Ashes ashes the complete.., p.32
Ashes, Ashes: The Complete Series, page 32
I gave up on reading and crept out of the room.
I found Katie in the kitchen, adding coal to the stove.
“What are you doing up?” I asked.
She shrugged. “Thought I heard something,” she answered. “People talking.”
“Oh.”
She filled the teapot with water and set it on the stove. “You want some?”
I slumped forward, rubbing my forehead. I was bone tired but my brain was hyper, jumping from thought to thought, unable to find rest. When I didn’t answer, Katie got two mugs anyway. “Camomile is nice,” she said quietly. “Sort of soothing.” She sat down across from me. “I see how it is now.”
“What?”
“Well, it’s Amy and Rod. They’re a couple. But that weren’t too hard to figure out. They act like it. Bickering and stuff, but also…” she ducked her head like she was embarrassed to say the words. “Well, sleeping together and all.”
“I don’t think it’s like that—” I stopped because I realized I really didn’t know what Rod and Amy did, especially BTB. “At least not now.”
“And it’s Liam and the other one. Amaranth,” she said the girl’s name like it was a bug in her mouth. “Though I don’t see why,” she added under her breath.
“She’s not that bad.”
Katie let the doubt in her face reply. “Guess Mama was right. Opposites attract.”
I could see why she might say that: on the surface, Amaranth and Liam probably seemed about as different as two people could be. But only on the skin. Once you’d peeled them both back a layer or two, though, it wasn’t so simple. And if you’d seen them scrambling to survive, being stubborn, trying to keep anyone from touching their sore spots— they had a lot more in common. I was about to say something like that when Katie threw me a curve ball.
“Did your girlfriend die?” she asked gently, as if she’d been reading my mind.
“Girlfriend? Who me? No, I—” But the kettle whistled and the girl jumped up to silence it.
“Sorry, if it ain’t nothing you want to talk about,” she said quickly, pouring the water. “I just figured…a boy like you. Who knows so much stuff and…”she shrugged. “Takes care of people so good and all. Makes sense that you have…had… you know… someone,” she managed with her cheeks the color of sunrise.
She likes you, dude.
Nate sang the words in my ear.
She likes you. Got a big fat crush on the naked mole rat…
“Yeah,” I said, suddenly feeling as awkward and uncomfortable as she looked. Something in her eyes when she said all that made me want to get up and run for the door. “I mean, no.”
“Oh.” She spoke like she understood, then frowned like she didn’t. She didn’t look at me again and I tried not to look at her, either. We both waited for something to happen, but nothing did, so I drank my tea so quickly I burned my tongue and then stood up, stretching.
“I guess I should catch a few hours of sleep.” I tried to yawn, but it probably looked as fake as Amaranth ID.
“Yeah,” she said. “Me, too. I’m gonna check on Liam first.” She hesitated. “You take the empty bed. I like the rocker—”
“No, that’s okay—”
“Really,” she said, blushing again. “It’s okay.”
She left the room quickly, without looking at me again. But before I climbed the stairs, I heard her say, “You’re up.”
“Yeah,” Liam answered.
“You need anything? Want some tea?”
“No, I’m good.”
I couldn’t stop myself from peeking into the other room. The two of them were just sitting there in silence, Liam lying on the couch and Katie in her chair, tilting back and forth a little.
“Stove’s low,” she said and stood up to tend it. I watched Liam watch her, wondering if he thought she was pretty or if he still hated her too much to notice anything like that.
She finished at the fire, pausing to pull the blanket higher around Liam’s shoulders like she’d been tending him all her life.
“Thanks,” Liam muttered. He turned his head and watched her tuck herself into the chair again.
“‘Night,” she said, closing her eyes.
“‘Night.”
As I turned for the staircase, I wished for that thing that Rod and Liam both had. A gift I hadn’t been granted and wondered if I’d ever obtain. The thing that made girls put their heads on your shoulders and crave the chance to wrap their arms around you. The thing that made girls smile when you noticed them and cry when you didn’t. The words and the way of acting that made them come close instead of run away.
