Feeding the Fire

by Amy Waeschle

  After leaving, Jessie knew one thing: never again.

  “I went to your house today,” she said.

  “That was a stupid thing to do,” Stef said.

  “I . . . ” She huffed in frustration. “I just wanted to know where you were.”

  Stef’s nostrils flared. “He didn’t see you, did he?”

  “No.” Jessie remembered the white boxes and the cardboard box filled with Ziploc bags. It had to be drugs. “Has he . . . always been like that?” she asked, unable to imagine Zach ever doing anything to hurt her like that. What would I do?

  Stef shuffled his feet. “It’s worse since he got hurt and the Navy kicked him out,” he said quietly.

  “Why would they kick him out?” Jessie asked.

  “Got no use for him no more.”

  Jessie frowned. Why couldn’t his dad find some other job?

  A long silence passed. “I need a place to crash for a few days,” he said finally, and in his eyes, she saw his fear.

  “You can stay here,” she blurted. If he didn’t, Jessie felt certain that she would never see him again. “Zach has some camping gear,” she said, picturing Zach’s camping box with a sleeping bag, foam pad, and his emergency jar of peanut butter. There was no water at the house, but the garage probably had a six pack of soda—warm, but at least he wouldn’t die of thirst.

  “Won’t he notice it’s missing?” Stef said, his face edged with suspicion.

  “No. I know he’s not going to use it anytime soon because he’s in turbo mode getting the house closed up,” she replied. “And tomorrow night is Wax and he promised to come.” Her stomach did a swift flip of nervousness. If Zach found out about the fire, would he still come?

  “Will you be here during the day?” she asked, wondering if he planned to hide while Zach worked on the house.

  He sighed. “No. I gotta visit my mom.”

  Jessie wondered where her mom was—still busting down doors in Ballard? Stealing some else’s medicine? If only Jessie knew how to get her to stop.

  “Is she . . . okay?”

  Stef shrugged. “I found her a shelter but she won’t go unless I get her things.”

  Jessie plucked a shell from the pile on the floor but it was empty. The word shelter set off a chain reaction in her brain in which several disturbing thoughts came together at once. She gripped her knees.

  “Can I help?” she asked. If his mom could get free, then Stef would be free, too.

  Stef raised an eyebrow and seemed to look at her for so long that she thought she might faint from holding her breath. “Thursday midnight, meet me at that church. Bring a flashlight, and an empty backpack.”

  Chapter 28

  Jessie

  The sun had long since set by the time Jessie coasted to a stop at the end of her driveway. Both her mom’s and Zach cars weren’t there. She dropped her helmet and skateboard on the porch and dug out her house key.

  Once inside, she stood in the stillness. “Hello?” she called.

  But only the hum of the refrigerator replied.

  A small glow from above the stove lit the kitchen. The stove clock said 6:13. Her stomach rumbled.

  She grabbed a bag of chips and slumped onto the couch with the remote.

  They’ve found Evan, she thought. And he’s dead.

  She turned on the TV and surfed the channels. She plucked a potato chip from the bag and popped it into her mouth.

  Shouldn’t someone be here to tell her?

  She went to Netflix and selected Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

  She thought of Stef, sleeping in the treehouse. What did they need to do to get his mom’s things? She shuddered at the thought of going into his house—what if his dad was there?

  The potato chips started tasting thick in her mouth so she put them aside.

  The low rumble of an engine approaching pulled her off the couch. She heard car doors slamming and voices, feet on the porch steps.

  “Jessie?” her mom’s voice rang out.

  Jessie shrank into the couch.

  Her mom came through the kitchen, followed closely by Zach. Her mom’s face looked flushed. Her eyes kept jumping around.

  Zach picked up the remote and turned off the TV. His face gave nothing away.

  “We found Evan,” her mom said, sliding onto the coffee table facing her.

  Jessie braced herself for what came next.

  “He’s safe,” Zach added, his hands moving to his hips.

  Jessie looked from Zach’s expressionless face to her mom’s, which was hard to read—excited? Nervous?

