Carefully, Joy removes a glove and interlaces her fingers with mine. The skin is red and tight. I can’t make sense of how I escaped with so little damage. Maybe the nurse was right about my being watched over. Feeling Joy’s skin on mine makes the pain worth it.
“Well, nothing is that simple, but after the fire… I don’t know, I guess it made me re-examine my priorities. And it showed me you’re more than I thought.”
“You didn’t think I’d protect you? Aza?”
“Honestly, no. I didn’t even know where you were or when you were coming back. And I know I said I wouldn’t ask, and I’m not. I’m just saying, with how things were…”
“Nothing is the same anymore. And it won’t ever be.” For better or for worse.
“Maybe it’s just what we needed. As messed up as that is. And poor Aza. I know she acts tough, but after breaking her arm…”
“Aza…”
Click.
“You all right?” Joy asks.
I pinch my eyes shut and listen to the sounds of the room. Nothing.
“Aza wasn’t supposed to be there. What happened to her sleepover?” I ask, forcing my eyes open, trying to forget what I just heard.
“Believe it or not, she had a nightmare. Called me in the middle of the night, begging to come home.”
This burns away the cobwebs in my mind. “She’s never had a nightmare in her life. She tells me monster stories before bed. Thinks they’re funny. She once told me she was jealous of her classmates that claimed to have creatures living beneath their beds. Wants one for a pet. What was it about?”
“Dunno. Wouldn’t say. Bad dreams are normal, though, and frankly, I’m glad—not that I’m saying she isn’t normal.”
I laugh. “She’s not, but I get what you’re saying.”
“Just bad luck it happened to be that night.”
“Yeah.”
Joy runs her hand along my torso, up and down, soft enough to almost miss, except it leaves behind a trail of energy. It’s soothing, but after a while it begins to burn, like she’s holding a lighter to my skin, slowly searing it. I push her hand away and sit up, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. I take off the other glove and flex my fingers, stoking the pain. It gives me something to focus on.
“Sorry,” I say as she moves to my side. “I’m just not used to…this.”
Joy leans against my shoulder and sighs. “I know. What happened to us?”
You fucked my only friend against a stained motel room wall, I want to say. It’s strange, though. Having Joy at my side, looking at me the way she is, the anger is gone. No, not gone, but changed. Different. Evolved, perhaps. The fire burned away more than a house. It tore away a contempt-fueled present to give a glimpse of a past I’d nearly forgotten about. A place where hope still lived.
I turn to Joy. “I’ve missed you.”
“You have no idea what that means to me,” she says, already welling up. I’ve never seen her so quick to cry. It breaks something inside me. She kisses me softly on the lips and pulls back to survey me. “A second chance. That’s what we have. Yeah?”
I nod, captivated by her very presence. Something drifts off her in waves that intoxicates me, draws me in, and leaves me craving more. I lean in to kiss her. She presses back and opens her mouth. Our tongues dance together. I can’t breathe and I don’t want to.
Joy pulls back and bites her lip. “I’ve missed you, too.”
She runs a finger along my jaw as she stands in front of me. She unbuttons her shirt and lets it fall to the floor. My eyes rove over her body. I fumble for my own shirt, but she stops me.
“Hey, no heavy lifting, remember? Let me,” she says.
I nod dumbly and allow her to pull my shirt over my head. She bends forward and kisses me as she undoes her pants and steps out of them and onto my lap. Straddling me, she gently presses me back onto the bed. I wince at a brief stab of pain.
“Your back?” Joy asks. “Is this too much?” She looks nervous, not unlike the first time we were together.
“It’s okay, I can take it.”
Joy smiles and slides down to remove my pants. “I hope so,” she says. “Because I’m not planning on stopping.”
Afterward, still naked and sweat-slicked, Joy falls asleep at my side. I watch her for a while before the pain in my back grows enough that I have to get up. I don’t bother to dress as I root through the bag of supplies the hospital sent me home with. I set aside rolls of gauze and antiseptic ointment and fish out a bottle of painkillers. I swallow two and lean against the dresser.
