have my prescription filled. My head was foggy, my palms slick.

  I shoved those thoughts away. Look how far I’d made it already! I’d put in more miles in the past few days than I had in the entire previous year. A mother’s adrenaline could get me far. That made me think of Finn. A wave of palpitations hit me.

  “Hrmmph,” I said, breathless, hands tighter on the wheel.

  “You okay, Mom?”

  “Yup.” I breathed through them. My chest lifted and fell like a galloping horse.

  Breathe.

  Focus.

  Breathe.

  “Sad?”

  “No, it’s my heart. It’s flip-flopping,” I said, as the final wave hit…then settled.

  Calm rushed through me. I picked up my cell phone and tried dialing Dr. Martin again. Busy signal. I dialed again a few minutes later. Nothing. No answer. My phone showed one bar of reception.

  As night drew on and Will grew tired, I found a safe place to pull off the highway in an area near an overpass that appeared to be a commuter’s parking lot.

  “Awww, Mom, you said we can camp or find a hotel!”

  “I’m sorry, honey. There’s nothing for miles, and it’s getting late. I don’t want to be on the road at night.” Night and rain, my least favorite combo. “Hopefully tomorrow.”

  “Promise?”

  I sighed. “I can’t promise, but I will try, okay?”

  My guard was up. Perhaps I should’ve driven farther, but it was late and I worried Will might have trouble falling asleep. I parked the car closer to the trees to keep it shielded from unaware highway drivers.

  The sound of the rain was both nerve-wracking and soothing. I kept the windows cracked, the tire iron resting on my lap, insomnia joining me. Thankfully, the heat of the day had simmered with the rainstorm and the interior of the car was bearable. Restless, Will finally succumbed to sleep after eleven p.m.

  I heard a truck in the predawn hours.

  Instant alarm bells went off. It was like I had known. I truly had tried to keep driving until I found a safe motel. I’d distanced myself from those goons in the pickup. Had I messed up yet again? “Jesus,” I mumbled, as to not wake Will.

  My keys sat in the ignition. Will was reclined in the front passenger seat and not buckled in. I would drive off if need be. My fingers tingled, and I held my breath. Maybe they wouldn’t see us. Our dark blue SUV blended in with the shadows of the trees in the cloudy, moonless night.

  Fishermen? I hadn’t seen any lakes or streams.

  Very early commuters? Not this early.

  Lost travelers? Nope.

  Harrison’s gun would’ve come in handy now. I clasped my hand around the iron. It was all I had.

  This was damn ridiculous. Did bad luck travel with me? Was I a naïve fool?

  The truck paused at the edge of the lot, about two hundred yards away, and idled, its older engine gurgling and almost groaning with effort. Thick, dark, residual storm clouds hung over us like the gloom that lived within me. I hadn’t wanted to admit to Will when he was rambling about the clouds earlier, but I had indeed seen it. The ash-laden clouds were moving east. It was coming. Was this rain already contaminated with ash? Were both our asthmatic lungs breathing it in?

  I couldn’t see far from my spot. I dared not turn on a light. I squinted. The driver turned off the truck’s lights but not its engine.

  Call it instinct or having already learned my lesson back in New York…they were trouble. I refused to be caught unawa
re again.

  Clammy fingers returned to the keys, ready. I couldn’t close my cracked-open windows without clicking the car on. I quickly checked the locks for the fourth time. Hypervigilant ears were on, detecting my wheeze, Will’s soft snore, and the beating of my quickening heartbeat that had not quite reached palpitation potential yet.

  A few moments passed. Nobody approached. The truck’s high beams went on. I flinched and muffled a curse. Jackasses. They drove off, peeling in a flurry of gravel. I dropped my head to the wheel as my pulse raced. I reclined, pressing palms to eyes. My head roared with a sinus-induced headache from the barometric pressure change in the air.

  Suddenly, there was a loud jiggle of the passenger door handle.

  What the hell?

  Peering through the door was that same repulsive grin I had seen at the gas station. The man rapped on the window. “Come on, pretty gal, need warmth tonight?”

  Shit! No, I did not. I started the car faster than I ever had before. Will rolled over.

  “Mom?” he said, his voice groggy.

  “Sit up, Will, and buckle your seatbelt, now!” I shifted into drive. Lights turned on, I got the hell out of there.

  Will was slow to respond, slurring his words. “Mommmm, it’s dark.”

  “Will, your belt! NOW!”

  He buckled, but protested, “I’m not supposed to ride in the front seat.”

  I scrambled to get mine buckled. Last thing I needed was to go headlong through the windshield. I turned onto the highway and accelerated. A moment later, high beams and a row of hood lights probably used for illegal hunting greeted me like the smile of demonic cat—gosh, I must have had cats on the mind with all of Will’s wizard-cat books. The red truck drove straight at me. “Shit!” The asshole’s buddy had been waiting on the road in the truck. They had gone the strategic route of separating.

  Briefly blinded by the bright string of lights, I swerved to the other lane to avoid hitting the truck. My driver’s side rumbled through the grassy shoulder. I overcompensated, and the car fishtailed. No, no, no, don’t flip, I silently prayed for our now unwieldy SUV, but I managed to get around the truck and on the right side of the road. The man in the truck sped to the commuter lot to grab his companion. The screech of worn brakes sliced through the night.