Soul Fire (21 page)

I turned cold inside. My mind slammed all doors to thought. Without considering my destination, I turned toward home, running until I was ragged. When I couldn’t go another step, I stopped near a community center for a few minutes and then walked on until I became aware that I was in a familiar rundown area, although I couldn't remember getting there.

Turning up the weather beaten drive, I climbed the back steps, thinking I would find the door locked and the house empty. I hadn’t heard from Dell since the night his mom passed. He had not returned any of my calls, so for all I knew, he had left town. After all, there was nothing and no one left for him here.

I stared at the paint-chipped door and tried the handle. Locked. He was gone. I started to leave, but decided to try knocking on the door. I waited, a sense of loss overtaking me. Saddened beyond words, I turned and descended the stairs. Halfway down the block a familiar voice stopped me. “Where do you think you’re going?”

I whirled around. Delta was right behind me. I hadn’t heard his approach, so my reaction shocked even me. I threw myself into his arms. “I thought you’d gone.”

He cocked his head and looked down at me. “Hey,” he whispered, his arms going protectively around me. He held me for a few minutes, then led me back to the house. When we were inside, he put the kettle on the stove. “Tea?” he suggested.

The sight of this tough guy making me tea cracked me up. I laughed myself breathless. He watched nonplussed, poured water over the tea bags in each cup and put mine on the table. “I’d offer you something stronger, but I have bad memories of the last time I tried that.”

I nodded, collapsing onto the kitchen chair, gasping. Wiping my eyes with my shirt, I looked at the cup of steaming tea, then up at Delta. The concern on his face melted my heart and I immediately started crying. Jeez, I was a mess.

He put his cup down next to mine and pulled me up into his arms, holding me until I had cried out all of my demons. “Come on.” He took my hand and pulled me into the living room. Tea forgotten, we sat down on the couch. I rested my head on his arm and gave him an update. I felt him tense when I described my efforts with Justin and the disastrous outcome.

He cleared his throat. “You like him?”

Not exactly the question I expected and it took me aback. I added to his tension when I had described my work with Justin, and began to sense that I had overlooked something with Dell. Brenna, always the romantic, had insisted Dell had a thing for me, but I had ignored her.

Maybe she was right.

I glanced at Dell tenuously, searching his face for the answer. It was there, in the softness of his eyes and the intensity of his focus. It was in the gentleness of his expression and in the tenderness of his voice. It surrounded me and sent my thoughts spiraling off into a different orbit.

I had never considered Dell in this way. Perhaps, because of Justin. Perhaps, because of my complicated situation. To me, Dell was mysterious, cool, decent, and definitely smart. I liked him, liked being close to him, liked his company, and liked being protected by him. But did I feel anything beyond our friendship? Was that even possible given my feelings for Justin?

My emotions were a maelstrom, for sure. I didn’t trust them. And I certainly wasn’t able to use any sense of reason to sort them out.

“You didn’t answer me. You like him?”

The directness of the question jarred me back to the present.
Do I like Justin?
My heart started to ache. Somewhere, deep inside, a little voice threatened to answer, so I choked it back and said instead, “Sure, I like him. He’s nice. Works hard at the pool—“

“Is that a
yes?”

“No.” I hesitated. “I mean, you know how it is, Justin’s like a super star at school. There isn’t a girl around who wouldn’t fall all over him. I guess I would feel that way too, if I hadn’t been the one who made such a mess of his life.”

Dell stood abruptly. “Alright, I get it. But don’t forget he’s from the other side of the tracks. It’ll never work out. You’ll just end up getting hurt all over again.”

Why did Dell always voice the reality I worked so hard to ignore. I knew I could never be Justin’s girl. That would be like a dream come true and my dreams of late were more like nightmares. “I didn’t say I
liked him.”

“Hey, look. It’s okay. Sometimes life happens. Not everything is planned.” He looped his thumbs through his belt loops and added, “We just take the ride. We don’t build the train.”

Another truism. “So, where’s the station? I’d like to get off.”

“You mean the bullying?” He turned and walked over to the fireplace and fiddled with a photo on the mantle. “If you really want to extract yourself, you have to plan your way out. Decide where you want to end up, lay out the route, plan how you’re going to get there, and put yourself on that road.”

