Balefire

by Barrett

  “Darn.” She’d left the envelope of duplicate pictures on the kitchen counter. Silke had been very specific about wanting copies of several photographs. I guess I could send them to her or maybe we could have lunch sometime.

  She followed the highway 43-north sign and looked for the Locust street exit. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been up on the Eastside. She suddenly felt nervous then embarrassed about being nervous. For heaven’s sake, we’ve seen each other at our worst. How hard could this be? The neighborhood began to look more familiar as did the street signs. During her college years, she’d spent more than one weekend with friends visiting the UW Milwaukee campus. It was a nice area with solid family neighborhoods.

  As she turned north on Oakland she quickly looked in the mirror and wished she had a comb. Even more important, she wished she hadn’t been wearing a twenty-year-old Packer tee shirt. Nothing I can do about it now. She circled the block twice to find a parking place and finally found one with five minutes to spare. She ran her fingers through her hair, hoping to tame the wind damage. It would have to do.

  SILKE FOUND A Table in the front window of Distinctly Coffee and took a seat facing the door. She folded her cane and fidgeted with a napkin and water glass. It had taken longer than she had expected to walk the three-and-a-half blocks. After two weeks on the beach, she had to reorient herself to curbs and tree roots in sidewalks. In hindsight, she wished she had asked Kirin to come by the house, but . . . she really couldn’t risk it.

  She located a wall clock behind the counter. She was still on time. Just before she left, Roger had texted her, saying they’d begun painting and that all the furniture was covered. She smiled as she thought about his enthusiasm during last semester’s art history seminar. Roger Guidice had been a diamond in the rough. He was one of those students with the natural artistic talent combined with passion and an overzealous enthusiasm. Whatever project he tackled—and some of them had been pretty unusual—he had worked as though his very life depended on it. She joyfully mentored him after he selected her as his advisor.

  The bell over the door rang, and Kirin stood looking around. Silke waved.

  “Hiya, stranger. Long time no see.” Kirin’s smile lit up her face. She looked so different from their first meeting on the flight from Dallas. That other woman came off as foreboding. This Kirin looked ten years younger and more relaxed. Her hair was a little longer but still curly. The well-loved green tee shirt fit snugly and flattered her figure.

  “Hi.” Silke stood up and opened her arms. Kirin embraced her in a bear hug. It felt good to receive such a warm greeting, even by someone she barely knew.

  Kirin sat and just looked at her, then shook her head. “You are a sight for sore eyes—” Her face flushed crimson. “I’m sorry. Staring was probably inappropriate.”

  Silke laughed for the first time in over a week. “No offense taken. Don’t be silly. I’m glad you’re here. Besides, I was tired of chores and it’s a beautiful day for a walk.”

  “It is nice. I’d forgotten how beautiful this area was. So you must live close?”

  “Just a few blocks east of here.” Silke gestured over her shoulder. “Do you want to order something? I ordered some iced chai but asked them to hold it until you arrived.”

  Kirin went to the counter and returned a few minutes later with two glasses. “Here you go.” She set one glass directly in front of Silke, which was thoughtful. “That sounded good so I got the same thing.”

  “Are you working on the other article yet?” Silke asked. “I often think about those pictures you showed me, and I’m curious to see what kind of story develops from them. Diane said the government disaster office in Belmopan authorized emergency funding for those who lost their homes along the coast.”

  “Really? That’s terrific. Do you think she would send me the link for that news release?”

  “I’m sure she would. I think it probably appeared in the local paper, but I’ll ask her.” Silke pulled an envelope from her pocket and scribbled a note.

  Kirin leaned back and smiled. “Thanks. I made an outline for the story and narrowed down the pictures to a reasonable number. They won’t print all of them, obviously.”

  “Too bad, I think they’re really good.” Silke licked the cream from her upper lip. The chai was fresh, spicy, sweet, and milky.

  Kirin thumped herself on the forehead. “I completely forgot I had set out copies of the pictures you liked and didn’t bring them with me. I can mail them, or . . . give them to you the next time I see you.” She smiled.

  Silke forgot that she had asked for them and was flattered that Kirin remembered. “No problem. It’ll be fun to have them as a remembrance.”

  “Did you ever decide whether you’re going back for a longer period?”

  “Yes. Actually, the most interesting thing happened after you left. On Sunday night, Diane brought over pizza, and after we stuffed ourselves, we went for a walk. I hadn’t noticed that they had built a new pier at the north end of the property with a small casita on the end of it. So Diane showed me around. It turns out she hired a local woman who is a well-known curandera. She’ll be offering massage and healing services.” A flashback of that night caused her to giggle.

  “What’s so funny?” Kirin asked.

  “Nothing really. I just convinced Diane that we should take that fine opportunity to go skinny-dipping . . . and we did. It was glorious. I’m sorry I didn’t think of it sooner.”

  Kirin offered a coy smile. “Sounds like fun.”

