Soul Fire

by Nancy Allan

  Dad said, “Maybe. Maybe not. The ideal solution, beyond moving to the other coast, would be home schooling, but we can’t do that right now. So, John Huntley it is. We can be positive about it and hope you get a fresh start.”

  My grandmother was staring at me. Bombs away, I thought. She steepled her fingers and put them on her bottom lip. “You should be grateful for such caring parents.”

  “What makes you think I’m not?” I snapped back.

  “Because you’re spoiled and self-centered.”

  I stood abruptly. “You’re describing yourself,” I retorted.

  She jumped up, dumping Crossbow off her lap. The cat let out a rancid retort and fled. My grandmother’s skinny frame bent angrily toward me. “Don’t talk to your elders like that. Have respect!”

  “For you? You must be kidding—“

  “That’s enough. Both of you.” Mom stood and put her arm around the older woman, pushing her gently toward the door. “We talked about this, remember, Mom. You were going to stop making inflammatory remarks…”

  Dad looked up at me. “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”

  I sat down despondently. “I’m not getting stonger, so it’s definitely going to kill me. How do you stand it, Dad?”

  “There are worse things and people.”

  “Really?”

  Anika hadn’t stopped eating. “She should go back home,” she declared between bites. “She makes us unhappy.” She put her fork down and looked sadly up at me. “Too bad Mommy loves her.”

  Afterward, we gathered in the living room to try to have a normal family-style evening. My grandmother was in her room, thankfully. Dad was on his tablet and Mom was trying to finish reading the last pages of a paperback. Anika had talked me into a game of Don’t Fish before bed. Don’t Fish was an Anika version of the original game. We were one hand away from her winning. We made the play and counted the score. “Forty-five,” I announced triumphantly. “You win, Anika.”

  She squinted her eyes at me accusingly, “You cheated, Ashla.”

  “But you won!”

  “You let me!”

  “Why do you say that?” She could be a frustrating child sometimes.

  ‘Cause. I’m the little kid. You’re the big one. You should win. Not lose.”

  I was definitely losing this round. “Okay. We’ll play something you can lose next time.” What was I thinking? She was five going on fifteen.

  She nodded her curly head and picking up the cards with chubby little hands, she stuffed them into their case. Mom watched her. “Give everyone a kiss, Anika. It’s bedtime now.”

  Anika put the cards back on the bookshelf. “Can’t give everyone a kiss.”

  Dad reached for her and said, “No, but you can give us, a kiss.” Anika ran to him, snuggling into his arms. “I don’t like kissing, Gramma. She’s prickly.”

  Looks flew amongst us. I received a big kiss, hugged her, and then she reluctantly trailed Mom out of the room. Alone now with Dad, I looked up at him. He seemed to grow thinner each week. His shirt was three sizes too big and his slacks were folded over under his belt. Was it because he’d lost his job or was it me? “What wrong, Dad?”

  He rested the tablet on his knee and looked down at me. I was still sitting cross-legged on the rug. “How do you mean?”

  I got up and sat next to him on the couch. “I mean, why have you grown so thin?”

  He rubbed his chin uncomfortably, gave me a sidelong glance, and exhaled in defeat. “Ashla,” he said quietly, “there’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you. I wanted to do this sooner, but I held out, hoping to give you better news.” The pause went on too long.

  “Dad?”

  He reached for my hand, his thumb rubbing my knuckles. I sat frozen. My brain shut down. Eventually he said, “I have cancer, Ashla.”

  The couch tilted.

  Cancer.

  The word terrified me right through to my soul. It stole hopes, dreams, friendships, loved ones, and life itself. I realized he was speaking to me.

  “Things didn’t look too bad in the beginning. A few tests, a procedure, chemo, some improvement, and we waited for news of a remission.” Another painful pause.

  I swallowed. My mouth and throat felt like dry cotton. “Is there…good news, Dad?”

  He hesitated. “Not yet. But there may be some down the road. A few more weeks of radiation and we’ll know.”

