ALLUSIVE AFTERSHOCK

by Susan Griscom

  “You’re angry,” I said.

  “I’m not angry.”

  “Okay, then worried.”

  “Yeah, I am.”

  “Max is a big boy. He’ll be fine.”

  “What do you know anyway?”

  Reluctantly, I released her arm. “I know you care about him.”

  “Of course I care about him. He’s my best friend.”

  “There’s more.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like, you want him to care about you the way you care about him.”

  Her eyebrows drew together and she plopped down on the cold floor across from me. “He cares.” She sighed, leaned against the wall, hugged her knees to her chest and stared at me.

  I flinched as shooting streams of fire pierced the skin on my hand and leg and I turned my eyes up toward the ceiling, closing them tightly.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice dripping with anxiety.

  “My leg,” I grunted. “It’s on fire.”

  ~~ Adela ~~

  I jumped up and raced to Court’s side. His body trembled from his feet to up to that perfectly sculptured jaw. Those vibrant green eyes were squeezed closed and his hands fisted at his sides. There was still a section of burns on his leg that I hadn’t been able to get any cold strips on. Somehow, I needed to remove his pants in order to apply the bandages better. My brain immediately went to a place it had no business going. I shook my head to focus on the severity of the situation.

  “Court, we need to get your pants off.”

  His eyes popped open and his fists relaxed at his sides as he stared up at me and said in a strained voice, “Now that’s what I call service. Alone with a lady for less than five minutes and she’s ready to get me naked.”

  I actually laughed. It was more of a nervous laugh, but it helped because he laughed too.

  “Only for the sake of making your injuries feel better,” I assured him. Because if he didn’t get better, I didn’t have a clue what I’d be able to do for him. The thought of him dying from infection scared me to no end. With Max gone, I didn’t want to be alone in the cellar and I sure as hell didn’t want to go off wandering around by myself either. More to the point, I just didn’t want Court to die.

  “Whatever it takes,” Courtland said.

  I stood over him, devising how to proceed. “I could just cut the bottom part of your jeans off.”

  “Are you kidding? What will I do when we get out of here? I’ll freeze. These are the only pants I have now.

  “Okay …” I bit my bottom lip. “Then off with them.” I stood waiting for him to do something but he didn’t move. Really? He was going to make me do it. I stared at his belt, securely fastened above his zipper and contemplated what to do. I didn’t want to place my hands anywhere near that part of his body. “Um … could you unbuckle your belt and unzip your pants?”

  “No problem. I can unbuckle and unzip all you want, but I can’t buckle and zip back up with one hand.”

  “Wait …” An uncomfortably embarrassing possibility suddenly occurred to me. “You are wearing underwear, right?”

  “Last time I checked. Green polka-dotted boxers okay with you?”

  I smiled. “Polka-dots?”

  “Yeah. What’d you expect, little hearts or perhaps grinning devils?”

  I snorted. “Maybe. Anyway, boxers are like a bathing suit, right?”

  He shrugged. “I suppose.”

  “Okay, lift up your bottom and I’ll pull.”

  Court leaned on his elbows, raising his body up while I tugged his pants down to his knees and stopped because if I yanked too fast it would surely tear what was left of the skin right off his leg. “Are you sure it wouldn’t be better if I cut them at the knee instead?”

  “No. Just pull them off slowly.”

  “Right. Well then, you’ll have to help get them over the burns so I don’t pull off any skin. I’ll get this side off and then it will be easier.”

  It turned out his leg wasn’t as bad as I had thought—only about two inches wide and three inches long down the side of his calf, but still enough of a burn to be extremely uncomfortable. That in addition to a sprained ankle had to be excruciating.

  “This doesn’t look too bad. Let me put some new wet bandages on. The more cool moisture the better it should feel, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  I cut a small strip, soaked it, and placed the material on the burn. His face relaxed some as the pain must have subsided a little and I thought the ibuprofen was working, too.

  I poured some water and offered the cup to Court.

  “You first. You haven’t been drinking enough.”

  I put the container to my lips and took a sip, poured a little more and handed him the cup.

  He drank, emptying the little plastic tumbler and sank back on the blanket, closing his eyes. I started to get up but he grabbed my arm. “Don’t go. Stay.” His bright green eyes pleaded with me. I sat on the blanket beside him, a little self-conscious being so close to him while he wore only his boxer shorts, I tried not to look at them and concentrated on his face instead.

  I was immediately swamped with guilt. What was the matter with me? At the moment I stared into his eyes, I remembered I never thanked him for saving my life yesterday and my words stupidly stumbled from my lips. “Court … I … I want to say thank you.”

  “For?”

  “For saving me yesterday. And for rescuing me last week with Blue.”

  “Oh.” His eyes closed for a moment and those long dark lashes graced the top of his cheeks. “No thanks necessary.”

  “I’m sorry about your dog. I know she meant a lot to you.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I’m sorry about your dad, too.”

  A strange self-pitying mood hovered over the situation and Court cleared his throat. “Listen, uh, thanks for staying with me, Adela, but you really should have gone with Max. That would have been the smarter thing to do.”

