JULY
“Why aren’t you packed yet? I want your suitcases at the bottom of the stairs in ten minutes!” My mother’s voice carries beyond the closed back door. In the kitchen, she is trying to fill a medium-sized blue cooler with drinks and ice. I put my keys in my shorts’ pocket. “Sarah, good. You can go find the red cooler in the basement.”
“Dad’s using it for one of his experiments. You got your hair cut off.”
“It’s too hot for long hair. I don’t know how you stand it, even wearing it up.”
“What’re you doing with the orange cooler?” I ask.
“We’re packing that with meat and frozen stuff in the morning. How was dinner with Marcos and Lilly?” Lilly’s my best friend, and Marcos - named after Imelda Marcos - lives down the street. Lilly and I have been in school together since second grade. Marcos joined us in sixth grade.
“It was good. Marcos even got the car tonight.”
“Oh. Hm. I didn’t realize he had his senior license.”
“He is 17, mom.”
“Still. Isn’t Lilly a better driver?”
“She and her dad are down to one car, so we’re depending on Marcos.”
“Is Sarah home?” Dad’s voice comes from upstairs.
“I’m not using the green suitcase, dad.”
“Great, but that’s not what I need.”
“I’ll take the green suitcase, honey,” Mom says. “I can put Ben’s stuff in it.” There’s too much ice to close the cooler. She bangs on the lid a couple times then opens it. “Any suggestions?” she asks me.
“We could wait ‘til morning to worry about it. The water’ll take up less space by then.”
“Speaking of less space, did you download your Spanish CDs to your phone?” Mom looks in the almost empty fridge. “And, oh, what about Chemistry? You got that DVD from James, didn’t you?” She takes out the bread we’re having for breakfast and puts it on the counter.
“I got the DVD, but I refuse to do homework on vacation, mom.”
“It’s not really homework, Sarah, and you know Chemistry is more intense than Biology,”
“And you know I got an A in in General Chem, so please, Mom. Not now.”
“Okay, okay. I guess it’s true, you do deserve a break from studying. Have you finished packing?”
“Pretty much.”
“Just bring your stuff down when you’re ready, okay?”
“Sure, mom.”
Upstairs, the three men of the house are in a controlled chaos.
“Sarah, are you bringing your computer?” Dad asks. He has some clothes in one hand and his phone in the other. A muffled bass line seeps from EJ’s room into the hall.
“Yes. You can use it to check your email,” I tell my dad.
“Thank you. Now I can leave my phone at home. EJ! Turn it down!” I seriously doubt EJ can hear anyone over his death metal and hip hop.
“Mom, I can’t find my swimming shorts.” Ben is wearing his green swim mask, snorkel, and flippers, and the striped shorts he inherited from EJ are about to fall down around his ankles.
“Put those in my room, Ben, and I already have your orange shorts in my suitcase.” Ben holds onto his shorts and hops into my parents’ room. I escape to my room at the other end of the hall.
“They need to chill out,” Aldo, the first voice, says.
“As if you knew the first thing about chilling out,” Elsie, the second voice, laughs.
“If you’ll excuse me, I need to focus on packing,” I tell them. They are my oldest friends, as they’ve lived in my head for as long as I can remember. Nobody else hears them, but they’re there nonetheless. Lilly thinks I should’ve outgrown my imaginary friends by now, but I don’t mind them hanging around.
“You’re already finished,” Aldo tells me. “What else do you really need?”
“I need my toothbrush, my shower towel, and my sandals.”
“You already have three pairs of shoes, and sandals don’t do anything at the beach anyway,” Aldo continues.
“She needs sandals to keep her feet from getting cut on the shells and junk on the road,” Elsie explains. The sandals aren’t in the closet or under the bed.
“Nobody needs four pairs of shoes for three weeks.”
“Stop being such a boy, Aldo,” I tell him. “Where are these things anyway?” Not by the laundry basket.
“Check the bottom of your red suitcase.” There they are, already packed. Throw in my towel, and I’ll get my toothbrush when I’m finished with it in the morning. A pair of green and a pair of blue shorts go in the outside pocket of my red bag.
“Are those really necessary?” Aldo whines.
“Yes,” I tell him. “The more clothes I have with me, the less I have to argue over doing laundry.” My books, pencils, and tablet go in my backpack, as do the chargers for my tablet and my phone. Ear buds go with my phone on the night stand, and both bags zipper closed without any great effort. I bring my suitcase downstairs while everyone else still wrestles with their stuff. Now I can change into my pajamas, let my hair down, and chill out until tomorrow.