  “Several days later I walked up there again, and the healer was there. Her name is Nekoomis.” She paused, hoping she wouldn’t come across sounding crazy. “She talked to me for a while and did some hands-on healing, I guess. She talked about vision not being the same as seeing. It was interesting but . . . I’m not sure.”

  “Not sure of what?”

  “I don’t know. I mean nothing happened, but a couple of days later it was very clear to me that I needed to make some decisions. I felt certain and confident.” She shook her head. “Confident is not something I’ve been feeling a lot of lately. Anyway, by the time I got home, I had a plan laid out in my head. And as we speak, I have two former students painting my studio so that I can move into it.”

  “That’s great,” Kirin said. “Evidently, she unstuck whatever was holding you back. Where is your studio?”

  “It’s actually across the alley from my house. Not ideal, but convenient for right now.” She felt uneasy about her subterfuge. It felt wrong.

  Kirin stirred the ice cubes in her nearly empty glass with the straw. “You can tell me it’s none of my business, but did you get everything squared away with your partner?”

  Silke felt the heat rising in her neck. “She doesn’t know. She had problems with her job and . . . there never seemed to be a good time.” And I’m terrified of how she’ll react.

  “Are you doing this all by yourself?”

  Silke nodded. “Well, I have the two students who gave me some furniture. I was hoping to move some my things a little at a time. Then I’ll gradually start spending more time in the studio. I still haven’t talked to my brother about how to separate everything legally.” Talking about it felt more real and frightening.

  “I’m sorry I don’t live closer, but if there’s anything I can help you with, I’m free right now . . . at least until I get my next assignment.”

  A small voice inside her head screamed, yes please help me. But ever cautious, she just smiled. “That’s really sweet of you, thanks. I’m hopeful there’ll be a smooth transition. Rachel’s job keeps her so busy, but I’m sure she’ll want an easy solution.” To her own ear, the words sounded hollow and inauthentic. A lump formed in her throat, and she put her hand on Kirin’s wrist. “You don’t know how much your offer means to me. I’m just not sure what I need right now.”

  “It’s a tough situation for sure.” Kirin gazed down had Silke’s hand on her wrist. “I’ve been there and it’s nev
er easy, especially if you’re the one initiating. I meant what I said. I’d really like to help you. You were completely unselfish when I was in a jam, and I’m sure I wasn’t the most pleasant person to be around.”

  Silke laughed. “You weren’t so bad . . . maybe a tad grumpy.”

  “A tad? Ya think?”

  They looked at each other and laughed.

  “Can I, at least, give you a ride home?” Kirin asked.

  Silke looked up at the wall clock. It should be okay. “I’d appreciate that.”

  Kirin followed her directions down Kenmore.

  “Take a right here.” As they turned a corner, Silke spotted Rachel’s car. “I think you’d better stop here.”

  Kirin frowned. “Is something wrong?”

  “No. I think there’d be fewer questions if I walked from here.”

  Kirin turned in her seat and faced Silke. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  Silke didn’t know the answer to that question. “I think so. You’ve been a good friend, and I appreciate the ride.” She kissed Kirin’s cheek. “Keep in touch.”

  Silke watched as Kirin drove down the block, stopped, and turned the corner. She quickly switched into defensive mode as she justified the safest reason for being out. Obviously, she had not been shopping. She had no way of knowing how long Rachel had been home, but she had been gone less than an hour.

  Chapter Twenty

  THE DRIVE TO her condo in Oak Creek took a little longer because she took Lake Drive. It was early enough to avoid rush hour, but summer days always meant that more people headed to the lakefront. Sailboats dotted the horizon and the public beaches were patch-worked by multicolored towels, blankets, and umbrellas. It made her think of the nearly empty white sand beaches on the Caye.

  She touched her face where Silke had kissed her and felt a chill. It was quick, but she could’ve sworn she saw fear in Silke’s eyes. It hurt her heart to think of Silke being in physical danger. But she didn’t know that for sure, and it was none of her business. She’d offered.

  Traffic crawled through the highway interchange downtown and soon she was on south Lake Drive watching waves break along the shore. Why would Silke stay if she felt she was in danger? She wouldn’t interfere, but she vowed to stay connected.

  SILKE QUIETLY OPENED the back door and hung her keys on the hook. She listened for any clue of Rachel’s presence. Nothing. Then she heard footsteps in the bedroom above.

  “Rach, you up there?”

  “Yeah, just unpacking. Where were you?”

  “I walked down to the coffee shop for some exercise.”

  “I’ll be down in a minute.”

  Slightly relieved, Silke pulled the clean towels out of the dryer and carried them to the table. She took a deep breath and folded them very carefully. Within five minutes, Rachel bounded down the stairs with a laundry bag that she tossed in the laundry room.

  She put her arms around Silke’s waist and kissed the back of her neck. “I’m sure glad to be home. I’m tired of listening to trainers complain that they have too much to do or not enough to do.” She kissed her again. “I missed you.”