Click.
I grab the pill bottle and take two more, chewing them to distract my mind with the foul taste. The pills dull my senses, quiet the sounds, and allow me to breathe again.
Through a small window in the bedroom, I see Aza picking flowers in the backyard. Paul is sitting on a lawn chair on the back porch, seemingly fast asleep. I laugh quietly to myself. Aza has that effect on people. Few children can keep up with her, much less an old, out-of-shape man more suited for crosswords and whiskey.
I get dressed and go out to meet Aza. By now, she’s moved to the far corner of the yard. It looks like she’s talking to herself.
“Hey there, kiddo,” I say.
“Fuck!” Aza shouts as she jumps and whirls on me. “Don’t scare me like that.”
I glance toward Paul to see if he heard Aza’s outburst. I don’t want to damage any improvement in my in-laws’ opinion of me. They never did think we did quite right by Aza. Not that they’d ever say it aloud. But I have a way of sensing these things.
“You really ought to stop cursing,” I say, leaning against the fence. I feel a bit off balance.
“You really ought to announce yourself before sneaking up on a girl. I could have killed you.”
“Fair enough.”
Aza turns back to plucking flowers from the fence line. Once she has a handful, she starts ripping off the petals and tossing them aside.
“Oh, I used to do that when I was little. The whole ‘loves me, loves me not’ thing. There a special someone in your life?”
Aza scowls in my general direction. “That’s stupid.”
“Then what are you doing? If you left the petals on, you could give them to your mother. Or even your grandparents. Maybe as a thank you for letting us stay here.”
“I’m killing them,” she says plainly.
“The flowers?” I ask, confused.
“Slowly,” she adds, plucking a petal from a daisy.
I don’t say anything. I’m trying to discern if she’s making some morbid joke. Aza has always had a cruel and, in some ways, demented sense of humor. But it’s usually easy to tell when she’s just spouting nonsense for a reaction. This time, however, it’s difficult to tell. I don’t know if it’s because she’s being serious or I’m struggling to read her due to the pain medication in my system.
Aza turns and smiles at me. The sudden movement makes my vision swim and I have to sit down, propped up on the fence. Aza finishes off her flower mutilations and plops down at my side.
She leans over and examines my hands and arms. I never bothered to redress my burns. The pills have completely numbed any sensation in the wounds, and I saw no reason to wrap myself up like a mummy.
“Hmm,” Aza muses. She pokes my forearm. “Does this hurt?”
“Nope.”
“Do you have super powers now?”
“Don’t think so.”
“Well, shit,” Aza says.
“What did I tell you?”
“Well, shit,” she repeats, this time at a whisper.
“How are you doing…with all of this? I mean, with what happened at the house. Your mom says you had a nightmare before… Are you still having them?”
Aza sits up straight. “Only babies have nightmares.”
“Fine, don’t tell me. I only saved you from a burning building. And all without even having super powers.” I flash her a goofy grin, hoping to elicit one from her in
response.
Aza sighs exasperatedly. “I dreamed you and mom were on fire.”
“I guess I get that. It was pretty scary—”
“No, it wasn’t,” Aza says sharply. “And that’s what I dreamed at Gemini’s house.”
I’m floored. “You dreamed we were on fire before the actual fire?”
“Uh-huh. That’s why I made Mom come get me. I called you, but you didn’t answer. Jerk.”
I try to find some meaning in Aza’s face. What she’s saying is madness, but you wouldn’t know it to look at her. I grab her hand and squeeze until she looks at me.
“I’m not scared anymore, Dad,” she says. “And I wasn’t scared when it really happened. I just don’t usually dream. I don’t think. Well, not like that.”
“What were we doing in the dream? Were you there, too?” Sweat breaks out across my forehead and run into my eyes.
“It was just you and Mom, I think. Holding hands. I think Mom was crying… And you were both on fire. Like a big campfire, but without s’mores.”
“And you haven’t had the dream again?”
Aza shakes her head.
“Well, that’s good, I guess—”
“Not when I’m sleeping, anyway.”
