The Broken Peace

by Martha Adele

  I nod. “I just wish he would let me help, you know?”

  “Pride is a dangerous thing.” She stops her typing and looks at me. “Is he having trouble at home with pain?”

  I nod again. “Yes.”

  “Well”—she gives me a sad smile—“sometimes a knife is really the best thing to turn to.”

  Mavis

  When Derek and I get into the cab from the lodge, he tells the driver our address, and we watch her type it into the navigation system.

  “Thank you,” we tell her.

  Almost immediately, the purple-haired woman turns around and gives me a curious look. We recognize each other at the same time, and she calls out to me with a squeal, “You’re the flower girl!”

  I chuckle and nod, slowly letting my hand find its way back onto my arm to scratch. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Flower girl?” Derek asks us. “What are you talking about?”

  The woman’s smile grows as she turns almost completely around in her chair. “Your friend here is the sweetest little thing. Just the other day, she gave me some flowers from a bouquet that she was taking to someone.”

  “Oh really?” Derek asks her with a smirk on his face.

  “To this day, it is my favorite ride that I have ever given.”

  “That’s nice,” Derek tells her. “Really cool.”

  The woman smiles back at us once more and turns back around. “Okay, off we go!”

  The whole car ride, this woman tells the two of us about the other rides she has given and how rude they have been. She tells us that I am one of the only reasons that she keeps this job. “Well, that and the fact that I need money and don’t know how to do much else.”

  When we finally make it home, we wave the driver, Laurie, goodbye.

  “Bye, Derek! Bye, Mavis! I hope to get you two again sometime!”

  “I hope so too.” Derek waves her off, and we make our way over the bridge and through the woods, heading back home. I can feel the temperature dropping as the sun sets, and the shade of the trees consumes us.

  “Well, she was nice.” Derek chuckles.

  “Yes. Yes, she was.” I continue to scratch my arm, not wanting to stop.

  “So who were the flowers for?”

  “Sam’s mom. That was the day I went to visit them at their new house.”

  “Ah. I see.” We are hit by a gust of wind that makes it feel even colder than it really is. “I think the only time I appreciate cold weather like this is when we are carrying home frozen goods.” He lifts the bag to indicate the individually packaged pheasant meat.

  “Agreed,” I tell him, “but considering this is the only time I have ever had to transport frozen meat, I don’t think the cold weather is worth it.”

  I can tell we are getting closer to home by the smell of the smoke. One of the only things I find that I love about winter is the nonstop fire in the fireplace. I enjoy the smell of the smoke when it is from a distance like this. It reminds me of back when my mom was around. She always kept our fireplace stocked, so whenever Steven and I would come home, there would always be smoke coming out of the chimney.

  Though there is something different about the smell of this smoke. It doesn’t smell like dinner. It doesn’t necessarily smell like the light and airy smoke I am used to either.

  “Mavis.” Derek nudges my arm as my eyes fall upon our house, glowing with the fire that is consuming it.

  The two of us take off toward the house as fast as we can and find that the fire has covered half of the kitchen, but hasn’t spread anywhere else.

  “Go find Mom!” Derek shouts at me as he turns on the sink and uses a dirty cup to splash the fire.

  The immediate blast of heat from the fire helps my fingers and nose, seemingly thawing them, but burns everything else. The smoke somehow blows into my eyes and blinds me as I speed through the house, shouting, “Ms. Page! Ms. Page!” But there is no answer. I go into her room and find her bed made. I run into Derek’s room to find his bed the same, but neither of them have any sign of Ms. Page. As Derek continues to try to fight the fire that has spread all over the counters and into the cupboards, I break into the bathroom and find Ms. Page in the shower with the tub semifilled.

  “What? What is happening? Why are you in here?” she shouts at me, grabbing a towel to wrap around herself.

  “Come on! There’s a fire! We have to get you out!”

  I grab her by the arm and pull her out, past the kitchen and Derek, and outside into the cold. The feeling of her warm-water-covered body against the heat of the fire, followed by the abrasive cold outside of the house, shocks us both. Just as I get her out, she forces her way back inside. “No! My baby is in there!”

  She stands in the living room soaking wet, watching Derek in horror. She tries to go over to him to help, but he shouts at her, “Get out! Go!”

  “No! I’m not going!”

  I watch them fight for a millisecond near the fire, but quickly sprint away from their bickering to run into the bathroom. I take a bucket from under the sink and fill it with the bathwater, grab a towel and stick it into the bucket, and run back into the kitchen. I throw the wet towel at Derek and dump the water onto the hanging cabinets, letting the water drench everything below it. Most of the fire is put out, except for some that is at the top of the cabinets. Derek throws the towel onto them and rubs it around, trying to get the fire to stop, and slowly succeeds before the ceiling catches fire.

  After the fire is out, the three of us stand around, out of breath, looking at each other all in shock and at the counters, which are all black and charred now. Derek and I look back to Ms. Page, who is still dripping from her shower.

  Following a moment of Ms. Page’s and Derek’s eyes locking, he heads over to her and gives her a hug. “I’m glad you are all right.”