Amaranth Looks Out
I dreamed of dark vinyl booths and Roman landmarks painted on the walls. Of the low lighting and the menu that never changed, and the owner, Antonio, who always greeted me by saying “I’d grown so big” like I was still ten years old.
Cappy’s Italian Ristorante: my family’s regular Friday night haunt. Nate’s favorite place.
Nate sat across from me in the red vinyl booth, Mom’s arm draped his shoulders in an embrace that wasn’t quite a hug, but close all the same. Either he didn’t notice or he took it for granted because he ignored her, face deep in his iPad. I was squeezed in beside Irv, my stepdad.
“It looks like I’m headed to Alabama at the middle of the month,” he said. He had started balding a few years ago and his solution was to shave his head. That was when I started growing mine, but people still thought he was my real father.
“So the Justice Project has decided to take him on.” Mom looked tired—there were dark half-crescents under her eyes and her brown skin looked as dull and washed out as old chocolate milk. But she managed a smile .
“Yeah. It was a tough one,” Irv said. “We get so many requests. They pour in every month. Most of them aren’t right for us—“
“You mean most of them are guilty,” I interrupted just to mess with him.
”It isn’t so much about guilt or innocence, Nester,” Irv corrected. “It’s about what kind of people we want to be. It’s about whether we respond to violence with more violence or with—“
The waitress set a basket of bread and a dish of garlic butter on the table. I reached for it, but Nate tore his attention away from his game and snatched the whole basket, dragging it towards him before I could get a single slice.
“Hey!” I cried.
“—residual effects of generations of being second class citizens in this country. Black men—and women—but especially men—“ Irv continued like nothing happened.
“They know, dear,” Mom said quietly, touching his hand to stop Rant Number 3.
She failed.
Irv ranted on: about young black men being sentenced to death while their white counterparts got jail time for the same offenses. About how people would always judge us by the color of skin first and that’s why we needed to get good grades and make something of ourselves so we wouldn’t live up to the negative stereotypes. About how racism was alive and well and walking to school with us every day—
“My friends aren’t that way.”
Irv quirked a glance at Mom, and she smiled into her plate.
“They’re not!” I insisted.
Irv chuckled and Mom tried to hide in her shoulder, but in the end, she gave up and laughed, too.
“I’m sorry, baby,” she said. “But you’re far from Mr. Popularity. And that’s okay,” she added quickly. “You get good grades and keep up with all your schoolwork. But friends? Who are you talking about? That odd kid you used to play chess with on Saturdays?”
“Muhamet’s not weird. He’s just really focused.”
“Or our crazy neighbor’s son?” Irv always called Mr. Harper ‘Our Crazy Neighbor.’ “Liam? Haven’t seen him in a while. Guess he’s been out on that farm his old man bought—“
“Why anyone would want to live way out in the mountains is beyond me,” Mom shook her head in bewilderment.
They geared up to trash-talk the Harpers. There was plenty to talk about: that ancient truck that looked like it should have been in the junkyard when Eisenhower was President. The huge grocery trips, financed with coupons. The odd-shaped UPS packages. Snippets of arguments between Mr and Mrs. Harper in the driveway or on the front lawn. But on the occasions when I’d been in their home, it seemed normal enough to me. True, Mr. Harper made us cookies, which was unexpected from a guy wearing a T-shirt that said “Army Proud.” And he was always really interested in what I carried in my backpack. But other than that, he didn’t seem much weirder than Irv, who could drop a lesson on “oppression” and the “legacies of white supremacy“ faster than most people could look the words up on the Internet.
“How’s he adjusting to regular school?” Irv asked, but before I could answer, Mom said,
“I heard he got in big trouble a couple of weeks ago. At back to school night.” Mom locked eyes on me. “You know anything about that?”
“No,” I lied. The whole story had gone around the school as fast as naked pictures, but it didn’t feel right to tell them that— especially after my parents had pronounced me friendless and unfriendworthy.
