by Jamie Kain
ISABEL
I guess I never thought much about the advantages of having a sister who’s a gun nut. I mean, when I saw those guys get back in the van and pull away, I was so relieved I started crying like a freaking baby.
Then Nic came back into my room and told me we had to leave, and I was sure she’d lost her mind, until I saw the wall of black smoke above the hillside.
We gather what little we can in backpacks and run down the gravel driveway, the air heavy with smoke and ash, causing us to cough. My lungs and eyes burn. We’ve made it maybe halfway to the main road when we hear a fire truck’s siren getting closer and closer, and then a red pickup truck with some kind of fire department logo on the side is upon us and we’re being swept into it by strong hands.
As we bounce along in the truck on the main road, headed away from the fire, the last person I expect to see is our dad heading in the opposite direction—toward the house, in his truck. Nicole sees him at the same moment I do.
“That’s our dad!” she calls out. “You have to stop him!”
NICOLE
I watch through the truck window as my father is arrested for refusing to cooperate with the evacuation. His face, sunburned from wherever he has been, is also red from anger as he argues with the arresting officer who arrived on the scene soon after the fire truck we are riding in caught his attention and stopped him. He doesn’t even seem to realize we are in the backseats of the truck, and I have no real desire to come face-to-face with him right now.
Aside from the fact that he will be humiliated at us seeing him in handcuffs, I’m filled with rage over everything, but especially that he left us to contend with so many things alone. Not the least of which is the fire that might be destroying everything we own, any minute now.
I feel some heat and pressure on my hand, and I look down to see Izzy’s hand wrapped around mine. I don’t know how long it’s been like that, and I don’t pull away, because I can’t remember the last time she touched me voluntarily.
The police officer escorts my dad into the back of his car, then slams the door, and a moment later they are pulling away. It’s only at the moment they are passing us that my dad’s gaze finally meets mine through the police car window.
* * *
We find out the next day, after sleeping on a cot in an elementary school multipurpose room that had been set up as an evacuation center, that the fire didn’t destroy our house. Firefighters were able to hold it off near the river and contain it, but we still won’t be allowed to return to our property until the fire is fully under control. Our dad is released from jail after being held overnight, and he moves us to a motel room an hour away—the closest place he can find a room, he says, with so many people evacuated.
We don’t bother to act happy to see him.
He doesn’t bother to pretend he found Mom.
He is sunburned and silent, his shoulders slumped in a way I’ve never seen before.
“You’ve been watching the fire?” he asks me. I’m sitting at the foot of the bed I have to share with Izzy, staring at the TV news. Izzy is outside bonding with her cell phone, overjoyed to have a signal, finally.
“Yeah, well, listening on the radio for evacuation alerts.”
It strikes me as ridiculous then that the one natural disaster we can’t hunker down at home and stockpile for or protect ourselves against is fire. And that’s the only natural disaster that might affect us anytime soon, far as I can tell. I wonder if Dad has thought of that, too.
“I saw the fires on the news and came back to make sure you two were safe.”
“Where did you go?” I ask, not so much caring about his answer as needing to ask the question.
“I went down South. I didn’t find your mother.”
“She wrote us a letter that said she’s filing for divorce.”
He gave me a sharp look. “What?”
I shrug. “Is it true? About you having an affair with one of your junior officers?”
“No, and that’s none of your damn business.” He slams a hand onto the top of a nearby dresser and heads for the door.
I follow, because I know he’s lying. I don’t know how I know, but I do.
I just don’t believe in him anymore.
“I know Mom never wanted to have kids, too. Is that why you cheated on her? For revenge, because she didn’t want to keep churning out babies for you?”
Izzy opens the motel room door just then and hovers there in the light.
He turns on me, all six foot two inches of him, and his palm strikes my cheek before I even see it coming. The force of it knocks my head sideways. I stagger and then regain my footing, staring at him without flinching. I remember the opposite scene playing out between Mom and Dad, and I almost laugh that we have somehow become the family that slaps each other.
I dare him with my stinging eyes to do it again. Izzy looks nervously from me to him and back again.
My cheek is on fire, probably bright red with the imprint of his hand.
“She was right to leave you,” I say, even if I don’t totally believe it.
I just want to hurt him, or see if I can. I think he’s going to hit me again, but instead he turns and walks into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.
When I look over for Izzy, she’s not in the doorway anymore. She’s not anywhere to be seen.
LAUREL
Everyone is able to return to the village four days after the evacuation. The winds have shifted and the Oasis Ridge fire, the one closest to us, is considered totally contained. I try to imagine where I would go if the village burned down, but I can’t. I know for sure now that I don’t want to find my parents, and I don’t feel ready to be on my own.
When I see Annika struggling to carry a large box across the courtyard, I call after her and run to catch up.
“Need some help with that?” I ask.
“Could you just get the door to the general store for me?” she asks, and I hurry ahead to open it for her.
“Mailing someone a present?”
“Actually I’m mailing some of my things to Berlin,” she says as she eases past me into the store.