-----*-----*-----*-----
The whole family gathers for summer vacation at my Uncle James’s house. Their compound has two guest houses, a five bedroom main house, and a quarter mile of private beach on the Atlantic Ocean. Technically, it’s only their beach for the first fifty feet of sand, but hardly anyone comes down this way, even in the summer.
This time, I get to sleep in the downstairs bedroom in the main house. The main house used to be reserved for adults with young children, but last summer, getting a bed became first-come first-served. Anyone who doesn’t fit or want to share a bed inside gets to camp out on the front lawn. There’s a double bed and a set of single bunk beds in my room. I pick the top bunk. There’s a shelf at the head of the bed where I can keep my books and stuff. It’s also less likely that I’ll have to share with someone – it’s too dangerous without a safety rail. So far, there’s only four other people sharing this room – three boys on the double bed, another girl on the bunk below me. Right now, there’s only two of us in here. Something’s burning. Wood maybe, or paper.
“What’re you drawing?” my cousin asks, looking up from reading his book.
“Just some driftwood,” I answer. “Is someone cooking?”
“Are you nuts?” he laughs. “It’s only four o’clock.”
“I would’ve thought someone’d be firing up the grills, though.”
“I think there’s still some chips or something in the kitchen if you’re hungry.” He closes his book and stands up.
“Yeah, okay. You getting some?”
“No, I’m getting an ice pop from outside. You want one?”
“Sure,” I tell him. “Green if they have it.”
“If there’s no green?”
“Anything but white.” The smoky smell wafts away. Maybe it wasn’t anything after all.
-----*-----*-----*-----
The dinner bell rings loudly. “Come and get it!” Finally! The mad dash to the patio begins. Feed the old and the very young first. Everyone else has to fend for themselves. Somehow, Ben jumps the line in front of me.
I poke Ben’s shoulder. “Excuse me, little person.”
“Exactly, I’m a little person who needs to eat before everything disappears.”
“No, you need to go to the back of the line,” I tell him.
“C’mon, Sarah. I’m dying here. I’ll even let you cut me in line all day tomorrow.”
“Yeah, right. Just hurry up. I’m starving here, too.” I smell wood burning again. Not actually wood, but something. I turn to the left and see it - pockets of grass between the patio and the sea wall burning. It’s strange that nobody else seems to be worried about the fires.
“Do you want potatoes, Sarah?” Uncle Joe has a big spoon in each hand.
“What?” Baked potatoes, grilled potatoes, potato salad. “Sure. I’ll take the barbecued ones.” Two big spoonfuls go on my empty plate. “What kind of salad?”
“Oh. Fruit salad is good.” Two spoonfuls of that go next to the potatoes.
“You’d better hurry if you want any chicken.” We’re not likely to run out - Uncle Joe and Uncle George shop as if nobody’s ever eaten before. “We still have ribs left.” The flames on the grass have mellowed into a smoldering, smoky mass. Still, nobody else is concerned about anything except getting fed.
“You’d better do something,” Aldo says. “If the grass goes, so does the house.”
“Nothing’s going up in flames,” I tell him.
“Are you kidding? The nearest fire hydrant is a hundred yards down the road. And you know how long it takes the fire truck to get through town in the summer.”
“Nothing is burning down,” I say to him.
“Hey, something’s on fire, you guys!” Finally someone notices the grass. No, it’s the grill with the chicken that’s flaming out of control. “Somebody! Watch the meat!” Cousin Will grabs some tin foil and smothers the barbecue. I guess I’ll be having the ribs after all. The grass looks okay now - no smoldering, no smoke, not even much discoloration. Can’t say the same for the chicken. It looks as if the dogs will eat well tonight.
-----*-----*-----*-----
“UNO!” nine-year old Little David yells. Even standing at a corner of the table, he’s still shorter than everyone else sitting down.
“Bull hockey! You just had four cards in your hand.”
“And after I put this one down, I have only one left.” Little David waves his last remaining card in our faces.
“Don’t anybody play a blue or an eight.”
“That’s not fair! You cheated!” Little David howls. He throws his card onto the pile and stomps off to the kitchen.
“Want to finish the game?”
“I’m going to find something to eat,” I say as I put my cards on the pile. My shorts and t-shirt are almost dry from going over my bathing suit earlier tonight.
“We should make s’mores.”
“Is the bonfire still going?”
“Sure. Dave and Will are still up, so it should still be hot.”
I get the supplies for our feeding. As if putting the chocolate behind some paper towels and squishing the marshmallows into the bottom drawer of the fridge would stop us from having a 2 am snack. Little David, still sulking at the kitchen table, perks up when he sees the marshmallows.