“It was pretty serious, as I understand it.” Mom eyed me like she knew I was lying. “I think it would be better if you stayed away from him. You’re judged by who you associate with. I’d hate for that kid’s influence to get you into the kind of trouble that would cost you a place at one of the Ivy League schools—”
“I agree,” Irv said. “Unless, of course, the end really does come!” He laughed. “Then you get your brown behind over to Harper and beg him to let you in!”
I opened my mouth to say something—defend or condemn— but thunder crushed out my words. Lightning flashed outside the dark window, growing bright and closer until the sky was on fire. Irv started shrieking as he burst into flame. I scrambled away from him, knocking over the fake red leather booth and hiding behind it as the heat seared my skin and the noise filled my ears and the smell of frying flesh hit my nose. Katie was already there, her face shining and fearless.
“No!” I screamed over the explosion. “No, no—”
“Yes, yes, yes!” she said calmly, smiling at me. “That’s all gone. Welcome home—”
I sat up, my brow wet, my heart thumping, adrenaline coursing through my body.
Elise was awake and staring at me somberly. Without a word, she stood up, slipped on her boots and gathered our coats. Her movements were as powerful as any words. There’s nothing you can do about it now, her dark eyes seemed to say. So get up and get to work, Nester.
“You’re right, Elise,” I muttered, putting my size 14s down on the cold wood floor again. “It’s our turn to watch.”
There was a trick to reaching the Lookout, a hidden spinning door just like the ones in every Scooby Doo cartoon ever written. You flipped a switch inside the gun cabinet—you had to know the digital combination to get it open— and the whole wall spun, dumping you into a dark alcove. Then you climbed a short staircase, opened a hatch cut in the ceiling—a hatch that could be locked from up on the Lookout—and climbed the last few steps into the daylight. It was the most impressive and complicated system in the house—especially given the size of the gun cabinet. The thing was massive: nearly tall enough for me to stand up in, at least four feet deep and holding rack after rack of weapons. The setup was ingenious, really. In the event of an intruder, you could escape to the Lookout with all of your weapons secured inside with you.
I lifted the hatch and Elise preceded me up into the daylight. If it was daylight. The sky was dark gray—but it always was since we’d seen that flash of light and the big mushroom cloud light up in the southeastern sky. According to Liam’s watch, it was early morning, may an hour after the sun should have risen.
The Lookout itself was pretty small—I could walk the entire circle in ten long steps— but the view would have been killer if it hadn’t been obliterated by swirling snow. On a clear day, you could probably see down to the lake, but we hadn’t had any clear days yet. Instead, the snow made it tough to see more a few hundred yards, even with the night vision goggles and the binoculars Mr. Harper had thoughtfully left in a storage cubby built into the center wall. The ground was invisible under the white dust and, except for the places where we’d worn tracks to the barn and the outhouse, the whiteness was pristine and undisturbed and deep. The cupola’s round roof offered a little protection from the worst of the snow, but not from the wind or the bitter cold. That was okay by me. Comfort was the enemy of the wary.
“Amaranth?” I called, circling the narrow space. “It’s me and Elise—”
The tip of my boot touched something and it rolled, clinking musically until it met an obstruction. I followed the sound.
Amaranth sat on the floor of the Lookout with the night vision goggles covering her face and her feet splayed wide. Snow had dusted over her clothes, nearly covering her. I thought she was hurt—had collapsed or something—until it registered that the sound I’d heard was an empty bottle.
An empty alcohol bottle. Gin, this time.
“Amaranth!” I shook her.
She jerked her head in my direction. “I’m awake…” she murmured, drunkenly. “I’m awake….”
With difficulty she got her legs under her body and stood.
“What—what are you doing here?” she asked in confusion.
“Relieving you. From your watch. Which you pretty clearly weren’t doing.”
“I was, too,” she hiccupped. “Why else would I be up here, Nester? Duhhhh…”
“Then what’s this?” I shook the gin bottle at her.
“That is a bottle of gin. An empty bottle of gin.” She was joking with me, playing. “It has kept me nice and warm, while I watched the snow fall.”