What he said made sense. Trouble was I didn’t like the look of the road. I ran both hands through my hair. It was tangled and knotted, like my thoughts lately. He seemed to hear my unspoken concerns. “You need to be strong, Ashla. Think about what’s going to keep you, your family, and your friends safe. That’s what’s important. Whatever decision you make, don’t lose sight of that single word.

“Safe,” I repeated wondering if that were possible.

“Yes,
safe.
You can’t ride this out, Ashla. It won’t go away. You have to do something. Do you understand?”

I fidgeted. “Changing schools sure didn’t work. So, what does that leave?”

“In a perfect world, I’d say home schooling. But school is only part of the problem. Your existence here, in north Seattle, seems to be enough to keep this thing going. The only way out now is for you to leave.”

“Leave.” I hated the sound of the word. “With or without my family?”

“Your dad has cancer, so it would have to be without. And you would need to make a show of it and hope, and I mean
hope
, the Tarantulas forget about your family and your friends. Maybe they’ll find some other poor sucker to torment.”

My thoughts flew to my dad. How could I leave him not knowing if I’d ever see him again . . . and that I wouldn’t be there for him when he needs me most? “Would you have left your mom?”

He looked at me hard and exhaled. “I’m just telling you what you need to do.”

I shook my head. “Dell, there’s got to be another way.”

He ran his hand down the back of his neck. “If I think of it, I’ll let you know.”

I leaned back in the threadbare couch and looked around the dimly lit room. It was sparse. A couch, a chair, a television from decades past, no woman’s touch, no mementos, a single photograph of a man in uniform with an arm around Dell, and the urn standing on the fireplace mantle. I sat up. I had promised to go with him to scatter his mom’s ashes. Had he waited for me? “Have you chosen a day to do the ashes?” I asked timidly.

He turned toward the fireplace. “I was hoping we’d do it together. She liked you. Told me—” But he didn’t say any more.

“Told you—?”

“Never mind. She liked you, that’s all.”

“In spite of my big OD in your backyard?”

A half smile. “In spite of.”

“Would you like to go today?”

He gave that some thought. “Sure.”

It took over an hour by bus to reach the inlet. The downside of not having a car. By the time we got to Oceanside Park, the wind was up, and we could hear the waves crashing against the rocks over by the point. Dell had carefully placed the urn in his big backpack and slung the pack over his shoulder. We moved with care down the embankment, him reaching out to give me a hand over the slippery boulders. We landed on what remained of the beach. The tide was rising, and coupled with the force of the wind driven waves, the beach had almost disappeared.

“Better hurry,” he said half to himself. “Tide’s coming up and there’s not much beach left.”

I nodded and turned into the wind, trying to keep my hair out of my eyes. “Are you going to say something?” I asked sheepishly, watching as he gingerly removed the urn from the backpack. Holding it in both hands, I saw a deep, distressing sadness overtake him. His demeanor changed, his shoulders sagged, and his face tightened. He stared at the urn for some time and I wondered if he was re-living his time with his mom, sharing final memories with her.

Forlornly, he looked out to sea. The sun settled behind a cloud and for a moment, the wind stalled. He tossed her ashes onto the outbound surge and we watched as they took their final trip in this world. Then, almost as if she was saying goodbye, the outgoing sea met with an inbound wave, forming a peak that lingered, then strangely it retreated and was overtaken by the vast darkening ocean.

My parents were waiting for me in the living room. A “talk” was looming and I was edgy. Was it about my Dad? I put the dinner dishes into the dishwasher, added soap, and started it up.

“Night, Ashla!” I was hit from behind by a three foot super hugger. Her small arms gripped my legs and she squeezed hard. No one, absolutely no one, gave hugs like Anika. When she freed me, I turned and picked her up. She kissed my cheek and said, “Carry me to bed, Ashla. I’m tired of walking all day.”

“But that’s what feet are for,” I informed her as I threw her on my hip and together we danced down the hall toward her bedroom. “You can dance on them too.” And ski, I reminded myself.