  Shakily, she answers, “I’m glad you and Mavis are okay too.”

  “What happened?” Derek pulls away from her and heads back to the kitchen, looking around.

  “I don’t know,” she tells us. “I was in the shower when this happened. Do you think one of you set a hot pot on a towel or something?”

  Derek and I exchange a look. We know it was Ms. Page’s fault. We were out all day, so she must have done something and forgot about it.

  “I …” Derek rubs his forehead and winces. “I’m going to call the fire services to make sure this part of the house is safe.” He lowers his hand and moves over to the wall phone. He dials the number, and Ms. Page adjusts her towel.

  “I think I am going to go and finish my shower really quickly.” She walks back to the bathroom, still shaky from this whole incident. “I’ll be out shortly.”

  “Hey,” Derek says into the phone, “I need to report a fire …”

  I walk over to the counter and pick up the plate that Ms. Page always burns her apple cinnamon candles on.

  With his eyes closed, Derek continues. “Um, yeah, everyone is okay, but I was told when I bought this house to call if anything like this happened.”

  I hold the plate up and show Derek, earning a look of pain. “Yeah,” he tells them. “Okay. Okay. Thank you.” He hangs up the phone and places his head against the wall. “Someone will be out in a bit to check and make sure the structure is fine.”

  I set the plate down and look around at the slightly singed ceiling. “I think it is.”

  “So do I,” he says into the wall. After a moment, he turns around, and we both stare at the damage done.

  I open up the cabinets carefully so as not to knock them down and find all the plastic dishes to be somewhat melted, but the metal ones to be fine. “Lucky for us, the fire didn’t burn the cabinets with the food.”

  I turn back to Derek to see him still staring at the burned cabinets.

  “It’s time,” he whispers.

  I make my way over to t
he dining room table and sit.

  He follows and takes a seat beside me. “What do you think?”

  “I don’t know.” I take a deep breath and twiddle my thumbs.

  “I’m going to have to quit my job and stay home with Mom or hire someone else to do it. We … I can’t leave her by herself anymore.”

  “You wouldn’t need to stay home. I can do it, no problem.”

  He looks over his shoulder and back to the kitchen. “I can’t ask you to do that.”

  “You aren’t asking, I am offering.”

  “No,” he tells me, “you have a job you’re enjoying. You’re not quitting.”

  I lean back into my seat as he looks back to me. I can tell he is scared, I can tell he is worried, but I can also tell he won’t ever let me quit my job to help his mother. “Hiring someone isn’t necessarily the worst option. I can think of quite a few pros. Not very many cons.”

  “Well, I mean—”

  I am interrupted by Ms. Page coming out into our view. “What?”

  “Mom”—Derek rises to his feet—“why haven’t you gotten back into the shower?”

  Tears of rage well up in her eyes. “I was coming back out to the closet to get another towel.” She becomes unable to form her words as her lower lip quivers. “Why would I need a babysitter? I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself!”

  “Hey, Mom …” He steps closer to her. “It’s okay. It’s fine. We were—”

  “The fire wasn’t my fault!” She sniffles and growls at Derek. “If you are going to call me senile for something that wasn’t even my fault, then I raised you wrong. That is my fault.” Derek takes another step toward her, and she steps back. “No! I’m not losing it!”

  “No, Mom, I was just suggesting getting some extra help around the house. Someone to keep you company since you aren’t working anymore.”

  She sniffles back her terror and tries not to cry. “I know what that means.”

  The room is silent for a moment, except for the sound of Ms. Page’s angered breathing.

  Storming out of the living room, she snarls at Derek, “I hate you.”

  Derek and I remain frozen without saying another word. We listen to her sob in the bathroom, cursing Derek to hell, until the fire services show up.

  Sam

  With practice, most everything becomes easier.

  This is one of those things.

  We met in an alley, right behind a coffee shop. He came up, handed me the cash, and I gave him the case. The eight hundred dollars he gave me is broken up into fifties and twenties and held in an envelope.

  According to Bram, I take him three-quarters of what I am given for the vials, and I can keep the rest. Before every deal, he gives me the vials that I’ll be selling and tells me exactly how much the buyer should give me.

  “If they don’t give you the full amount, they don’t get any vials,” Bram told me.

  I always count the money before giving them the vials. In order to keep them from stealing it from me before I can do anything about it, I hide the case wherever we are supposed to meet up. He gives me the money, I count it; and if it is enough, I tell him where the case is. Tonight’s case was behind the garbage bins.

  Just by doing that simple task, I made two hundred dollars in minutes. It is such an easy job. I never thought I would make this much money by doing something so easy. I will be able to pay off our bills in no time.

  As I stroll through the city, looking for a cab, I admire the streetlights, the beautifully made stores, perfectly paved streets, and the white stringed lights that dangle above me, running from roof to roof across the streets. The city at night is somewhat of a dream, especially as the spring weather approaches.

  I make my way down the sidewalk and catch a glimpse of something I can’t tear my eyes from. I enter the boutique, allowing the vanilla-scented air fresheners to fill my nose with their scent, and try to look around, attempting to make my staring less obvious. My efforts are proven worthless as Aspen immediately sees me and strolls over.

