Flashover

SIX

The clock crept its way to early evening. Ivy tried to keep busy by doing everything from dusting all of her books to reorganizing the spice cupboard.

She was twitchy as a caffeinated cat. She had made no progress on anything, including her healing. Flexing her shoulder brought only a lancing pain that seemed as intense as it had right after the injury.

She was sick of her own company to the point where she actually accepted her mother’s invitation to dinner. Granted, it was more an order than an invitation, and since Ivy had no work excuse this time, she made her way on foot over to her mother’s house. It was still hot, but a cooling wind whispered through the hemlock trees as she strolled to her mother’s block, a strip of tiny, well-kept houses set among massive conifers that seemed to dwarf the whole neighborhood. Many times she’d urged her mother to cut down the branched monster that towered above her roofline with no result.

“At least cut it back, then.” She’d seen too many fires jump from canopy to canopy, fueled by hot conditions and Oregon’s unpredictable winds.

“Ivy, honey, that can’t be done. It’s Papa’s tree, remember? He used to love to sit and read in the shade or push you girls on the swing. Roddy made a fort up there. I’m not going to touch that tree, and neither is anyone else.” Then her mother would smile and politely ignore any further recommendations.

Ivy was so lost in her memories, she stumbled over an uneven spot in the pavement. Recovering her balance, she glanced into the heavily wooded acreage behind the road. Something caught her eye—a flash, a brief glint from the deepest clump of green.

It was almost like…Ivy shook her head to clear it. No way—it couldn’t be. Why would someone be out there with a pair of binoculars aimed in her direction? Still, the quick flash bothered her enough that she increased her pace until she was breathless when she arrived at her mother’s house.

Juana Beria met her daughter at the door, her round face wreathed in a smile, black hair pulled back in the ever-present knot on the back of her head. Ivy had seen her mother’s hair down only twice, once when she was deathly sick with the flu and the other the night of her sister’s accident. Even the morning Ivy’s dad passed away, her mother met her at the hospital with hair firmly secured.

Squeezed in her mother’s well-padded hug, Ivy inhaled the scent of garlic and roasted potatoes from the kitchen behind them. Conversation floated out from the sitting room.

“Who’s here, Mama?”

Her mother batted innocent eyelashes. “Just your brother and Mitch.”

Ivy heard a familiar deep laugh. “And?”

“And Tim. I haven’t seen him in ages. I’ve got to go check the pie.” She padded off, ever the matchmaker.

Ivy couldn’t help but smile. When would Mama understand that Tim was just a good friend? Antonio was more her type—charismatic, brash and, most of all, a firefighter. She reminded herself of the sting when she’d shared her feelings with Antonio about their future and he’d run, not walked, to get away from her ideas about commitment. After that kind of humiliation, she didn’t want to love anybody.

Still, the sight of Tim’s tousled hair and warm grin infused her with happiness.

He hugged her gently, his cheek leaving a warm impression on hers. “How’s the shoulder?”

“Rotten. The doctor says I can’t even start physical therapy until she gives me the thumbs-up. Who knows when that will be?”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” Roddy said from his spot by the window. “You’re stuck down here with the mere mortals until you rise again as überhero.”

“Funny, brother. I just want my shoulder to mend so I can beat you at basketball again.”

Mitch grinned as he reached for a chip loaded with salsa. “You did a pretty good job breaking it. Can’t expect it to mend overnight.”

Ivy was glad to see Mitch’s cheerful demeanor. It reminded her that she hadn’t fully interrogated Tim about her cousin’s strange behavior. “I know, I know, patience and all that. What’s the word on the investigation?”

Mitch chewed for a moment. “Why do you ask me? I’m just a flight nurse, not a hose jockey.”

She put a hand on her hip and continued to stare.

“You’d better tell her if you know anything,” Roddy said. “I’ve seen that look before.”

He sighed. “I haven’t heard anything other than the police are involved. Probably just about as much info as you’ve weaseled out of people.” He looked at his watch.

“Got plans?” she couldn’t help asking.

“Charlie and I are going fishing tomorrow if the weather holds. I told him I’d get some supplies before the store closes up.”

“Since when do you like fishing?”

He smiled. “Since I’ve matured and appreciate the value of quiet and relaxation.”