  Silke withered, put the towel down, and turned around. “I missed you, too.”

  Rachel embraced her and kissed her passionately. Silke forced herself to respond even knowing where it would lead. It was the path of least resistance. Rachel led her upstairs, and she followed obediently.

  “I have to make some appointments for next week,” Rachel called from the shower. “When I’m finished we can go shopping if you like.”

  Silke pulled her wet hair into a ponytail and dressed in some comfortable walking shorts and a tee shirt. Trying to keep Rachel in a good mood was her best option if she wanted a civil conversation. Maybe a nice dinner. Rachel liked pork tenderloin—that’d work. Cocktails before dinner and a nice wine usually worked miracles for her.

  After scribbling a shopping list, Silke sat down at the table to work on the sketches for the commission project. She could hear Rachel upstairs in the office talking and laughing. No wonder she was so good at sales.

  The gallery owner had given her some background information and all she needed were some preliminary sketches to see if Mr. Hardcastle liked her ideas. Reportedly, he owned a sizable lakefront property with a bluff overlooking Lake Michigan. An elaborate patio extended from the rear of the house to the edge of the bluff, where he wanted to place an artistic rendition of a lighthouse as a focal point.

  He’d bought two other sculptures of hers because of the lines and the textures she used. He asked that it be no more than eight-to-ten feet tall, which was doable. That would require at least two sections. She had a good visual in her mind, but since he wanted this to function as a light, she needed to factor in wiring and a stable base.

  She flipped the page and began to draw the base. Rachel’s laughter stopped her. She tried another base that was a simple three-step square and another more decorative that was five sided. From that, she incorporated a two-foot diameter, six-inch inset that contained a four-foot, three-inch diameter galvanized pipe for the electrical wires. She closed her eyes and visualized a four-foot section of wood hollowed out to fit the pipe. A second hollowed section would slide on top with a mortise and tenon-type joint. This was the fun part of the project, the fantasy.

  The cupola would house some sort of reflective lighting—possibly a large commercial lamppost fixture . . . She swept the eraser bits off the paper. Call Steve at Outdoor Lighting Specialists.

  She drew another sketch and added four small windows in a spiral. Wood framed and shuttered. She hoped Mr. Hardcastle would leave the piece stained and not want it painted white.

  “That’s interesting. New project?” Rachel leaned over her shoulder, and the scent of oak moss and musk filled the room.

  She dropped the eraser. “Yes. I received a new commission from the gallery. It’ll be a big job but it might be worth it because he’s a good customer.”

  “How big does he want this? Do you have room in your studio?”

  “No problem, he said eight-to-ten feet. Should be okay. I have to run the sketches by him first so we’ll see.” Silke continued sketching the windows.

  “Looks like it’ll take most of the summer. Good thing you’re not teaching.”

  Her jaw tightened. She wasn’t teaching because the school worried about liability. They somehow felt their students wouldn’t be safe with a legally blind art instructor. They were gracious enough to allow her to finish teaching art history. She prayed that her doctor’s appointment next week would provide some good news.

  “Are you ready to go?” Rachel gathered up her wallet, keys, and cell phone.

  Silke shoved the list in her pocket and followed Rachel out the front door.

  THE SMALL VILLAGE probably held two-dozen single-family shanties, for lack of a better description. Only four or five survived the flood waters. The sturdier platforms that had been built ten years earlier kept some of the structures above the damaging tide of debris. But they were rare and now crowded with small children and frail elderly villagers.

  One of the elders described the storm as “not so bad.” He said in the past that many lost their lives, this time no one had died. They would rebuild.

  As the waters receded, piles of debris mounded the roots of the mangroves.

  Kirin sorted through her pictures, looking for the one with the children’s sandals. She lined up three of them and then enlarged the one in the center. Why hadn’t she seen that before? A waterlogged Bible with the red cover jammed against what looked like a black leather combat boot. Interesting composition. She saved it as a copy and cropped the lower half so that only the two objects were visible on top of the roots, muddy water, and other debris.

  She stared at the photo for several minutes, then printed it and tacked it to the bulletin board above her desk next to the picture of herself sitting with Silke at Fido’s. She shivered. All day she had been unable to shake the bad feeling that
something was wrong. She gazed at the picture, still worried. A voice in her head scolded her. Do not get involved. You remember what happened the last time.

  Kirin pushed back her chair and crossed her legs on the corner the desk while she leaned back and rubbed her eyes. During her college years, she had worked part time at a restaurant near campus. She became friends with one of the waitresses, who finally confided she’d fallen on hard times and been kicked out of her apartment. Kirin took her in. It didn’t take too long for the story to unfold. Sue had kicked her girlfriend out. The girlfriend found someone else then started calling and begging for forgiveness. The back and forth went on for a couple weeks until Sue convinced Kirin to help her rescue the poor misguided soul.