  “Well, nobody said I was smart.” I laughed.

  “I think you’re smart.”

  I glanced at him and our eyes locked for a few seconds before he spoke again. “My hand will most likely get infected and I’ll probably die, which will leave you alone. I don’t want that to happen.”

  Hearing Courtland tell me the one thing I feared the most, the one thing I had been thinking about only minutes ago didn’t make me feel any better. Telling me he didn’t want me to be alone was probably the nicest thing a boy had ever said to me, though.

  I swallowed the lump in my throat, the passageway suddenly dry. “You’re not going to die. Not if I have anything to do with it.”

  “Well I’ll try my best not to die on your watch.”

  “You’d better, particularly now that Max is gone. You’re gonna have to help me find my brother and sister when your ankle heals. My dad, mom and Big Blue too.”

  “Okay. You’ve got a deal. You keep me alive; I’ll help you find your family. Besides, I always liked your little sister and brother.”

  “Yeah? My sister wants to marry you when she grows up.”

  Court laughed. “Does she now? And how does her big sister feel about that?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. If she’s gonna like old men when she’s grown, who am I to stop her?”

  “Old men? I think I’m the same age as you.”

  “Well, you’ll be old to her. She’s only four, you know.”

  “Okay, she’s four now and I’m almost eighteen. So in fourteen years, she’ll be eighteen and I’ll be thirty-two. Somewhat of an age difference but not that much.”

  “So you’re going to wait fourteen years for my sister?” I scoffed.

  “Maybe. If her sister approves.”

  “Well, she doesn’t, because the idea of an eighteen-year-old girl and thirty-two-year-old man sounds … so very wrong.” I glanced at him, caught his smile. He was teasing me, but for some reason I didn’t like the idea of Courtland being married to anyone
, especially my sister, and I wanted to change the subject. “I wish we had something to do down here instead of just sitting and waiting.”

  Court looked down at his thighs and grinned. “Hmmm … well, now that you’ve got me half naked, I can think of a few things.”

  I laughed, a nervous giddiness flowing through my head, along with the gazillion butterflies taking flight in my stomach. I glanced around the cellar, hoping to see something that would trigger another subject to talk about. “Too bad Max’s mom didn’t put some music down here. An iPod sure would be nice right about now. A game of Monopoly or Scrabble would help pass the time, too. I wonder if there are any games or anything over there.” I started to get up but he yanked me back down and he seemed to scowl at me.

  “Are you in pain?”

  “No. Yes. Sit and talk to me some more.”

  “What am I supposed to say?”

  “Tell me about Big Blue.”

  I turned my gaze toward the floor at the mention of Big Blue’s name.

  “I’m sorry,” Court said and brushed his finger down my cheek. “Big Blue’s a smart horse. I bet he’s standing by his stable right now wondering where you are.”

  I smiled at the thought but shook my head. “I don’t know. The first earthquake spooked him so much he probably blames the ground at my house and will never go back there.”

  “Nah, he’ll come back, you just wait and see. When all this shaking and rumbling is over for good, he’ll come right back to you and his home.”

  “You don’t really believe that, do you? It’s okay. I can take the truth; you don’t need to cushion it for me.”

  “Maybe it would be better if you just talked about him. It might help take your mind off other things. How did you come up with the name Big Blue?”

  I told him about Big Blue’s birth. How he slid out covered in that icky white transparent sack, giving him the deep midnight blue appearance.

  “So you knew right away what you were going to call him.”

  “Yep.” I eyed him questionably. “How come you don’t have a horse of your own? I mean, you’re so good with animals and all.”

  He lowered his eyes. “Money.”

  I instantly regretted asking. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay. We’ve never been able to afford a horse. It was hard enough feeding ourselves and a dog. When my mom was alive, we talked about getting one, maybe even two, but after she died, my dad started drinking. A little at first, just to take the edge off, he would say. After a while, he drank all the time. He lost his management job at the casino and has never really been able to hold onto another good one since.”

  “So your dad didn’t have the same ability you do?”

  “What ability is that?”

  “The ability you have, the one where you …” I saw the puzzled look on his face and I was suddenly embarrassed. I thought he knew everyone considered him … I struggled for the right word … unique. I decided “unique” was better than “different” or “freakazoid,” like Max always called him. “I’m sorry. I thought …”

  “You thought what? That I’m a freak? That I can talk to animals? That’s what everybody says, right?”

  “No.” I glanced down at my fingers that didn’t seem to know what to do or how to stay still. I shook my head. “Not everybody.” Looking back into his eyes, I added, “Not me. And certainly not my dad. But … I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not and you shouldn’t be either. I just wanted to hear you say it, so I’m the one who should apologize. I know what people say and yeah, I can communicate better with animals than I can with most humans. Whether or not that makes me a freak, I’m not sure. Maybe it does. To tell you the truth, I don’t know why, but I’ve always had some special bond and intuition with animals. I can even sense things with some people, not as strongly as with animals, though. I tend to keep that little piece of information to myself. Maybe my Miwok ancestors on my mother’s side had some special connection with the spirit world, sort of like a sixth sense. So, to answer your original question, no my dad didn’t possess the same ability.”

