ALLUSIVE AFTERSHOCK

by Susan Griscom

  I had no choice but to watch as flames devoured my house, my things, everything I possessed in this life. Was my dad inside? God. “Dad, where are you?” I shouted over and over again until my throat felt like sandpaper, until no more sound escaped. Dad … please answer. Don’t leave me.

  He was all I had, even though he spent most days in the company of a bottle of Jack, not really noticing whether I was around or not. I couldn’t lose him like I lost my mom. She died when I was ten. A freak patch of black ice covered the road and she lost control of the car as it spun a one-eighty and slammed head-on into a tree. They said she didn’t suffer. I don’t know for sure. Life was never the same after that.

  Some measure of hope told me my dad must be inside, trapped under something, and passed out. He might still be alive. I ran toward the door but the heat blasted me, so I hurried to one of the side windows and touched the glass, singeing my fingers. I yanked them back and shook my hand while searching the area for something to break the window. I picked up the planter we always hid the spare key under and threw the whole damn thing, geraniums and all, at the window, shattering the glass. Flames darted out, almost scorching my face, making me jump back. I sank to the ground on my knees and buried my face in my sweatshirt. It still smelled like Shiloh’s blood.

  For the second time that day, I wept.

  With tears still soaking my cheeks I stared up at the sky. Why do the clouds always seem so tranquil, so majestic as if they hold the answers to the entire universe? I could picture the Great White Spirit of my mother’s ancestors sitting among the scatters of fluffy white clouds looking down at me. Now my dad would be joining them. He wasn’t a Miwok, but I knew he loved my mom. The proof of that was in the bottle he sat with every day. She would welcome him and take good care of him.

  I sat huddled, hugging my knees to my chest, and watched my home burn until there was nothing left but smoldering ashes.

  Why is this world so cruel to me?

  My mom was gone. My dad was gone. Shiloh was gone. They were never coming back. My dad would never yell at me for hiding his booze, Shiloh would never follow me to school again. The clouds moved on. “Why? Why do you hate me?” I yelled at the sky. “Why do you take everything I love away? What did I do to make you so angry? Please, please tell me or forgive me, because I can’t take it anymore. Please stop taking everyone from me.”

  Even Adela.

  Max took her from me years ago, but hope lingered in my heart because she was still alive, the only person left in the world I loved. Adela. I couldn’t let anything happen to her. If she died, I would want to die too.

  I had to find Adela, protect her, and make sure nothing happened to her.

  Wiping my cheeks with the back of my hands, I stood, staring at the muck for a minute before stepping onto the still smoldering debris, looking for anything that might have survived. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed something sparkling and I walked toward the shimmer. A corner piece of metal stuck out from under charred wood. I bent down to grab the edge, nearly singeing my fingers again. Wrapping my hand in my sweatshirt, I picked up the small silver picture frame.

  I blew on the glass to remove some of the dust and wiped off the soot with the sleeve of my jacket. My mother’s and father’s faces smiled back at me from the picture my dad kept on our fireplace mantle since the day my mother died eight years ago. The silver frame, a little tarnished, still gleamed in most places, in near perfect condition without a single scorch mark. I clutched the picture to my chest and glanced up at the clouds when all of a sudden my brain registered intense pain. I looked down to see fire engulfing my right pants leg. I bent over, hitting the flames with my sweatshirt and the cuff of my shirt ignited, burning the back of my hand down to the knuckles of my fingers. I staggered backwards as I tried to pound out the flames from my hand. Something cracked as my foot sank down between a broken and splintered board and my ankle twisted in the opposite direction from where I tried to go, which was anywhere away from the smoldering pieces of my house. I pulled my leg out. Pain shot up from my ankle to my leg where flames still danced against my pants, searing the skin on my calf. But that burn was nothing compared to the sharp pain emanating from my ankle. I tried to take a step but the slightest bit of pressure applied to my ankle was excruciating. I finally put the flames out on my hand but it hurt like hell. I couldn’t walk, let alone run, so I got on my hands and knees, crawled my way from the rubble that was once my house, dragged myself along the ground, and then rolled all the way to the end of the driveway. The flames on my leg became puffs of smoke, yet my leg and wrist continued to burn as though they were still on fire. I lay on the side of the road, unable to move, clutching the picture to my heart.