My spinning mind slams to a halt and I’m dizzier than before. If I weren’t already sitting, I’d fall.
Aza stands up and stretches. “I’m hungry. When are we eating? Grandfather said we could make cookies after dinner.”
“First off, can’t you just call him Grandpa or Pops, or something like that? And secondly, what do you mean not when you’re sleeping?”
Aza looks down her tiny nose at me. Standing, she towers over me. I’ve never felt smaller. Weaker. More insignificant.
“First off,” she says, her sarcastic tone restored. “He’s my grandfather, so that’s what I call him. Secondly, you’re on fire now.”
“What?” I look down at myself, expecting to see flames. As she speaks, I feel it. “You mean the burns? They’ll fade with time.”
“Not your burns. You’re on fire. Like a big fireball. Burning. Hurts my eyes to look at you a little.” Aza squints, shrugs, and walks off toward the house, calling for her grandfather.
I watch her go, too stunned and high to move. I examine my arms again. Does she know what I did? Chances are, she was just messing with me, but I can’t shake the pit growing in my stomach.
Joy finds me in the same spot some time later. The sun has fallen substantially since Aza danced off, but I can’t seem to mark the passage of time. It’s been burned away, forever gone. Joy smiles down at me.
“Someone from YDWKY radio just called me, wanting to set up an interview with you,” she says.
With great effort, I climb to my feet, still trying to recover from the hole Aza burned through my mind. “What? Me?”
YDWKY is the semi-local news station that covers a fair portion of the state. I don’t know anyone under the age of sixty that seriously listens to it, but it’s still well known.
“Yes, you. They want to do a piece on the man that leapt from a burning building, wife and daughter in arm. Isn’t that great?”
“I—uh… I guess. Sure.”
“You all right?” Joy asks, slipping an arm around me as we begin a slow march toward the house.
“Yeah, just a bit worn out, I guess. Meds are making me a bit drowsy, is all. I’m a mess. Sorry.”
“I’d say you look pretty good after all you’ve been through. To be honest, we all came out in better shape. Forged in fire, I guess.”
“Yeah. Forged in fire,” I repeat.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I wake to Aza whispering in my ear.
The sun is freshly risen, painting the guest room in warm shades of pink and orange. I stare at her a moment, trying to push aside the last remnants of sleep.
“What’d you say, Aza?”
Aza smiles and shakes her head. “I can’t tell you now that you’re awake.”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you ever dream that you’re someone else?” she asks.
“I, uh, sure, I guess.”
“No,” she says, shaking her head. “For real. Like I do.”
I feel like I’m still sleeping. “Huh?”
“Shh,” Aza says, holding one finger to her lips. “Just remember what I said, dummy.”
Before I can form a response, Aza moves for the door of the guest house. “Now hurry up. Grandfather says we can’t eat breakfast without the whole family. And he made chocolate chip pancakes!”
“Chocolate chip pancakes?” Joy asks excitedly, rousing at my side. “I haven’t had those in years. Oh, he used to make them every weekend when I was a kid.”
“Well, let’s go, sleepyheads!” Aza shouts.
“Yes, ma’am,” I say with a weak salute, still trying to make sense of what she said.
She gives me one of her best condescending looks and runs out the door. “Last one to the table has to clean up!”
“I’m not sure that’s even worth the pancakes,” I say. “Aza can make a mess the size of a small hurricane. I just hope she isn’t helping your dad cook.”
Joy rolls over and drapes a long arm across my shoulders. She squeezes tightly. Her lips brush the nape of my neck, abolishing the fatigue of just waking. I roll into her.
“Would you rather have chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast or me?” I ask, trying to be clever.
Joy kisses me deeply, biting my lip as she pulls back to smile at me. “If we’re quick, I can have both.”
Aza stares at Joy and I as we walk into the kitchen. She taps her wrist and shakes her head.
“I know, I know,” I say.
“We’ll both clean up,” Joy adds, hanging on to my arm.
“Don’t let that rascal guilt you into anything,” Paul says. “You’re right on time. I just finished the eggs. Hope scrambled is okay.”