I want to ask why, but she is busy talking to the store clerk now, asking for a customs form. I wait while she fills it out and completes the mailing, and then I follow her back outside.
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” she says when we are alone again.
My stupid heart leaps a little. “Oh?”
“I’m thinking that maybe the fire coming so close was a sign, you know? It’s like my addiction. If I’m not careful, I’ll destroy everything.”
“But you are being careful, right? You’re sober.”
She slips one arm around my waist, pulling me along beside her as she walks. “I’m sober, barely. It’s just hard here, you know? So many temptations, old habits, old friends. I don’t know if I can keep it up, and I’ve been praying about what to do.”
The praying again.
“Okay?”
“I think the fire was God’s answer to my prayers. I think he’s telling me I should go, if I want to save myself.”
“Go where?”
“Anywhere, but I’ve always wanted to live in Berlin, so I will go there, I think.”
I don’t know what to say to this. I’m stunned. I can’t imagine Sadhana permanently without Annika. It’s like the sky being permanently without the sun. It would make no sense.
“But—”
“I wanted to tell you first,” she says, “Because I am afraid of how Wolf will take the news. He’s going to need the support of his friends.”
“Yeah,” I say, not really listening, because I’m thinking, But what about me?
“Have you thought of taking him with you?” I ask, when really what I wanted to say was that I want to go with her.
“I’m going to offer that, yes,” she says. “I just don’t think he will like that idea.”
“He might,” I say halfheartedly.
“I’ve talke
d to Helene about all of this, and I know she thinks I ought to stay here at least until Wolf graduates, but I just don’t know if I can.”
“Helene knows what she’s talking about,” I say. “Maybe you should listen to her.”
She stops walking and turns to give me a hug. “You’re very dear to me, you know. Like a daughter.”
I melt into the hug, tears burning my eyes. I want to say so many things. I want to cling to her and tell her she is the world to me, but instead I just close my eyes and inhale her scent, which is a mix of lavender and beeswax soap.
“I’ll go with you if he doesn’t,” I finally say.
“But what about your plans?” she says. “I want you to make some, you know.”
And I listen as she offers me real, momlike advice.
I go back to my room, relieved that no roommates are there, and lie on my bed, too shocked to cry, too sad to move. I think about Annika leaving, and her advice, and I feel a strange sense that I will do exactly what she’s told me to do. I don’t know how long I’ve been lying there when I hear a knock at the door, and I open it to find Isabel.
She wants to know if I can give her a ride into town. I don’t ask why. I have already decided I am going there to register for classes at the junior college in the fall, and I hate the thought of going alone for this particularly depressing task. I keep thinking some better chance will come along, but for now I will do what Annika has told me to do. Sign up for college, plan for the future, be practical. It’s the last advice I expected to get from her.
Izzy is carrying a duffel bag as she follows me out to my car and climbs into the passenger seat.
“What’s up with the bag?” I ask.
“Oh, nothing. Just some stuff.”
I know this isn’t anywhere near the truth, but I let it go and drive through the Sadhana entrance and on to the main road. She straightens her hair in the visor mirror.
“Where am I dropping you off?” I ask when she says nothing.
“Just in town, wherever.”
“Are you, like, running away or something?”
I glance over and catch a guilty look cross her face.
“You don’t know what it’s like at my house. My dad is insane. I can’t stay there.”
“So you’re headed where?”
“To L.A. I know I can get a modeling job or something. I’ve got money saved up.”
“That’s the stupidest plan I’ve ever heard,” I say as I pull the car over to the side of the road.
I don’t know why I even care about what this dumb girl does or doesn’t do. Maybe she reminds me of myself a little.
When I start making a U-turn to go back the other way she screeches, “What are you doing?”
“I’m taking you to Sadhana, so just chill out.”
“I don’t want to go there, okay? Just let me back out and I’ll get another ride.”
“You’re going to hitch a ride all the way to L.A.?”
“No, just to the Greyhound bus station.”
“I want you to talk to someone before you do anything.”
“Not Kiva. I don’t want to see him.”
“Of course not Kiva.”
“You’re not going to talk me out of this, you know.” Her arms crossed over her chest, she’s glaring out the front window.
“No, I’m not. But you need some good advice, and I don’t have any to give.”
Five minutes later I’m walking her to Helene’s cabin, located on the quietest end of the village. She’s the only person I know who can talk sense into a dumb teenager, even if she has never been able to talk any sense into me. She’s gained a new respect from me for trying to convince Annika to stay here. I knock on Helene’s door, and when she answers I explain the situation. Izzy looks at me like she wants to kill me.
But one benevolent smile from Helene, and a few kind words, and I know she’ll chill out.
“I’ve got to go,” I say, and I leave Izzy there, in more responsible hands than mine.
Now that I’ve done my good deed, my first responsible adult act, I wonder what’s next. College? A job? A pension plan? Two-point-five kids and a husband?
Maybe not, but I am starting to not feel so hopeless about the idea of taking one little step forward and seeing what happens.
