by A. L. Knorr
"Your voice sounds terrible." She put a hand to my head. Her eyebrows shot up. "You're feverish. Can you make it home? Maybe we should go to hospital after all? We need to call your parents."
"I will," I said. "The hospital is not necessary, though. I just need to rest." My head pounded and thoughts of my bed beckoned. I walked toward home. Elda and Isaia followed. If Elda was still upset, I couldn't tell. I couldn't pay attention to anything other than putting one foot after the other.
Once we'd arrived home, Elda forced me to lie on her bed where she could keep an eye on me. I collapsed, not caring which bed I was in. I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Fourteen
It was the fire that woke me—it licked at the insides of my ribcage. I winced. My mouth and eyes felt hot and dry. I sat up on my elbow and took a drink from the glass of water on the beside table. Instantly, it took the edge off the pain. I spotted the digital thermometer sitting there and frowned. I brought it to my ear and pressed the button. When it beeped, I watched the screen.
85.
I no longer thought the thermometer was broken. I really was that hot. Any normal person would be dead by now.
There was a knock on the door and Elda poked her head in. "Saxony?" she whispered.
"I'm awake."
"How do you feel?" She approached the bed.
"You know that saying death warmed over?" I gave a rough, dry laugh and pushed myself upright.
"No, what does it mean?"
"Never mind. I'm okay." I wasn't, but I wasn't going to admit that. "How is Isaia?" I dropped my legs over the side of the bed.
"He's—" She paused, her brows creased. "It's strange, but he's really cold. It's the first time I've seen him cold in his whole life."
This made some kind of sense. After all, the fire that had been giving him fevers had now taken up residence inside me. "Is he in his room?"
Elda nodded.
I got up, passing her as I went to the door. My vision swam and I walked on unsteady legs. She followed me down the hallway and into Isaia's room. I opened the door to see a little lump in Isaia's bed. He was huddled under thick blankets normally reserved for winter.
"Isaia?" I said softly, approaching his bed.
A little hand pushed the blankets away from his face and his black eyes peeked out.
"Are you cold, buddy?" I sat on the side of his bed. I took his hand and gasped. His fingers were little popsicles. I looked up at Elda with alarm. She crossed her arms, her brows drawn tight. I was burning up while he was nearly hypothermic. I pulled his blanket back. "Scootch over, little dude."
He wriggled sideways and I lay down beside him and pulled his narrow back up against my stomach. He was in full flannel pajamas but his entire body was rigid with cold. His icy frame felt delicious against my roasting torso. I wrapped my arms around him, pressing my fire against his back.
Elda sat on the side of his bed and we stayed like that for a long time. Isaia slowly began to relax. At some point, Elda got up and left. I dozed in and out of consciousness. Every time I came to, my head felt a little clearer. Isaia warmed up as I cooled down. He jarred me fully awake when he began to squirm.
"Feeling better? I know I am." I didn't feel like jumping up and down, but the worst seemed over.
Isaia crawled over me and left the room. I sat up as well, and my face cracked with an enormous yawn.
Elda appeared in the doorway, holding Isaia. Her expression was unreadable.
"I guess I'll go upstairs, now," I said, feeling awkward.
"Saxony," she said, quietly. Relief was etched into her face. "Thank you. I'll look after the boys tomorrow, you just rest. Okay?"
I nodded. "Okay, thanks." I gave Isaia's fingers a little tug and smiled at him.
He smiled back.
My body felt light with relief. Isaia was okay, and Elda wasn't angry anymore. But I needed time to think. Would I ever be normal again?
Fifteen
I sat on the little couch in my apartment, my cell phone in my hand. I looked down at it without seeing it as I mentally prepared to call my parents. It would be early morning in Saltford, so there would be just enough time to catch them before they went to work. I took a drink of water from the glass on the side table and dialled.
My mom answered, sounding gleeful. "Hi, sweetpea! What a treat. How's our world traveler?"
"Hi Mom," I rasped. "I'm good, how are you?"
There was a sharp intake of breath. "What happened? Are you sick? You sound terrible!"
"I sound worse than I am. It's just a little chest cold."
Why had I said that? I had fully intended to tell them about the incident at the tabacchi, so why had I lied? I already knew the answer. They wouldn't believe me anyway. And it was not the kind of story one could tell over the phone. It would send them into panic mode. They might even get on a plane, or worse, make me get on a plane. Emotions tumbled around inside me. The fire now living inside me had given me a shock, but it also fed me with strength. I didn't want to run home to my parents.