  Mom had silently re-entered the living room and sat down on my other side. I felt a volcano of emotion threaten to erupt and to prevent that from happening, I jumped off the couch and whirled around to face my parents. “You should’ve told me. I’m nearly seventeen. I’m part of this family. I shouldn’t be excluded. No holding back, remember? That’s our family dictum. What happened to that?”

  Mom replied, “Yes, Ashla. What happened to that?”

  I stared. Her re-question sent the message home. At a complete loss, I walked over to the living room window and parted the drape. As usual, it was pouring rain out there. The street light in front of our house revealed sheets of it beating the slick sidewalk. It sure was raining on our house this year. “You’re right,” I told them with my back to them. “I’ve lied to you…and I’ve been deceitful…and I’m sorry.” Turning slowly, I cast a side-glance their way. They were staring at me. In that fleeting moment, I saw the fear in their weary eyes. And then I felt it in my heart.

  I wanted to comfort them, to hug them, and tell them, “It’ll be okay,” but I could not. No more lies. I walked over to my dad and knelt in front of him, taking hold of his right hand. “Is that why the company let you go?”

  “I missed a lot of work early on.”

  “Did you tell them why?”

  “I told them, but maybe that was a mistake. After that, they saw me as a liability.”

  “You’re kidding. You were there over twenty years.”

  “Apparently that didn’t count for much.”

  “But all those years of extra hours, weekends—“

  “In fairness, it wasn’t Bill Jameson. It was the new partner. These are hard times. He brought new money to the firm. Bottom line—he wanted me out. They called it, re-organizing.”

  “So, they dumped you? Cancelled your health benefits and everything else you worked for all those years?”

  He shrugged.

  My heart cried out for him. He was a good man. He didn’t deserve to be treated like that. He didn’t deserve cancer either. I squeezed his hand. “I don’t know what to say to you, Dad. All I know is that you’ve got to fight the cancer. You can’t let it beat you, like it did Grampa. You’re doing everything you can, right?”

  He pulled me up next to him. “Carrots,” he said using his pet name for me, “I’m doing everything, believe me.”

  I was upstairs, in my private space, mulling over our new bad situation. My insides were like a block of ice. I couldn’t bear to lose my dad. He was my cornerstone, my center, my mentor, my friend, but most of all, he was my dad! He had to beat the cancer. He just had to. I became aware that I was pacing back and forth in front of my window and forced myself to stop. How could so many things go wrong all at once?

  I was so focused on my mounting problems that I almost missed hearing Brenna’s voice downstairs in the hallway. I wiped my eyes and cheeks, and then turned around as she walked through my doorway. Her wet hair was plastered to her scalp, her eyes were bugged, and her lips colorless. The quiet, sweet Brenna we all knew and loved was obviously stressed to the max. “With that look, you'll fit right in here,” I declared, pulling off her wet jacket and taking it to the shower to drip. I brought out a towel so she could dry her face and hair. She toweled slowly, her thoughts elsewhere. “Didn’t you hear?”

  Oh, no. “Hear what?” I asked, wishing I hadn’t.

  “It’s all over the school. Mako had a car accident. Had to go to the hospital. Apparently, he was driving his junker down Westlake Road when something bit his ankle. It was so sudden and so
painful his pickup went off the road and hit a pole. Word is, he’s in a bad way.”

  I was temporarily at a loss for words. “What bit him?”

  Brenna shrugged. “They don’t seem to know except that it was venomous and…”

  “And?”

  “Well, he’s not dead, but his buddy, Crip says Delta did it and he’s going to make him pay big time.”

  “Crip. That jerk. Why does he think Delta did it?”

  Brenna flipped me a look that said, who else?

  “Either way, Crip will have to find Delta first.”

  “He’s looking. Actually, they all are. You know how the Tarantulas are. Any excuse will do, so they’re out in their cars right now cruising around like a bunch of freaking gangsters with guns.”

  “Oh, no, not guns.”