I am not the girl the world sees. I’m not what everyone thinks I am.
I don’t even know who I am anymore, but maybe I’m ready to find out.
As I head back toward the car I watch Annika stride down the gravel path, away from me, her skirt flowing around her calves, the late afternoon sun glistening on her hair, and I feel an ache in my chest that I know now will never quite go away. Or maybe it will someday when I’m not paying attention.
Then I get in my car and drive off to register for classes.
Sixteen
ISABEL
With Mom gone and Dad acting like the end of the world finally arrived and he was totally unprepared, Nicole and I were able to convince him of one thing. He is letting us go to the high school in town. That might not sound like much of a victory, but try being in our house 24/7 and see if you wouldn’t like to hop on a yellow school bus and head off to a typical American school.
Really he agreed to this only because he had no interest in homeschooling us himself. That kind of thing is women’s work, according to Dad.
Whatever.
I am a freshman walking through the crowded, noisy halls, feeling like I’m a star in my own high school movie. It’s just like I pictured it would be, way better than middle school. I scan the numbers on the doors, trying to find my first-period class, and when I do, there is a cute guy sitting in the first row. He looks up at me and I look away.
I have promised myself no more guys, not anytime soon. I don’t know what to do with all the feelings about what happened with Kiva, but I know I need time, and I know I need to not be so stupid again. I think of that woman Helene, who I’ve gone back and talked to a couple of times now. She’s offered to be my therapist or whatever for free, and I like talking to her.
Nicole was less interested than I was in attending the high school, but she didn’t put up a fight. She rode the bus in silence with me this morning, probably as relieved as I was to be getting away from Dad.
In the time he’s been back he’s been working like a lunatic to fix all the things that are wrong with the house. It’s a long list, so it’s hard to tell he’s done much.
He doesn’t talk about Mom, but we got another letter from her a few days ago, explaining that she’s enrolled in graduate school at UC Davis, only a few hours away. She said she’s volunteering at the MIND Institute and hoping to get hired there sometime. She’s learning something called applied behavior analysis, and she actually sounded pretty happy and excited about the whole thing, working with screwed-up kids and all. I don’t get the appeal, but whatever. I guess it’s cool that she’s happy, and she said she’ll be able to visit us soon and have us down for weekends whenever she can afford to get a place of her own.
Dad also doesn’t seem to notice that Nicole has stopped obeying his every order. Since the day he hit her, she hasn’t really spoken to him much at all, except for the bare minimum.
I like her a lot better this way, the new, defiant Nicole. She’s the kind of person I don’t mind being sisters with, especially since she blew a hole in the wall just to scare off Kiva and those other guys for me. She’s the kind of sister I could maybe even be a little bit proud of, if she ever put on cuter clothes.
WOLF
Annika finds me in the chicken run, communing with the hens, who search for bugs and pluck at the rare green sprout emerging from the earth. They have lost interest in me now that they’ve gone through the bits of sandwich left over from my lunch, and I can watch them in their silly gracelessness. She is driving past when she sees me sitting there amid a trio of Barred Rocks, beautiful birds with black and white fringed feathers. Her car edges to the side of the dirt road, and my stomach sinks when
she kills the engine.
She comes striding toward me with purpose, a white skirt flowing around her legs, her hair pulled back in a bun. Thanks to a pair of sunglasses, I have no sense of whether this visit will be a hassle.
“Wolfie,” she calls. “I’ve been hoping to find you, and here you are among the chickens.”
To this I say nothing, just watch as she opens the gate and lifts the hem of her skirt to cross the yard. A few moments later she sits down next to me on the grass and sighs.
“It seems like you’ve been hiding from me,” she says.
“Not really.”
“School starts back tomorrow, yes?”
I shrug. My transition year, which is what senior year is called at the World Peace School. Transition to adulthood, for whatever it’s worth. I can’t imagine how it matters now, after this summer of strangeness.
“Aren’t you going?”
“I don’t know.”
“Maybe it would be good to have a change of scenery. I’ve been thinking of going back to Germany. Would you care to join me?”
This surprises me so much I don’t know what to say. Annika has never expressed any real desire to return to her home country. She’s about as American as any German can get, far as I can tell.
I wonder about the boyfriend, whether he will be going, but I don’t dare ask.
“Why?” I finally croak, my throat oddly constricted.
“Why am I thinking of going or why am I asking you to come?”
“Both.”
“I met someone while I was in rehab. He’s invited me to come live in his flat in Berlin.”
“You met someone who isn’t Mark, in rehab?”
“Mark and I aren’t working out so well. He understands.”
“So you’re asking me if I want to come live with you and some guy I don’t know in Berlin.”
“You could visit and decide for yourself if you want to stay or come back here.”
“No,” I say, without giving it another thought.
Another deep sigh. For a while she says nothing, and the boldest of the flock of chickens, Lulu, comes close and pecks at my foot.
“The thing is, this is not an easy place for me to stay sober. I think Berlin will be better, with my friend who’s also sober.”