  “How do you make animals understand what you want?”

  “I’m not sure. It’s not like I do anything special, it’s just some sort of instant rapport. They trust me. I looked it up one time on the internet. My ancestors called it ‘swishing’. It means to become one mind.”

  “What does it feel like?”

  “Hmmm …” He shifted his body, wincing from the pain and I started to get up. “No, it’s okay. Are you uncomfortable?”

  “Me? No, I’m fine. You’re the one who needs to be comfortable. I’m not in any pain.”

  “Why do you do that?” he asked.

  “Do what?”

  “Make your needs less important than mine.”

  “I don’t. I’m not. You … you’re injured.”

  “You do it all the time. You did it with Max, making sure he had everything before you settled down to sleep, and you do it with me. Why should my comfort be any more important than yours?”

  “Oh.” I was suddenly tongue-tied. I wasn’t used to boys being nice to me. Max was Max and I’d hung out with him for so long I never really thought about how he treated me.

  As if Court had read my mind he said, “What about Max? Doesn’t he ever worry about how comfortable you are?”

  “Max? Of course he does.” Why did I feel this sudden need to justify my relationship with Max? “He just doesn’t always show it around other people.”

  Court nodded. “Max is like that, always has been a selfish S.O.B.

  I gave Court an incredulous look.

  “You know it’s true.”

  “Maybe,” I admitted, but didn’t like where this conversation was headed.

  “Why do you hang around with him all the time then?”

  “Because.” I was uncomfortable with the subject so I studied my fingernails as though I was contemplating when my next manicure would be. I shrugged. “He’s been my friend forever. His parents are … were friends with mine.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you self-conscious. It’s just that, in my opinion, friends are supposed to treat each other as equals.”

  “Max and I are equal.”

  “Shhhh … stay still,” Court placed his hand over my wrist.

  The ground began to shake under us. I looked at the shelves as they started swaying and things fell to the floor. The three remaining cans of soup tumbled out and rolled toward us.

  “Quick, help me up,” Court said.

  I grabbed him under the arm, supporting his huge body with my shoulder. We hobbled to some wine barrels that were close by and crouched down behind a couple that weren’t stacked.

  “It’s happening again. Another full force earthquake,” I said, my voice shaking as hard as the ground.

  “Could be just another aftershock, a strong one. Keep your arms over your head.”

  I did, but I didn’t think it mattered, considering Court’s entire body shielded mine. The shaking and rumbling continued. A wine barrel toppled off the one it had been on top of and landed with a bang, red wine exploding all over the place. The metal shelf against the wall toppled over, making a huge crash landing as everything on it scattered about the floor.

  All of a sudden, a loud swooshing sound filled the air along with the smell of dirt, triggering something important that I just remembered.

  “Oh no! The cellar door. I forgot to close the door.”

  I looked through the crack between the two wine barrels we huddled behind, as the light from the stairway disappeared.

  Chapter 17

  ~~ Adela ~~

  We were in the dark. The shaking and rumbling finally stopped and I was crouched on my knees on the cold cement floor. I tried to get up, but Courtland’s body was still entirely covering me, so I stayed put for a few more minutes until he stood. Leaning against one of the barrels, he held out his hand to me.

  “Are you all right?” Courtland asked as I
placed my hand in his and stood.

  “Yes.” I turned in the direction of the stairway, but the entire cellar was pitch-black. The aftershock must have knocked the candle over, but there was no sign of any fire, thank God. All light coming from the outside was gone. “We need to find the candles.”

  “Do you think you can find your way back to the blanket?” he asked.

  “I think so.”

  “The candle should be close to it.”

  I turned toward his voice, wishing my eyes would adjust to the darkness faster. His fingers found my face and he held my cheeks in his hands. I instinctively reached up to feel his face, just to make sure; make sure of what, I didn’t know. “You stay here. I’ll go find the candle and then come back for you,” I whispered only because my heart was in my throat and I couldn’t get my vocal cords to work.

  “Okay,” he whispered back and let out a nervous laugh. “I think I’ll just sit down here for a minute and wait.”

  “Good idea. I’ll be right back.”

  I squinted into the dark room and allowed my eyes to adjust for a few seconds before taking that first step. It didn’t help. I walked slowly in the direction of where I thought the sleeping bags were—my hands out in front, waving through the air. I felt like a five-year-old playing pin the tail on the donkey. When my hand rubbed against the wall, I followed the cool surface until my foot touched the lumpy sleeping bag. I sank down on my knees and searched around the floor for the candle, feeling along the edge of the bag. No candle. I sat back on my heels and thought about how we were sitting right before the aftershock. Stretching my hands over the floor to my left, I spread my fingers onto the cold cement. Finally, the tip of my index finger brushed against the wax of the candle and I grabbed it. I patted the floor around me for the matches, wishing I had some super ability to shoot fire from my hands, because I couldn’t seem to put my fingers on the little cardboard box.

  “Adela, are you okay?”

  “Yeah. I found the candle, but I can’t find the matches.”

  “Check on top of the sleeping bag. I think you had them in your hand right before you changed my bandages last time. I may have been laying on them.”