  ~~ Adela ~~

  Max and I trudged through the woods toward my house. At first glance, no one would even know anything was wrong. Trees still stood tall, sheltering us from the sun, and leaves still rustled under our feet. The only difference was the thick smell of fire in the air, the distant sounds of screams and an occasional explosion. Would my house still be standing? Would Big Blue and Misty still be in their stalls? Would the stalls still be left for them to be in?

  I stopped walking. “Max.”

  “What,” he said with a tinge of annoyance, without even slowing down or looking at me. He just kept walking.

  “Max!” I yelled again and stood stiff, my hands fisted at my sides. He turned toward me without saying a word and just stared at me, waiting for me to say something else.

  I relaxed my hands. “What if they’re …” I choked on “they’re” and couldn’t finish, fearing the simple utterance of the words would make them come true.

  “Don’t, Adela. Don’t go there. We don’t know anything yet. Just keep walking. We’re almost there.”

  I swallowed to quench the dryness in my throat.

  “You know, your mom and dad are probably in your kitchen right now, giving the twins a snack and talking about you. Wondering where you are.”

  The thought brought a glimmer of hope and for the first time since this morning’s quake hit, my lips began to twitch involuntarily. “Yeah, and your mom and dad are probably having a glass of wine thinking about you. Maybe they’re toasting the idea that they might not have to feed you anymore.”

  “Thanks. That’s a comforting thought.”

  “Well, you eat enough to feed half the starving kids in Africa. At least that’s what your mom says.”

  We continued toward home, falling back into silence. I had to concentrate on my feet, placing one in front of the other. That was all I could manage to do.

  I glanced up and saw the clearing up ahead, its golden field shimmering through the trees.

  “Max, come on!” I shouted and we took off in a sprint toward my home just on the other side. When we reached the meadow, my heart lurched in my chest as the sight of the backside of my house came into view. I ran, laughing, excited that my house was there. “Come on Max, it’s still here. Hurry.” My legs were moving so fast, they almost gave out from under me as I shouted, “Mom, Dad, I’m home! Ambrosia, Aaron, are you guys here?”

  I stopped short when I reached the side of the house. The back wall stood propped up by the fireplace—the only other part still standing—while the rest of the house lay in piles of dust and debris, just like the school.

  No kitchen. No bedrooms. No living room. No china hutch where my mother’s dishes formerly resided, nothing but piles of brick and cement and wood. The front part of the roof lay crumbled among broken furniture.

  Max came up beside me and placed his hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’m sure they got out. They’re probably over at my house waiting for us to come there.”

  I nodded, wanting to believe that. I looked over at the demolished stable. We walked over toward the broken building parts, hay peeking out from one of the fallen walls.

  “No sign of any horses,” Max said.

  “Blue? Mystique?” I called out. “Pretty Boy Blue, where are
you?” I sang, hoping Blue would come trotting from the woods toward me. Every time I’d called him singing those words he’d come up and nuzzle my head, but this time, no big black horse appeared. None of the horses were anywhere in sight.

  I sprinted back to the house and looked at the broken pieces of furniture. I couldn’t even spot my bed.

  “So much damage.” I shook my head at the magnitude of destruction around me. Where were my mom and dad? Then it hit me. “Max, my dad went to Sacramento today. He was meeting a man who was interested in boarding his horse.”

  “Why would your dad go to Sac? Why wouldn’t the guy come here to examine the property and get a view of how the horses are kept?”

  “No, my dad said the guy didn’t have a trailer and he would pay to use ours. So maybe he’s okay. Maybe the quake didn’t hit that area as hard. But where’s my mom and the horses?”

  “The horses were probably out grazing when the quake hit. They probably got spooked and ran off. Didn’t you tell me they were really scared after the quake last week?”