  “He’s been in Alaska for the last month, working on a crab boat.”

  Jessie frowned.

  “Sorry we weren’t here when you got home,” Zach said, running a hand through his thick hair. “Finding what boat he was on took longer than we thought. Did you get my message?”

  Jessie blinked. “What message?”

  Zach frowned. “On the answering machine.”

  Jessie hadn’t even thought to check it. “No.”

  “The librarian was so helpful. I didn’t even realize that she had kept working after they closed,” her mom interrupted, flashing Zach a look of triumph. “Though, we haven’t found the boat’s exact location yet, but at least we know that Evan is on board.”

  “It’s okay,” Jessie said, the words coming out quieter than she intended.

  “Do you need something to eat?” Zach asked.

  Jessie looked at the chips. “Um,” she said. And because they both seemed so eager to do something for her, she nodded. “I guess.”

  Zach was already moving to the kitchen. “How about a quesadilla?”

  Even though her stomach felt too tight for food, she agreed.

  Her mom squeezed her hand. “Everything’s going to be okay,” she said, her eyes filling with tears.

  “I’m . . . glad,” Jessie managed. “Is he coming home?” she asked.

  Her mom’s smile tightened. “I’m not sure, honey,” she said. “But the important thing is that he’s safe.”

  Jessie looked to Zach for confirmation, but he was too far away to hear. She watched him shred a block of cheese, his strong arms making the motions mechanical and swift.

  Later, in her room, Jessie tried to focus on the giant load of homework she’d accrued that day: a confusing set of problems in math, reading and questions for science, and an essay for Health about the egg baby project.

  One time over winter break she and Cam had binge-watched a whole season of Deadliest Catch. Jessie remembered the giant ships getting tossed like toys in huge seas while the men onboard worked around the clock in freezing temperatures and under huge amounts of stress. Men fell overboard, lost fingers in the gear, got frostbite.

  The important thing is that he’s safe, her mom had said. Safe from what? Jessie wondered.

  The next day, Zach offered to drive her to school so that she wouldn’t have to carry her Wax props. They could surprise Cam with a ride.

  “So, is it over?” she asked.

  Zach shot her a curious look. “Is what over?”

  “The Search,” she said.

  Zach took a moment to answer. “I hope so,” he said quietly.

  Jessie looked out the window, watching the houses with frosted roofs pass in a blur. “She won’t go to jail, will she?” she asked.

  “What?” he asked.

  “For the pills,” Jessie said. “She stole them, right?”

  Zach’s shoulders slumped. “No, honey, she won’t go to jail,” he said.

  Jessie played with the mini-stuffed-frog keychain—a prize from Poulsbo’s annual summer street fair—clipping and unclipping it from the zipper of her backpack.

  “What’s going on at the house today?” she asked as they turned up Hostmark. She had lain awake thinking about Stef. Did he have enough food?

  “Priming the siding,” he replied. “Too bad you have to go to school. I could use your help,” he said, and gave her a grin.

&
nbsp; Jessie tried to put on a smile, but the butterflies in her stomach seemed to have stolen it.

  “Do you still want to paint the treehouse?” he asked, fiddling with the heater. “We could do it this weekend.”

  “Uh,” Jessie said as her heart thudded against her chest. “No, I kind of like it natural,” she added quickly.

  Zach gave her a look, but it passed. “Okay. But we’ll still need to stain it before winter. You game?”

  “Sure,” she managed.

  At Cam’s street, Zach turned and idled at the curb. “I haven’t seen much of Cam lately,” he said.

  Jessie kept watch out the window. “He got grounded from skating,” she replied, feeling a stab of guilt tear into her stomach.

  Cam seemed surprised to see Zach’s truck, but he hurried over. Jessie climbed into the jump seat and Cam slid into the passenger side.

  She listened to Zach and Cam’s chatter, alarmed by the way Cam’s eyes avoided hers.

  At the drop off, Cam jumped out and headed into school while Jessie scrambled after him. “Thanks!” she called out to Zach before slamming his door and chasing after Cam.