  “Yes. Guns. Maybe they're real or maybe they're not, but they are all driving around, windows down, waving them around like it’s the wild west or something.” Brenna was shaking. I reached for one of my sweaters and handed it to her. She slipped it on and wrapped it tightly around herself. ‘This is so bad, Ashla. If they find Delta, he’ll be goners.”

  Our house phone rang. Being low on funds, I hadn’t replaced my cell since the accident, so no one could call me directly. I saw Celeste’s number on the display, but Mom picked up. “Ashla,” she called up the stairwell, “Your call.”

  I waited for the click that told me Mom had hung up. “Hey.”

  “Did you hear?” Another stressed voice.

  “Brenna’s here. She told me.”

  “All of it?”

  “All of it?” I looked over at Brenna. Her eyes grew wider.

  “I’ll be right over,” Celeste said.

  Celeste hadn’t bothered with a jacket so when she flew into my room, her wet t-shirt was stuck to her, along with her long hair. I handed her my other bath towel and waited nervously.

  She took her time, dried her hair, threw on my robe, tied it, and composed herself. Brenna and I knew there was no point in hurrying Celeste. When she was stressed, she took a breath. Wish I could do that. Finally, she straightened up and said, “Someone put something poisonous in their junkers. They were all out driving around like the Mafia and bang, bang, bang.”

  “Gun shots?” Brenna questioned.

  “No. Bites!”

  “Bites? You’re kidding me.” I could hardly believe what I was hearing.

  “Uh-uh.”

  “What bit them?” Brenna asked.

  Celeste shrugged. “Don’t know.”

  “How’d you hear about all this?” I wanted to know.

  “Tara. Remember her cousin at King News? He heard it on the scanner and called her. She called me. Cops are freaked.”

  Uh-oh. Delta needed to know, if he didn’t already. I picked up the phone and speed dialed his number.

  “Hey.” His voice was placid.

  “It’s me,” I said, “In case you haven’t heard, the Tarantulas think you did in Mako.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “So, you’re on their hot sheet.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “Brenna says they were out looking for you, but apparently something venomous put an end to that.”

  “Interesting. How’re you doing, Ashla?”

  I paused, warning bells going off. “I’m okay, but I’m worried about you.”

  “No need.”

  I tried to decode that, but couldn’t, so I left it and turned the conversation to a more normal topic. “I’m starting a new school tomorrow. John Huntley.”

  There was silence. Then, "Give it about a week. The minute it starts up, get out.”

  I felt deflated. He had just told me what I feared. “Why do you think it’ll start over?”

  “The web.”

  He was right. The web was going to be my undoing. I sighed, unable to deal with that problem right now. “How’s your mom?”

  Another long pause. His voice became hushed. “I’m with her right now. Can’t leave her. Could be anytime.”

  I could hear the pain in his voice and stepped out of the bedroom. “Dell, I’ll come, if you want me to.”

  “No, not now.”

  “Will you call me?”

  “Maybe.”

  Mr. Independent. “Please, call me.”

  “I’ve got to go, Ashla. Talk to you later.”

  I stood in the hallway thinking of Dell at his mother’s bedside as her final moment approached. I couldn’t imagine how he must feel. I hoped I wouldn’t ever go through that. My thoughts shifted to my dad and I swallowed hard, collected myself, and then stepped back into the bedroom. Brenna was giving me that look of hers. “What?” I asked her.

  “What’s with you and Delta?”

  Celeste answered for me, “He likes her. Big time.”

  I gaped at Celeste.

  Brenna nodded knowingly. “Yup. Makes sense. Look what he did when Mako threw that rock. And look what happened to Delta because of it. He’s got to have it really bad for you, Ashla.” She put her small hands over her heart. “Oh, that’s so cool. So romantic.”

  Celeste brought her back to reality. “Oh yeah, very cool…if he survives.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Dell’s call came in the middle of the night. I had tucked the handset under my pillow so that I could catch it before the ring woke my parents, or worse, my grandmother. “Hello,” I said groggily.

  “It’s over.”

  I sat bolt upright, wide awake. “Oh, Dell,” I whispered, “Are you okay? Where are you?”

  “Walking back to my uncle’s.”