  “Yeah, maybe,” I mumbled, thinking they should be back by now.

  “Okay, and your mom, I’m sure she’s okay. She probably went with your dad.”

  “Yeah, maybe she did. He would have needed her help.”

  “Right.” Max turned to look at the house and then back at me. Deep in his eyes was something I feared. Doubt.

  “Max?” I shook my head. “Please tell me she went with him. Please tell me they’re okay. Please.”

  “Adela, they are okay. I know they—” At that second, he stopped talking and his eyes fixed on something in the debris.

  “What?”

  I followed his gaze to see what made him stop talking and I recognized the peach Angora wool sweater my mom always wore. She was wearing it that morning when I left for school. At first, it was hard to make out among the pile of broken cement and drywall because shattered pieces of wood shielded it from view, but it was most definitely her sweater. For several heart-stopping moments, I ceased breathing.

  “No!”

  Chapter 8

  ~~Adela~~

  I ran toward the rubble. The tip of my right shoe caught on a piece of splintered wood and I went down, falling right on top of what used to be my front door. My hand landed in shards of glass, making several small cuts in my palm. My brain not even registering the blood oozing or any pain, I pushed up and fought my way through piles of brick, pieces of drywall, and broken furniture to find my mother’s body, which had to be buried under what was left of our kitchen table.

  “Mom? No, Mommy! Oh God, no. Mommy, Mommy.” I yanked away particles of wood, shoving them away from where I believed her body was. “Max, help me. We have to get her out.”

  Max crouched down beside me, feeling around the area where we’d seen the sweater sticking out from under the rubble. I stopped digging and stared at him, puzzled; why wasn’t he helping me? What was he doing?

  “No Adela, she’s not here. It’s just her sweater.”

  “What? She was wearing that sweater this morning. She must be under there. We have to get her out.”

  “Okay. Let’s keep checking, then.”

  I went back to pulling and shoving the muck away from my mom’s sweater, feeling around and under boards and broken walls for an arm or a leg. If she was there, she had to be alive. I just knew it. We searched just about every inch of the demolished house, moving whatever heavy pieces of boards and broken debris we could. We must have spent an hour looking and calling out for my mom, my brother, my sister, but we kept coming up with nothing. After a while, Max walked toward me with his arms outstretched. He stopped inches in front of me, took my arms, and pulled me against him. “I’m sorry, Adela. We can’t keep this up. We don’t have the strength to move any more of this stuff.”

  “No!” I shoved him away. “She’s going to be all right. All we have to do is get her free from all this stuff.”

  “Adela, we don’t even know if she’s in here or in Sacramento with your dad.” I went back to the search and Max watched. He’d stopped helping me and anger crawled up my spine as my face flushed hot with rage. “Max, don’t just stand there, help me!”

  “Adela …”

  I jumped up and lunged at him; using both my hands, I shoved at his chest and he had to steady himself as he took a step back. “No, don’t you say it. Don’t you dare say it!” I pounded my fists on his chest over and over again. “Don’t you say it … she’s not dead, she’s not!” I continued to swing my fists even as he stood stiff, letting me hit him until I finally collapsed into him, sobbing.

  “I’m so sorry, Adela. I’m so sorry.” His soft voice barely registered in my ear while he stroked his hand over my head, trying to comfort me. I didn’t want comfort. I wanted to find my mom. I wanted her arms around me, rocking me the way she did whenever I became upset or sick. My legs buckled under me, and I collapsed to the ground. Max held on and sank down with me. We sat on the pile of my broken home. “I’m pretty sure she’s not here.” He continued, “I think she went to Sacramento with your dad.”

  I sniffled, hoping Max was right. I knew we couldn’t search through this on our own. I just wanted to try.

  I don’t know how long we sat there while I leaned against Max’s chest—could have been a few seconds, could have been a few minutes. It felt like hours. I dried my cheeks with the sleeve of my sweater but couldn’t lift my head from the comfort of Max’s embrace.