  She caught up to him at their locker. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  He was busy slamming books onto his shelf.

  “Cam!” she said.

  He turned to face her, his eyes accusing. “We lost fifty more points, that’s what!”

  “Huh?”

  Cam groaned. “Boudreaux knows we used a new egg.”

  Jessie tried to protest but Cam wasn’t done.

  “Didn’t you get a phone call last night?”

  “No,” Jessie replied. “We . . . were busy.”

  Cam tossed his bangs from his forehead. “Of course you were,” he sneered. “Well, I’m sure going to be busy staring at the walls of my room.” He glared at her. “I got grounded for a month, Jess.”

  “I’m sorry,” she stammered.

  “Where’s the real egg, huh? Did you lose it?”

  “It broke.”

  “You dropped it?” he said, his eyes wide.

  “No, it . . . I . . . ” she tried to explain, but it was like the words were stuffed so far down that they got lost on the way to her mouth.

  He shoved the last book onto his shelf. “What if Mrs. Hoffenrichter asks me about you?” he asked.

  Jessie blinked, trying to follow this sudden shift. “Why would she ask you . . . ?” Then she realized that Mrs. Hoffenrichter’s work might not be finished.

  Cam must have seen the look in her eyes. “See? I told you to quit,” he added, his voice a harsh whisper. “And now look at the mess you’re in. I know it wasn’t those girls,” he said. “If I get in trouble—”

  “You won’t,” Jessie replied.

  “My mom is going to ground me until I’m twenty.”

  “That won’t happen. If you get called in, just tell Hoffenrichter you don’t know anything. It’s the truth,” she said, desperate for a way that she could take it all back.

  “It won’t matter what I say, if I get called in, I’ll be guilty no matter what.”

  Jessie sighed but a sob came with it, making her shudder.

  “I warned you. But obviously you’re too busy ruining people’s lives to listen.”

  Jessie opened her mouth to protest but her words died in her throat. She watched Cam step away and blend into the crowd.

  Wiping back her tears, she raced to Miss Klein’s room. At the end of the eighth-grade hall, kids buzzed like bees around a hive. Miss Klein’s ransacked room looked like the backstage of play, with costumes and grocery bags with props and posters poking out of them piled in every corner plus covering most of the desks.

  Jessie tucked her Wax poster and props under her table then spun to go but slammed into something. Grady Baker.

  He reached around and grabbed her butt, pulling her closer. As she struggled to push back from him, she felt something hard grind into the place between her legs. His breath was hot in her face.

  “Ooh, baby,” he said through his teeth.

  “Let go!” she said, and squirmed free.

  He shot her a snide grin.

  Running across the street and through the doors of the high school, she swallowed the rest of her tears.

  Before she tucked into Darnell’s class, out of the corner of her eye she noticed yellow tape barring entry to the girl’s bathroom.

  The minutes of Darnell’s class ticked by. Jessie listened to the lecture and copied down the assignment, but as soon as the class went silent for work time, she stared out the window. Cam was right, she had made such a mess of things.

  But she knew what she had to do to make up for it.

  Chapter 29

  Zach

  Zach returned to his truck after a supply trip to Home Depot and noticed a missed call from Fire Marshall Stu Green. He tried calling him back but it went to voicemail. Just then Brody called inviting him on a mountain bike ride. Zach declined—the forecast for the coming week predicted rain and he wanted the exterior finished before then.

  Late into the afternoon, Zach rounded the corner to start on the north side of the house, primer and brush in hand, to a view of the treehouse. After dipping his brush and scraping it against the edge, he thought back to that morning when Jessie had seemed to change her mind about the paint. Buying sealant instead was no big deal. But Jessie almost never changed her mind—once she decided on something, she latched on to it like a Pitt Bull.

  He was about to coat another section but paused, looked at the treehouse again.

  An odd feeling swam into his gut. Had he missed something? The image of Jessie and Stef lurking at the bottom of the treehouse after he’d searched for them reappeared in his mind. They had been up there together that day. Definitely not picking apples.