“Can I have some?” he asks. “Are you taking these outside?”
“Here.” He takes two fistfuls from the bag. “Do you want a s’more?” I ask.
“No, I’m going to play my game then go to bed.” He takes his marshmallows to his room in a guest house. I pity the person sharing a bed with him.
When I get outside, someone has found a million skewers for us. Dave and Will are still discussing politics. Two kids don’t bother toasting the marshmallows, and two others set the white blobs aflame before assembling the snack. Mine turn brown before I take them away from the fire.
“It helps when your daddy has enough money to buy Florida.”
“It helps when your brother is the governor.” I stop listening because there’s nothing I can do to stop these people from rehashing old news from a thousand miles away. When all else fails, fall back on politics. Gas on the fire with some very opinionated people. The flames lick at the edges of the pit, rocks already blackened by previous bonfires. Outside the reach of the firelight, there is nothing. No house, no people, no world, not a thing except the stars.
The fire begins at the end of the walk this time. A small flame in the grass between the stones, burning unchecked. I should really get the hose. There’s no way to get to the guest houses; the flames are too widespread now. Burning a crooked path to the garage then the office and the living room before any alarm sounds. I have to go inside and warn the others. Thick smoke chokes everything - the sound of the alarm, the breathing of everyone in the house. The dining room goes up next, then the kitchen. Snap, crackle, pop of the containers bursting open, oil and electricity feeding the flames. The smell of plastic melting as the bathrooms go. The window’s the only escape. If I can find it. If I can get it open. A short drop outside, and I can feel fresh air on my back. The flames keep coming, the black smoke flowing freely out the open window. I need to run. I need to get to the neighbor’s house, tell them to call for help. The grass is moist, but the flames still come. If I could just get to the trees. If I could just get to the next house.
“Are you staying out here?” Embers glow faintly among the ashes in the fire pit. Will and I are the only ones left out here, and he has a large bucket of water in his hands. A lantern shines on the patio. The houses are all okay. No hint of fire except where we are. I don’t understand what’s going on. “If you’re staying, I won’t put the fire out.”
“No, I’m going to sleep,” I tell him. The hiss of water on the logs is like the sound of bacon frying in the pan every morning. My stomach rumbles. I think I’ll see if there’s any pie left. The s’mores only made me hungrier.
“That was close,” Aldo whispers.
“Tell me about it.”
“Where’d that fire come from?” he asks.
“You’re asking me?”
“I didn’t do it.”
“Really.”
“It’s not me, Sarah,” Aldo says. “I’d tell you if I lit a fire.”
“Just as you’d tell me what to eat for breakfast.”
“Just as you ought to have ice cream with the blueberry pie.”
“Too much work, and Richard is making breakfast in a few hours.”
“He gets up way too early.”
“But he makes a great breakfast.” I put the empty pie plate into the dishwasher and head to the bathroom. Pajamas here are dry shorts and t-shirt.
- ARE YOU STILL UP? I text Lilly. – WHERE ARE YOU? No answer. She must not have her phone in her room. - TEXT ME ASAP WHEN YOU GET THIS - DAY OR NIGHT. I know Marcos would probably be up, but he’d just freak out if I told him what I saw.
Lilly’s text comes at six am. Can’t blame her - I did say day or night. - WHAT? DID SOMEONE DIE?
- SOMETHING WEIRD IS HAPPENING. I tell her about the fires.
- U TELL ANYONE?
- I’M TELLING YOU.
- R U HIGH? OR DRUNK?
- NO WAY. YOU KNOW I DON’T DO DRUGS.
- ANY 1 AROUND U SMOKING FUNNY THINGS?
- NO!
- JUST ASKING.
- WHAT DO I DO?
- IDK. MAYBE STAY AWAY FROM THE FIRE? she suggests.
- MAYBE.
- MARCOS MIGHT KNO WHAT 2 DO.
- DON’T TELL HIM. HE’LL JUST GO PSYCHO.
- HE SHOULD KNO, Lilly presses.
- JUST NOT YET. PLEASE?
- WON’T TELL ANY 1. PROMISE.
- THANKS. WHY ARE YOU UP NOW?
- MY STUPID SISTER IS PLAYING GAMES ON HER TV.
- DON’T KILL HER.
- 2 LATE. TEXT ME IF IT HAPPENS AGAIN.
- OK. TTYL.
- :-)
-----*-----*-----*-----
The volleyball game has merged with the badminton game. Too many people waving metal rackets and swinging their arms wildly. I'm slathering my already burnt arms, legs, and face with sunscreen when Dave’s wife, Monica, sits next to me in the small circle of chairs by the patio.