  “Hey, Sam.”

  “Hey, Aspen.” I smile back, not really knowing what to say.

  She chuckles and continues sorting through the dresses on display. “Are you trying to get out of the cold?”

  “No. Are you?”

  Stupid. She is looking for clothes.

  “No.” She moves over one section and looks at a long floral dress filled with pastel colors. “I’m here picking something out for my mom.”

  “Me too,” I tell her.

  She turns to me with a surprised smile. “Really?”

  “Yeah,” I lie. “I’m looking for a dress for her.”

  “That’s so nice. Do you know what kind you are looking for?”

  “No, not at all.” I pull out one of the dresses closest to me. It’s dark and long, made for the winter months. I grab the lower part of the dress to feel the fabric, when the bottom portion splits into two pieces, looking more like pants. “What?” I ask the dress, wondering if I broke it.

  Aspen laughs. Not just a chuckle, she grabs her stomach and leans backward laughing. “That is what we call a jumpsuit. That’s not a dress.”

  I nod. “I know.” I hang the jacked-up dress back on its rack and walk around a bit more.

  “How about this?” Aspen holds up another dress that is full length. “I think your mom would look nice in this.”

  Its purple coloring reminds me a bit too much of the lilies she is opposed to. “I don’t think she likes that color. Do you see anything in an orange or yellow?”

  Aspen looks around the room with an overly concentrated expression. “Yeah, I saw something earlier. Come with me.”

  I follow her around the store, looking at multiple different dresses, not really knowing what the best thing to get Mom would be.

  The more I think about it, the more I do want to get something for my mom. She has been working hard. She has dealt with a lot lately. Why shouldn’t I treat her? I have the money with me, and it’s not like I need to pay off the bills by tomorrow.

  Aspen and I continue to look around the store until she finds something that she can’t tear her eyes away from.

  “Here.” She hands me the long-length light-blue and orange-patterned dress. “How about this? I really think that your mother would love this.”

  “Yeah?” I pull it away from my body for a moment to get a better look.

  Running her hand down the pattern, she nods. “Yes. Definitely. I am one hundred percent sure that your mother will absolutely adore it.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I’m just good at judging these sorts of things. Trust me.” She folds it over her arm and gives me a little shrug. “And if worse comes to worse, she won’t tell you she doesn’t like it. She will wear it anyway because it was a gift from you.”

  I can’t help but snort, “Oh yeah, right.”

  After we agree on my gift, I help her look around for her mom’s gift.

  And by help, I mean I watch her look around for her mom’s gift, pull out random things, and get shot down kindly by the all-time best-looking person I have ever seen.

  It is a great night.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Logan

  One step, two steps, three. All on his own.

  Eric’s first unassisted steps since the incident cause everyone in the room to cheer. I watch as people stop their physical therapy and pause their conversations to turn to Eric and watch him continue to walk around the room. For the first time in a long time, Eric looks happy.

  He goes through his whole session and does exercises with the leg. He stands on his toes, does a small squat, and for the final exercise, stands on the one new leg alone.

  “Wonderful, Eric!” His therapist has him sit down so that she can make sure the leg is properly secured. “I thi
nk it would be okay for you to take the leg home today. Would that be okay with you?”

  “Like wear it out?” Eric asks her.

  “Yes. I think it would be best for you to go ahead and use it a while today. Just don’t walk around too much. You have to give your thigh muscles time to adjust to being used again.”

  I take a few steps over to the two. “How much is too much?”

  “I don’t know. You probably don’t want to walk around for any more than two miles today. With the physical therapy we’ve been doing, I do believe that your muscles are ready for activity, just not excessive. Okay?”

  Eric and I nod.

  “So you know how to take this off? Right?” she asks Eric.

  He nods.

  “Show me.”

  Eric looks down to the leg and unfastens the straps, unclips one clip, and slides it off the sock they have over his amputation.

  “Good. Now put it back on.”

  Eric repeats the process he will be doing every day and fastens it on perfectly.

  “Wonderful,” she says. “I think we are done for today.” She rises to her feet, just as Eric does, and shakes both of our hands. “Go ahead and enjoy your new limb, but don’t run around too much, okay?”

  Eric chuckles and agrees. The therapist leaves us both, and we walk out of the building side by side. We flag down a cab, get in normally, and have a quiet ride home. Eric watches out the window as we drive, but I can’t tear my eyes away from his new leg. The bottom of his shorts covers where his amputation is and the new leg starts, leaving it looking like he has an entire robot leg. The foot is like something I have never seen. It is like a silicone mold of a foot without toes. With it being made of a clear material, I can see the metal joints within the foot. It looks just like the structure of a real foot.

  When the driver pulls into our driveway, he turns around to us and gives a little smile. “So how’d you lose it?”

  Eric turns to me then back to him. “An explosion.”

  “You two fought in the war?”

  Eric nods.

  “Well,” the driver gives us both a small nod, “thank you for your service.”