Ashes and Ice (8 page)

“That’s what you think, smart ass.” Wade says, matching his bet. “So Connor, you’re home late.” He’s so focused that his brow is furrowed. A telltale sign he’s bluffing. “You actually gettin’ a life or what?”

I cringe. I was right to be nervous. This is going to be hell. Before I know it, Jade will be looking at naked baby pictures of me. “Uh, actually, Jade and I picked up a movie so we’ll just go upsta—”

“Who?” Wade looks up, eyes widen, and he sits back in his seat. “Oh, hello!”

“Hey.” Jesse glances toward us to be polite and quickly returns to his hand. I almost see the leather boots and fishnets register in his mind as his mouth gapes open and he stumbles backward, chair and all. He jumps back up, looks at us nervously, and then back to the table. “Damn chair.” He swallows and sits back down.

Jade looks away, pressing her lips in a tight line as if she’s stifling laughter.

“So are you going to introduce us to your friend, Connor?” Harry says in his warm way.

“I’m Jade.” Jade says smiling, walking up to them. “I’m new at school. Connor is showing me around.” She goes to the table and puts a hand on the back of Jesse’s chair. “Poker, huh?”

“Yeah.” Jesse sits up straighter, awkwardly.

“Yep, you play?” Wade asks.

“Absolutely.” Jade smirks.

Jesse looks up. His eyes widen, then he swallows. Yeah, I had the same reaction when she smirked at me the first time. I step between them to create an invisible off-limits sign. Jesse, six years older than me, sometimes seems ancient, but right now, the age difference doesn’t seem to exist. And it makes me wary.

“Connor, do you ever play?”

I shake my head.

“Hmm, yet another thing I will have to teach you.”

“Yep—so let’s go and let these guys get back to their game.” I try steering her away from the table.

“I’m Jesse.” He doesn’t shift his gaze away from his cards. It almost looks like he is blushing.

“Wade.” Wade tips his hat forward and smiles at Jade.

“I’m Harry, darling.” Harry says. “Now if our boy goes on misbehavin’ you just let us know ya’ hear?”

“Oh, I will,” she says, punching my shoulder.

“All right, movie time!” I say. The dining room suddenly seems stifling.

I herd her upstairs, before stopping on the creaky step. “Hey, Harry, where’s Ma?”

“Oh she went to New Orleans. She’ll be back late. She know you have company?”

“Let the boy be, Harry. If his momma don’t know, then he’s up to no good. And if he’s up to no good, I’m proud as hell.” Wade winks at me.

I feel as though I’ve been run over by a tractor. “Shut up, Wade. And yeah, Harry. She knows.” I dash upstairs, grateful that Jade seems preoccupied with all the photos hanging in the hallway.

“This one’s you, right?” She traces the browning photo’s edges.

“Uh, no. That’s my dad when he was, I dunno, seven.” I do know. I know every detail about when that photo was taken. I remember when Grandma hunched over laughing with gumbo on the stove as she told the story. And like everything that had something to do with dad, it was precious to me.

She looks at me, suddenly serious. “You look just like him, you know.”

“People say that.”

We are silent for a minute.

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“I’m sorry that he’s not—with you—anymore.”

I’m taken back. “I, uh, well, you know, it was, a while—”

“Don’t do that.”

“What?”

“Lie.” She steps closer to the picture, studying it, and then looks at me. “People always say things to cover up how they really feel. Like they don’t want to burden anyone by being too happy, too surprised, too stressed, too… sad.” Her eyes are gentle. I’m not sure if it’s because of the softness in her eyes or how I feel that she can pull tears right out from me. My heart skips a beat. I swallow the dryness in my throat. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” I touch the photo. “I miss him. It’s still hard. On everyone—you know.”

She nods and rests her hand on my shoulder.

Silence—but it’s a rich silence. Like we are both crying or humming or laughing, but we’re not.

“Which room is yours?” Her voice stirs inside me. My room? Oh yeah! I start to open the door and then wonder: is it messy? Did it stink? I must’ve hesitated long enough for her to notice. “Ya know, we could hang out downstairs—”

JESSE-JADE-WADE-HARRY. No thanks. I open the door and gasp when it’s practically sparkling… picked up, swept, mopped. What the hell? And then my mom’s bright face flashes in my mind. Surely, this was her attempt to make a good first impression.

“Wow, you’re a clean freak.”

“No. It’s just a special occasion.”

“Oh really? What occasion?”

“Company.”

“Mmmm, I like it. I’m the special occasion. Nice.” She walks in and I freeze in the doorway for a second. Beautiful girl in my room. It takes a moment to click and, when it does, it gives me warm goose bumps—nervous and excited at the same time.

***

“Have you ever been in love?”

I spill my popcorn on my lap. “I, uh, what?” I say, swiping off the kernels. The question catches me off guard.

“You know, in love.”

“No. No, I haven’t.” I shift on the couch, needing more space between us. “What about you?”

“Nah.” She flicks her hand toward me as if she is brushing away nonsense, but the hard look in her eyes says something different.

“Why?”

She points to the TV screen and the couple making out there. “Figured if you had been, then you could explain that to me.”

The guy sweeps the girl up and carries her into bed before they… you know. “Uh, sex?”

She bursts out laughing. “That too. But I was talking about what it feels like to be, you know, in love. Totally, without question. Like, does that,” she points to the screen again, “exist?”

“Yeah, I think it exists.” I think of mom and dad—the way they kissed every morning, hugged a few moments longer than anyone else, laughed so hard they cried, and cuddled, shutting out the world, looking more content than these fakers on the screen. “It exists. And in real life, it’s better than that crap.” I say, suddenly uncomfortable by the moaning coming from the TV.