Ivy sat heavily on a worn recliner. Tim handed her a glass of ice water. They chatted until her mother called Mitch and Roddy into the kitchen.

Ivy got to her feet. “I’ll help, Mama.”

Juana waved her back. “No, no. You rest your shoulder, baby. Mitch and your brother can help.”

Mitch gave her a wink and snatched another chip before he left.

Ivy rose and prowled the room. She often felt restless at her mother’s house, afraid the old, familiar surroundings would bring back too many memories. Today she could not fend them off as she wandered along the braided rug, burned on an edge where her father dropped a Christmas candle. Even though she was only five at the time, Ivy remembered the mixture of terror and fascination she felt as the rug caught and a flame erupted before her father stamped it out.

Unwillingly, her eyes were drawn to the photo of Sadie, beautiful Sadie. Unlike Ivy, Sadie’s hair was a dark black curtain that fell in a smooth wave. She remembered helping her sister wrap giant pink rollers in her hair only to have her hair fall back into stubborn straightness the next morning. Tim joined Ivy, looking closely at the picture.

“Sadie was a beautiful girl. I wish I could have known her.”

Ivy nodded. “You would have liked her. She was fun-loving, a real spark plug.” And a strong Christian, like you are, she almost added.

“You miss her, don’t you?”

Without warning her eyes filled. “The accident happened just before we moved here, fifteen years ago. I still can’t believe that much time has passed. Everyone seems to have gotten over it but me. Roddy doesn’t even talk about Sadie.”

He put his arms around her. “People deal with things in their own way.”

She let her cheek rest on his strong shoulder, tears trickling onto his T-shirt.

“She was so young, only eighteen.”

“And you were barely twelve.” His voice was soft in her ear, soothing like a lullaby. “I can see how a terrible thing like that could change your life.”

The anguish she felt suddenly changed to anger. She jerked away from him. “It did change my life, and I know what you’re thinking.”

He looked puzzled. “What’s that?”

“You know. You want to say something about it being God’s will and all that.”

He blinked. “No, I wouldn’t presume to speak for God, Ivy. I just know He loves you and feels your heartbreak.”

“Well, I don’t want Him to love me. I won’t love Him back, do you hear? You can sing His praise until the cows come home, Tim, but I won’t love a God who tortures people like that.” She rubbed a hand over her wet eyes, shocked at her emotional outpouring.

Tim sighed. “I know you’re angry, Ivy, and hurt. I would give anything to help take some of your pain away, I really would.”

The look he gave her was so tender, so honest, that she felt a stab of regret for her outburst. She wanted suddenly to snuggle in his arms and return to the comfort she found there.

Her mother poked her head into the room. “Come to dinner.”

Grateful for the interruption, Ivy led them into the kitchen.

They squeezed in next to Mitch and Roddy at the table.

Ivy was happy to focus on the food and conversation after her unsettling connection with Tim. She could still feel his arms around her and part of her felt quivery inside. She tried to savor her mother’s golden-brown potatoes and succulent roast.

Tim passed around a bowl of peas. “How’s the writing coming, Mrs. Beria?”

“Just fine, thank you, Tim. I’m so pleased when kids e-mail to tell me they enjoy the stories or send in questions and things.”

Ivy swallowed hard. Her mother began writing a serial story called Penny Pocket for the local paper several years ago, modeling the little girl protagonist after Sadie. She’d explained it was therapeutic, God’s way of helping her help other children. Ivy had read only one installment, recognizing instantly her sister’s bubbly personality shining through the lines. Ivy faithfully clipped every one out of the paper, putting them unread into a box under her bed.

Roddy’s gaze was drawn to the window. “Are you expecting someone else, Mama?”

“No, honey. Why?”

“I thought I saw that car pass by a couple of times. I figured you’d invited someone and they’re looking for your house.”

Ivy’s instincts prickled. She walked to the window and peered out. A dark sedan was just disappearing around the corner. It was too far away to make out any details. Could it be the man who’d mysteriously appeared at the basketball game and the ice-cream parlor?

Tim exchanged a glance with her, and she knew he was wondering the same thing.

She was startled to find Mitch right behind her, staring out the window, his face painted with fear.

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