“With cheese!” Aza shouts.
“Lots and lots of cheese,” Ruthie adds, not looking up from her newspaper.
Aza sticks her tongue out at Ruthie, though only I catch it. I give her my best fatherly look of disapproval. She shrugs and grabs for the stack of pancakes on the table.
“All right, let’s eat,” Paul says, sitting down at his wife’s side.
Joy and I settle in, close enough that our shoulders brush against one another as we pass the food around the table. Aza has already downed a full pancake and is working on a second. Syrup runs down her chin and there’s a dollop of melted chocolate on the tip of her nose. I can’t help but laugh. Aza opens her mouth to show its half-chewed contents and goes back to shoveling food in.
“So, how’s the back doing?” Paul asks.
“Not bad at all,” I say. “I almost feel back to normal. It’s a little finicky, but only if I move funny.” Joy and I share a look. She stifles a laugh, masking it with a mouthful of pancake.
“Well, that’s good to hear. Your burns don’t look half as bad as they did even just a couple days ago,” Ruthie says.
A couple days ago? I run my fingers over the new scar tissue along my forearms and hands. The healing marks a passage of time unknown to me. Joy grabs my hand and pulls it under the table, squeezing gently.
“Yeah, not so leaky and gross anymore,” Aza says, food dropping from her mouth.
“Oh, honey, don’t talk with your mouth full,” Ruthie says, eyeing Aza over her glasses.
Aza says nothing, but shuts her mouth.
“No worse than a wicked sunburn, I guess,” I say.
I want desperately to ask what day it is, but I can’t let them see any cracks in my newly donned armor. Heroes don’t lose track of multiple days.
“Humph,” Paul says, leaning back in his chair. “It’ll take more than some fire to beat this family. Ain’t that right, rascal?”
Aza’s spine snaps straight and she grins, teeth painted with chocolate. “We’re tough nuts to crack!”
Everyone laughs, but I can’t help
but watch Aza, wondering what she’s seeing. Though certainly sarcastic to a fault and reasonably sharper than most eight-year-olds, Aza appears to be just that—an eight-year-old girl. But I can’t shake what she said to me about appearing like I was on fire. It’s the last thing I remember.
An elbow from Joy snaps me from my reverie. “You okay?” she whispers.
“Yeah, fine,” I say.
“You didn’t forget your medication, did you?”
I shake my head. “I took some first thing.”
“Some?”
Knocking at the front door fractures the conversation.
“Oh, who’s knocking on our door at this hour?” Paul grumbles as he slowly climbs to his feet.
“Race you!” Aza shouts, and bolts for the front door.
“Hey, you let me answer it,” Paul calls after her. “Could be the boogie man, come to eat you. I heard he likes chocolate-chip-flavored girls.”
“I hope so!” Aza says, standing impatiently by the door.
Paul opens the door, revealing a sharply dressed woman in business attire, clutching a small satchel.
“Hey! You’re no boogie man! What a rip-off.”
“Go on, rascal, back to the table with you,” Paul says.
“So sorry to intrude, sir,” the woman says. “My name is Gwen Mercy. I’m a liaison for The Hope Hour television program, part of AWKY TV in New York. I was hoping to speak with your family about appearing on our program.”
“Oh, did you hear that?” Ruthie asks, jumping to her feet so quickly that her chair clatters over backward. “They want us on The Hope Hour! Oh my gosh, I watch that every day. Don’t be rude, Paul, have the young lady in.”
Paul nods to Gwen and waves her in. I’ve never seen Ruthie move so quickly. She’s nearly on top of the woman in an instant. “Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea? Breakfast? We have plenty.”
“No, no, I’m fine, thank you,” Gwen says, putting some distance between the women. “If it’s not too much trouble, could we sit and discuss the matter?” Gwen surveys the kitchen and locks eyes with me.
I look at Joy, but it’s Aza who speaks for the group. “Of course!” she shouts. “You want to talk to my dad because he’s a fire-breathing hero! Part man, part dragon!”
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