  “I’ll meet you there.”

  “No, Ashla. It’s the middle of the night. I just wanted to hear your voice.”

  “I’ll see you in a few.”

  “No, don’t, Ashla…”

  I threw on my jeans, black hoodie, and sneakers, scribbled a note to my parents, and slipped out the back door. The night was dark, damp, and eerily quiet. I had never gone out at this hour, and now, by myself, I was nervous. My parents would croak if they knew, but I had to be with Dell. He had no one, absolutely no one now.

  I weaved through the neighbors’ yards, barking dogs and all. When I emerged onto the street, I stayed in the shadows as much as possible and ducked out of sight each time I saw headlights approaching. I arrived at Dell' uncle’s house and found myself on a dark back porch. The door opened and he pulled me inside. One candle flickered on the kitchen table, casting slpashes of light across the dark walls. I tried to see his face, but he turned away, so I stepped in front of him. Even in the dark room, I could see the haunted look and imagined the agony he must feel. I put my arms around him and held him tight. He must have cried silently because tears trickled down my neck. I recalled what his neighbor had told me about his mom, about how Mrs. Anderson had tutored her and her children without charge, and how Dell's mother had dedicated her life to her son.

  Why do terrible things happen to good people? Why did that poor woman have to suffer so all those years? It must have pained her to leave her only son behind. Her final words to me rang in my mind: “Help my son.” I had promised her that I would. Now, that weighed on me heavily.

  “Is there a couch in the living room?” I whispered.

  He nodded. I took his hand and pulled him into the next room where we collapsed onto the lumpy sofa. I squeezed into the corner and pulled him to me. He dropped his head on my shoulder and we stayed like that in complete darkness, without saying anything for hours. I knew he was reliving life with his mom. He had started the journey…the one that carries us reluctantly away when our loved one leaves us. It had happened to me the moment my beloved grandfather passed on.

  It was dawn when I heard Dell hushed voice: “She suffered for years. I did what I could, but the disease ate her alive. She made me promise not to let her teachings go to waste. She wanted me to go to university.”

  I nodded. “I hope you do. I hear you’re a smart guy.”

  “They’ve got to find a
cure for ALS. No person should have to suffer the way she did. I need to be part of that research. I want to go to medical school.” That was all he said, but I could feel his thoughts filling the room.

  When I opened my eyes, the sun had flooded the living room and I knew we had slept. Gently, I slipped away from him, trying not to wake him, and went into the kitchen. I found juice, made coffee, and put a box of cereal on the table along with milk, bowls, and spoons. Nothing else looked appealing.

  “Coffee smells good.”

  I hadn’t heard him enter the room and turned, surprised. He was leaning against the kitchen doorjamb watching me. Even though he was my age, this morning he looked much older. His grief had already aged him, and he appeared drained. I took his hand. “Come on, sit down.”

  I filled our bowls with Cheerios, added milk, and sat across from him. “Eat,” I said.

  He looked up at me . . . a sad smile on his face. He was likely recalling the day he had given me the same order. His eyes never left mine. “Thanks for being here last night.”

  I nodded and we fiddled with our cereal for a while. Then, I asked, “Did your mom tell you her last wishes?”

  “She asked me to set her free. To send her ashes out to sea. It will probably be the end of next week.

  “Would you like me to come?”

  He nodded.

  I tried a few spoonfuls of Cheerios and considered his unhappy situation. No matter how bad things became for me, it always seemed worse for him. Yet, he held his head up and carried on. A brave guy. So much courage. “What will you do, Dell?”

  “I’ll be okay.” He toyed with the spoon. “It’s you I worry about.”

  “Why? Why do you worry about me, I mean with everything that has been happening in your life?”

  He shrugged. “I worry that Mako will retaliate against you when he and his friends don’t find me.”

  “You think Mako would throw one of those—whatevers—at our house?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe he’ll get off on some other form of violence instead. But is it worth the risk? Your family needs to take a long vacation.”

  “I’ll never convince them to do that. Besides, Mom has her daycare obligation.”