"Oh, poor baby. Is Elda taking care of you? You know it’s not good for you, going in and out of air-conditioning all the time."
"I know, Mom. Yes, Elda is looking after me. I just wanted to let you know. I'll be fine." I closed my eyes and prayed that the roughness of my voice would eventually go away. "Is Dad there?"
"Yes, just a second. I'll put you on speakerphone, okay?" There was a click and the sound changed.
"Hi pumpkin."
I smiled at his loving tone. Tears welled in my eyes. "Hi Dad."
"You don't sound so good. What's up?"
"Just a bit of a sore throat and a cold. I'll be all right. How are you? How are the boys? How's Jack?"
"Oh, you know us. Nothing much changes. RJ and Jack are both fine. Jack got his tooth fixed yesterday. Looks good as new. How are the boys you're looking after? Good kids?"
I closed my eyes and breathed a word of thanks for such solid parents. We all knew I had done wrong before I left home. They knew I felt bad enough. Without rubbing my face in it, the implication hanging in the air was subtle but present. Were the kids testing me?
"They’re really good kids. I lucked out."
"That's good. Happy to hear it." Dad told me about the car RJ had bought and the work he was doing on the engine. "How's the weather been in Venice?"
"Hot."
"Yeah, I can only imagine. It's been hot here, too. So listen, we have to run but call us again later, okay? Just to let us know how you're doing?”
"Sure, Dad."
"Can you find some bee propolis there, for your throat?" Mom asked.
"I'll look. Okay, love you guys. Have a good day at work."
We said goodbye. I sat there in silence, feeling the fire crackling in my insides. Why hadn't I told them about the tabbachi shop incident? I didn't want them to worry, but I very rarely lied to my parents. You don't trust yourself, Saxony.
I blinked at this sudden thought. It was right. I so rarely kept things to myself that if I had started talking I wouldn't know where to stop and before I could help it, everything would come spilling out. My parents would panic. They might even get on a plane and escort me home. My summer in Italy would be over before it had really begun. Yes, it was best to avoid the whole subject altogether.
But you'll have to face them sometime.
Overwhelmed, I crawled into bed and pulled the sheet over my head.
Sixteen
Three full days passed. When I had shown up in the kitchen looking dazed and distracted, Elda insisted that I take several more days to rest. My voice still sounded burnt out. The flames caused me some discomfort, but they wouldn't kill me. There was a strength to be sourced from this fire; I just wasn't entirely sure how to find it.
I'd barely seen anyone in three days. I hadn't wanted to, which was very unlike me. I'd made excuses to Fed when she'd texted, inviting me to hang out. Dante hadn't written, and I had barely noticed, which was also unlike me.
If it wasn't for the fire, my stomach might be tied in knots for a different reason—I’d be wondering why he hadn’t texted, worrying whether he really liked me or if I’d just imagined it. My lips twisted in a sardonic smile. The fire had robbed me of the anxieties of a normal teenage girl with a crush.
I went into the bathroom, flicked the light on beside the mirror, and looked myself in the face. It was still the same face, but it had changed somehow. My eyes. They were still green, but now they had the same strange reflective quality that I'd noticed in Isaia.
I splashed cool water into my face, filled one hand, and drank. My other palm was still bandaged. The cool water eased my pain a little. With water, the heat inside me seemed easier to control. I looked up at myself again, my face dripping. Anxiety fluttered in my chest as the same questions surfaced that had been haunting me for three days. My eyes flashed red, like an animal caught in headlights, and I staggered back from the sink, startled. My face crumpled. Who was I now? Or what?
I swallowed my tears and took a few deep breaths. I needed to talk to someone. But who? None of my friends would believe me, and how could I explain it even if I'd wanted to? I had already picked up my phone multiple times, preparing to set up a video call with the girls, only to put it down again. Every time I started to reach out, something stronger held me back.
I drank more water, filled a glass, and took it to bed with me despite the fact that it was only seven p.m. I flopped onto my bed and sighed with frustration. The fire licked up inside my ribcage. My limbs had an unexplained energy, like they needed to move. I tried to ignore the feeling. I closed my eyes, and waited for sleep.
My phone vibrated. I rolled over to check it. It was a text from Dante—the first one since the night of the Festival.
Ciao Bella
I smiled, and wrote back. Ciao Bello.
Dante: Fed tells me you're sick?
Me: Just a bit of fever and a cough, is all.
Dante: Poor baby.