  The ladder rungs felt rough in his hands as he climbed to the trapdoor. Opening it, he spotted his bedroll and a jar of peanut butter in the northeast corner.

  He stared uncomprehendingly. “What the hell?” he said out loud, climbing the rest of the way into the space.

  His first thought was that some vagrant had snuck up here and was enjoying a penthouse suite with a view of Hood Canal and the surrounding forest. Then, reality set in.

  A vagrant wouldn’t be using Zach’s bedroll, which was stored in the locked garage.

  “Oh, Jesus,” he said, as unpleasant images of Jessie and Stef together came in crystal clear.

  He shook his head to stop them. No, that can’t be it.

  His gear hadn’t been up here the day he’d found them—Monday. So they had been here . . . when? He thought through the previous several days, trying to pin Jessie’s location. He realized that he didn’t really know where Jessie had been outside of school hours.

  But why would they come all the way out here? Why wouldn’t Jessie invite him over to her house after school? The idea of the two of them on Dana’s couch doing what he thought they might be doing made him shudder.

  They would have had hours alone.

  Hours.

  He ran a hand through his hair while his thoughts turned in circles. He tried to ignore the images exploding in his head like landmines.

  Forcing his thoughts away from the idea of two teenagers on Dana’s couch, he reasoned that Jessie coming to the treehouse didn’t make sense. The timeframe didn’t make sense.

  So who had used his gear? He checked his bedroll, but it held no clues except the jar of peanut butter and an empty can of soda.

  Zach realized the answer, and the sudden feeling of despair was so powerful that he had to brace himself against the wall of the treehouse for support.

  Stef.

  Stef who lived in that broken-down house, with a man who hurt him.

  Stef who had nowhere else to go.

  And just like that, an uncomfortable memory surfaced. His twelve-year-old self and Travis walking home from school, each step getting heavier and heavier. Wishing they had somewhere to go. Someplace safe.

  S
tef needed a place to crash, and Jessie had likely helped him. She knew how to get into the locked garage, where his camping box was stored.

  Zach climbed down the ladder and slumped onto a nearby porch beam, knowing what he should do: call Mike Brewer.

  Though for all the good intentions of law enforcement, he knew firsthand where that road would lead. That kid, Garrett, was stuck in just such a cycle. You sound like that cop, he’d said. A kid like that needed a different kind of help, beyond detox and rehab. He probably needed it a long time ago, Zach thought, feeling sick.

  Evan had tried to be that help for him, but Garrett had turned him away.

  Zach had tried to be that help for Travis, but he hadn’t wanted it.

  Zach grimaced at the sense of regret pooling in the bottom of his gut. Jessie was brave to help Stef. Zach realized that she shouldn’t have to do it alone.

  Chapter 30

  Jessie

  Jessie grabbed her things from Miss Klein’s room and hurried to the gym to get dressed. Inside the girl’s locker room, the space in front of the sinks and mirrors was packed with girls and several moms who were helping with hair and makeup. Jessie took her bag of costume and props to her locker, making sure no one was watching before taking off her coat, then carefully slipped into her Joan of Arc tunic. She changed her skate shoes for Evan’s black leather moto-style boots that he had given her when we went to Timberline and slipped her homemade sword into its sheath at the side of the tunic. After stuffing her clothes into her locker, she shuffled—the boots were still too big—to the mirror to fix her hair.

  The mirror was still crowded with girls, some with their moms, and Mrs. Ricky, one of the other Block teachers, was there helping a girl repair her ripped costume. Jessie waited for a turn to get close to the mirror, listening to the moms fuss over their daughters, and chatter to each other, making jokes, their faces flushed and eyes bright. Finally, Jessie managed to slip in front of one of the mirrors and pulled out her ponytail so she could comb the tangles from her hair. Most pictures of Joan of Arc showed her wearing a weird halo-like hat and a short haircut, but in a few, it hung straight. Miss Klein and Jessie had decided that her hair down would look more authentic, so she parted it and let it fall loose. Then she straightened the gaudy fake-gold cross pendant hanging from her neck, a $1.99 score from Goodwill, and turned to go.