I tucked her in, gave her a kiss, and mussed her dark locks. “You get your story from Gramma tonight. It’s her turn, Sweetie.”

Anika wrinkled her forehead and scrunched her heart-shaped face. “You read to me, Ashla. Gramma only reads the first page and the end. She misses so much stuff.”

She sure does, I thought. “My turn tomorrow. I do all the pages.” I gave Anika another kiss and padded out of her room, down the hall, and into the living room. Dad, all bones, was wedged into the corner of the couch, a blanket across his lap. Seemed he was always cold now.

Mom was pacing—a bad sign. “Ashla,” she said when I walked in, “Sit down.”

Oh boy. The only time I am told to sit by my mother, who can seldom sit herself, is when a bomb is about to be dropped. I wanted to run for shelter, but Dad patted the cushion next to him. “Come and sit, Ashla.”

I tucked in beside him and looked up at my mom dreading what was to come. She honed her sights on the target. Me. “Dad and I wanted to talk to you about your schooling, Ashla. You need to complete your junior year and write the finals. I know you feel the same way, but the problem, of course, is how to do that. Mount Olympic and Huntley are off the list, and after what you said happened at Huntley, I don’t see the point in trying another school anywhere near here.”

I waited. Were they going to send me away? Was that what this was about?

“So . . .” she stopped and looked imploringly at my dad. He took the cue and turned to me. “So,” he said clearing his voice, but instead of continuing, he looked back at Mom.

“This isn’t going too well,” I offered.

“No,” Mom agreed and then collapsed into the armchair.

Dad tried again. “The thing is, Ashla, you’ve got to finish high school one way or another . . .”

“Right,” I agreed. So far, we were on the same short page.

The room grew so quiet I could hear my grandfather’s old mantel clock ticking on the bookcase. Mom popped up out of the easy chair. “Alright, here it is, Ashla. You remember that your grandmother taught high school for years. In fact, she taught right up until five years ago—”

I flew off the couch. “NO!” My feet carried me in a circle around the room while I ranted. “I won’t do it! No way! Never!” Why hadn’t I seen this coming? I had completely forgotten about my grandmother’s long teaching career. Behind me, a scratchy voice admonished me.

“Beggars can’t be choosers.”

I turned on the old woman, my fists knotted, my teeth clenched. “Obviously, you weren’t an English teacher. All those tired, boring old clichés. How did you ever teach anyone, anything?”

“Ashla!” Mom gave me a dark look and then visually composed herself, apparently thinking better of reprimanding me for telling my grandmother what she needed to hear. Instead, Mom took a breath and started again. “Your grandmother was a fantastic teacher. They gave her an award when she retired…”

“Yeah, what was it, the
good riddance
award?”

My grandmother ghosted into the room and shook her fist at me. “Such impertinence. You’d be impossible to teach. Even if I could put up with you.”

I turned to Mom, my head shaking. “She’s right for once. We’d kill each other.”

“Darn rights,” the old woman agreed.

“Only a few hours everyday. Give it a try, at least,” Mom implored us. “I’ve gone ahead and ordered the course materials for the remainder of this year and for your senior year.”

“NO!”

The room crackled with our angry words. We three women stood there in a circle glaring at one another. We were three generations so similar in appearance, born feisty, super-energized, and fiercely stubborn. If there was going to be a winner out of this, it had better be me.

Dad broke our steamy silence. “We have no choice, Ashla. It’s all that’s left.”

“Never. Just get me the darned whatever you called them, course materials, and I’ll teach myself.”

My grandmother bristled. “Ungrateful brat.”

My mother actually lost her cool and tore into her mother. “That’s enough, Mom! I won’t have you calling Ashla names. If you want to remain in this house, you need to display respect for your granddaughter.”

My grandmother’s retort was subdued. “It should be a two way street.”

“You must be kidding!” I broke in. “How could anyone respect such a miserable, nasty, foul-mouthed, hateful—“

“Ashla!” Mom was going over the edge. Her face burned red and her eyes were feverish. I shut up. So did my grandmother. In fact, as I glared at the older woman, she seemed to shrink away. Her head drooped, her arms dropped to her side, and she started to turn around. For a fleeting moment, I almost regretted my words.