“I thought you said you’ve never been in love?”

“I haven’t. But I’ve seen it. And I haven’t ever seen anything come close to that in the movies.”

She opens her mouth as if about to ask a question, but then closes it and smiles, accepting my answer. “Well, it’s good that there may be something in life to look forward to.” She drops a kernel of popcorn in her mouth.

“May be?”

“Well nothing is guaranteed. Who knows, I may die an old spinster.” She’s smiling, but her eyes aren’t.

I think about the movie store guy’s possessive eyes, Jesse’s chair fiasco, and Dominic’s leering, my heart. “I doubt that.”

I pull a flower from the branch and cradle it in my hand like something precious. As I turn to keep walking, I feel electricity pricking my skin. It tingles all over. I spin around and stare into the darkness, jerking left to right, spinning forward to look for whatever may be closing in, but I see nothing and even before I pivot all the way around, the feeling is gone.

I walk home and hear Nanan’s friends laughing in the dining room. I peek in. “Hey, Nanan. I’m back.”

“Oh my darlin’! Have fun? Where were you off to?”

“I watched a movie with a boy down the street.”

“That’s good, darlin’. I like that boy. Good blood in his family.”

I don’t know what that means, but I smile. “Well, if you need me, I’ll be upstairs.”

“’Kay, honey. Don’t mind us old ladies.” The five elderly ladies huddle around a table, cards in hand. But as I look at them, I realize the cards aren’t like the ones Connor’s uncles used. They have strange symbols and colorful images sprawled across them. “Need something, hon?” Nanan’s voice pulls me away from the cards.

“Uh, no, Nanan.” I smile at her. I walk upstairs and grab a towel and I realize something, a good something: there haven’t been any new killings reported. I sigh loudly in relief.

I take a hot shower, letting the water invigorate me so I feel clean and alive.

Stepping out, I dry off and almost wipe the mirror clean, but find myself grazing my fingers along the glass clearing a path in the condensation. I draw my symbol, loving the way it twists and swirls and is punctuated by lines and slashes. I trace it again and again until the lines start to drip and blend together.

I smile. Connor seems to like when I smile. I like when he does—it makes me feel warm and…and, something else. Something that tickles in my belly, something that makes me feel full and weightless. I scrub my face with soap, splash water on my face, and then feel for the mirror to wipe it clean.

The temperature changes. Heat, scalding heat, boiling water heat, pours over me and I wince in pain. I choke on air too hot to swallow.

I blink my eyes open and scream—a bone-rattling scream that tears my throat.

In the mirror, standing behind me is a girl.

Clara.

A very, very dead Clara. Her skin is bluish and bruised. She lifts one finger toward me and I gasp, spinning around toward her.

She’s gone. I gulp in a huge breath and slowly pivot, my eyes locked on the spot I thought I saw the girl. I swivel forward and inhale so sharply it hurts. The mirror is clouded over again, but this time, etched in jagged lettering, are the words “IMPROBUSES” across the glass.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

I yelp, pitching backward and tripping to the floor. I scramble for a towel when I realize it is just a knock on the bathroom door.

“Are you okay, honey?” Nanan’s voice sounds taut with worry.

“Uh—” my voice shakes, “yeah. I, I just slipped.”

“Oh, okay. Be careful, ya hear?”

I look below the mirror and see a sprinkle of grey dust with a light flicker of red in it. I reach to it and it burns my index finger. Ash and embers. I swallow hard then look back up to the lettering. “Yes. Yes, Nanan. I will be careful.”

I wipe the mirror clean with a towel and put on my clothes.

My throat is tight, my mind reels.

I need answers. Now.

“Well, I mean, I can’t now.”

She looks around and rubs her arms. Nervously, she shifts her gaze back to me. “Um, when could you?”

“Uh.” I think about my truck on the cinderblocks. “Maybe next week sometime?”

She deflates and shakes her head before she starts to turn away. “Oh, okay. Maybe. Thanks.” She jerks back toward me, “I’m so sorry for waking you up.”

“Jade, wait.” I know something is wrong. I run to my bedroom door before realizing I’m just in a t-shirt and boxers. I slip on sweat pants and then make my way quietly down the steps.

By the time I get out the front door, she’s already gone.

“Alright, miss. Where do you want to go?”

I close my eyes, grasping for my dreams. “The French Quarter. Bourbon Street.”

A few minutes later, the taxi comes to a stop and the driver asks me for the fare. After giving it to him, I step out into the fresh air and, to my surprise, see the streets bright and alive with people and signs and venders at 3am. I have no idea where to start. I close my eyes and focus all my thoughts on the red door. Nothing. I don’t feel the pull. Opening my eyes, I see no tinge of light except the neon signs. I close my eyes again, digging deeper, begging for something to spark to life.

I yelp when an arm drapes across my shoulders. I flail forward and snap my eyes open.

“Hey, lovely. What’s a girl like you doing on this side of the lake at this hour?” Dominic. Disgust spoils my insides.

“None of your business.” I say and try to push past him.

“Hey, hey, hey.” He steps in my way and puts his arms out, a beer bottle in one hand. “If you are looking for a good time, I can show you a good time.”

“Go ask Blonde-boobs for your good time, I’m busy.”

“Blonde-boobs?” Confusion crosses his face right before the laughter rolls in. “Courtney? Oh yeah, me and her aren’t a thing anymore.”

“Sounds distressing. Now, if you’d get out of my way…”