“You can’t drink until you pass out when you’re supposed to be watching—”
“Passed out?” Amaranth shook her head violently. “Me? No. I wasn’t passed out. Relaxed, maybe,” she waved her forefinger at me, “But definitely not ‘passed out.’ And as for ‘watching’— she opened her arms wide and spun in a slow 360 degrees. “Just what did you expect to see? There’s snow. Just snow. Just snow and more snow!” She made another circle like a dancer in an odd ballet. “Snow, snow, snow,” she sang. “Snow, snow, go away! Come again another day! It’s really sort of stupid, if you ask me. If you’re out in this, I’m not gonna have to shoot you. The cold is going to kill you first. So you’re dead anyway!” She chortled. “Isn’t that funny, Elise?” she asked leaning toward the little girl. “Isn’t that—”
Elise shrank from her like she was contagious.
“What did I do, Elise?” Amaranth asked, suddenly serious. “We’re supposed to be family—”
“Maybe she’s not thrilled about having a ‘sister’ who’s a lush,” I grumbled.
“Yeah, she prefers a ‘brother’ who wanders around having conversations with people who aren’t there!” She shot back. “What’s the matter, Nester?” She asked in a voice that wore sarcasm for a coat. “Did you think that was a—a—” she couldn’t remember the word secret . “A ‘shh’ thing? Did you think no one had noticed?” She jabbed her chest, continuing in a rush of drunken words. “I noticed, Nester. I noticed. I notice lots of things that no one else notices. You know why? Because that’s how I survive. Or how I survived…” she stopped, frowning. “Survived. Yeah, survived I think—”
“You’re not making any sense.”
“Nothing makes sense, Nester. You were right.”
I quirked an eyebrow at her. “Right? About what?”
“Our situation,” Amaranth pronounced. “Think about it: we’re here, trying so hard to stay alive when we’re all gonna end up like Rod anyway—”
“Shut up,” I hissed. “You want them all to hear you?”
“What difference does it make? You think they don’t know?” Amaranth shook her head dramatically. “I always thought you were smart, Nester, but if you think there’s a single person in this house who doesn’t know that Rod—”
“I wasn’t right,” I interrupted in exasperation. “I was just mad, Amaranth.“ I took her by the arm and guided her toward the hatch. “You’re drunk and you don’t know what you’re talking about, so just go in. Go to bed. Go to the kitchen. Go to the barn. Go check on Liam. Just go somewhere and sober up.” I threw open the door and jerked my head toward the stairs. “Please.”
For two long, cold hours Elise and I paced the Lookout, shivering and stamping our feet to stay warm, staring out into the swirling dark snow. Amaranth was right: I couldn’t see much, but I did see her stagger toward the outhouse. She stayed out there a long time, then finally emerged and made her way to cabin with her head down like a kid who knew she was going to get grounded as soon as she crossed the threshold. Later, we saw Katie slog through the deep snow to the barn holding an empty pail. She emerged several minutes later, lugging a full one. Milk from the cow, I guessed. I wondered who was on KP—kitchen patrol—and if there’d be hot food in a few hours. From time to time, Elise warmed her hands in my pockets, but other than that, she walked the parapet as steadily as I did, staring at the horizon, the night vision goggles perched on her head like giant goo-goo eyes. I would have loved to send her inside to wait for me, but I knew she wouldn’t have gone.
Nate was a no-show.
When at last, Rod lifted the hatch to relieve us, I felt like a six-foot Popsicle. I wanted nothing more than to find a mug of hot cocoa waiting for me downstairs, but that was unlikely. I hadn’t seen any kind of chocolate in the pantry, for one, and if I did find some, it sure wouldn’t be ready and waiting for me. I’d have to make it myself.
Amaranth sat at the table in the kitchen with a mug of something steaming in front of her and a sullen, I-dare-you-to-say-anything-to-me look on here face. Liam hopped on one foot between the pantry and a large box resting on the butcher block table, his face set with grim determination. The odor of a fresh batch of Katie’s onion poultice overwhelmed the room.