  I thought about how I’d just used my sweater to wipe my tears and nose and sighed as I sniffled. Speaking softly into Max’s shirt, I said, “My mom would cringe if she saw me do that. She’d say, ‘Adela, stop, get a tissue. You’re going to ruin your sweater.’”

  “Ah, you’re right, she would. Are you going to be okay?”

  “No, but what choice do I have? I can only pray she’s with my dad and they’re okay—and hope Ambrosia and Aaron survived. We need to find them.”

  “Right. First let’s find something for your hand.”

  “My hand?”

  “Yeah, look.” He placed his fingers around my wrist, turning my hand over; blood covered my entire palm. I stared at my blood-soaked hand as if it belonged to someone else. “When did I do this?”

  “You fell when you were running toward the sweater.”

  “Oh yeah, right, I fell.” I shrugged. “There’s a lot of blood, but it doesn’t hurt.”

  “It will once the shock wears off.” He found a small dishtowel under the ramshackle pile of debris in the kitchen area and wrapped the soft cloth around my hand, tying a knot at the backside. “That should be tight enough to stop the bleeding. Let’s go to my house. My folks can help us.”

  I didn’t want to say what I was thinking; especially since I was pretty sure Max thought the same thing. With so much damage here at my house, what were the chances his house survived? What were the chances his parents were alive? Who knew? Maybe the winery was still standing and they somehow managed to get down in the cellar to safety. I grabbed hold of Max’s hand as we walked. He glanced at me and gave me a quick smile.

  I thought back to a few minutes earlier when I took comfort in Max’s arms. Man, under any other circumstance I would have been in heaven. I don’t know why I had that thought. I supposed it was easier than dwelling on where my parents might be, if they were alive. I considered what my mom might say. She’d warned me many times about the dangers of falling for Max—a boy who only thought of me as one of his pals. She’d made comments about me spending too much time with Max, saying other boys might not think I was approachable because they always saw me with him. Perhaps she was right. But Max and I had shared everything together since fourth grade. Everything except sex stories, or lack of sex stories—that was a subject we never discussed. I was a virgin and pretty much wanted to keep that to myself. Was I really setting myself up for a world of hurt? Max was my best friend, practically family—and now might even be the only family I had left.

  God, I
hoped my mom was with my dad. My eyes blurred with tears again and I swiped at them as they dripped down my cheeks. My mind was so full of jumbled emotions; I tried hard not to think about where my parents were and whether Ambrosia and Aaron were safe. They were so young. I had to find them soon.

  We backtracked, cutting through the woods again, and came out a little to the north. The road Max lived on lay straight ahead, in a fairly secluded countryside. The few houses in this area were spread far apart. They were all custom homes built at various times in history, with wide stretches of land between residences, which, I supposed, made more room for horses and wineries. A little way over the hill, an old abandoned gold mine stood—at least before the earthquake—a leftover from the gold rush days. On occasion, a busload of school kids from various cities around this part of the state visited on field trips, exploring a bit of California history. I wondered now if the earthquake destroyed it.

  Smoke still lingered in the air. I couldn’t tell which direction it came from. We finally reached the road and headed up the small hill. Everything seemed too quiet, without even the sound of birds chirping. I wondered if the eerie silence meant another aftershock was about to happen. I’d read somewhere that animals sometimes showed certain characteristics before a disaster struck. Did the same rule apply to birds?

  I recognized the area. Courtland Reese’s house was a little way up the road, but the familiar rusted metal rooster that usually sat perched on the roof wasn’t sticking up above the hill like it normally did.

  “Where’s the rooster?”

  “Huh?”

  “The rooster. We should be able to make out the rooster on Court’s roof from here.”

  Max didn’t say anything as we continued to get closer. The rooster was gone. The roof, a collapsed heap of shingle and wood lay among the rest of the crumpled and smoldering debris. I worried that Courtland might have been caught up in the fire when I remembered seeing him crouched over Shiloh at the school before we left. For some reason the thought that he was alive comforted me.