“Sarah, my child says you’re good with phones?”
“Is it an IPhone? ‘Cause I usually crash those.” I wipe the greasy lotion off my hands onto the grass.
“No; it’s a Motorola. I can’t get it to take pictures anymore.” I take her phone and look at it.
“Did you try downloading anything lately? There are a lot of viruses online.”
“I don’t do anything but talk, text, and email, well, and take pictures, too, with this thing. Dave’s been trying to get me to upgrade, but if this works fine,”
“Yeah, what’s the point?” Eight little children, all with water pistols and full water balloons, come screaming around the corner. “Hey! Don’t you dare!” I get Monica’s phone in my shorts' pocket just in time. Before they know it, Monica grabs two of the water guns, tosses me one, and we’re chasing the little ones back to the front of the house.
“Not fair!” Little David yells. “We’re totally defenseless! You cheated!”
“I cheated? I cheated?” Monica laughs. “You attacked us. Now, you take your medicine!” I grab the hose and spray everyone under 13. Choruses of “No fair!” and “You suck!” ring out before all the little kids put their weapons down.
“All right! Okay! We give up!” I stop spraying.
“Can we go swimming?” Little David asks.
“You have to talk to your mom,” Monica tells them. “And you need an adult with you.”
“You could come with us,” another one says. “Y’know, make up for getting us soaking wet.”
“You could get dried off and go swimming after dinner,” I suggest. The gaggle of kids runs to find a willing adult.
“Are our phones okay?” Monica asks. Hers is a little wet on the back, but mine is okay. “Not bad at all. Do you want to hold onto it?”
“Sure. Let me get changed, and I’ll see what’s up.” Nobody else is in my bedroom, so I don’t have to wait for a bathroom to change into dry clothes. Monica has pictures from the dawn of time on this thing. You’d never believe someone could store sixteen gigs of pictures, but here we are. I delete all the fuzzy ones, all the triplicates from four thousand years ago, all the ones where people are so small you can’t zoom in on them. Pictures of the bonfire. Some of them are so dark, you can’t see people in them. Some of them show just how high Dave and Will like to pile the wood.
“Aldo?”
“Present and accounted for. By the way, nice job with the little kids outside.”
“Thank you. So, I’m looking at these pictures,”
“You would’ve thought she’d be a better photographer by now.”
“My point is I’m looking at these pictures, and there’s nothing, no smells, no visions.”
“So?”
“So I thought maybe it was the fire that caused everything,” I tell him.
“I guess not. What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. Maybe Lilly will have an idea.”
“Why would she have an idea?” Aldo laughs.
“Because she’s smart like that.”
“Maybe she’ll figure out a way to get world peace, too.”
“Now you’re being a jerk. Forget I even said anything.”
“The only way to stop the fires is to find out who’s setting them.”
“Are you confessing to something?” I ask.
“How many ways do I have to tell you it’s not me?”
“Okay, okay. We’ll figure it out, Aldo.” Now to get this phone back to my cousin.
-----*-----*-----*-----
Ten pm and all is well. Dave is managing the fire. No more graham crackers, so we’re just squishing hot marshmallows with soft chocolate bars. Looks as if a lot of people are doing laundry tomorrow.
“Dave, can we go swimming? PLEASE?!?!”
“Ask your mom,” Dave says.
“If you come with us, we can go. She said that yesterday. PLEASE?”
“Sarah, you coming?” Dave asks.
“No, thanks. I’ve been around enough water for today.”
“She’s waiting for a text from her boyfriend.”
“Shutup. I am not.”
“Waiting for Lilly? Or Marco.”
“His name is Marcos, and he’s definitely not my boyfriend.”
“Let’s go if we’re going,” Dave says, chasing the little kids towards the steps to the beach. “Sarah, can you watch the fire?”
“No problem.” I can’t text while my hands are covered in chocolate anyway. Yellow flames licking at yellow knotty pine left over from remodeling something. Hissing from the damp driftwood, crackling and sparks from the knots getting lit up. The more I look at it, the hotter it gets.
“Aldo, what are you doing?” The bonfire is too big for the pit. It’s going to set the grass on fire for sure.
“I didn’t do anything.”
“You made the fire too big.” I can’t find the water jug. I probably need the hose anyway.
“I’m telling you it’s not me.”
“Where’s the hose? The house is going to go for real this time.”
“Chill out, Sarah. It’s not that bad.” Look again, and the flames are well within the rocks. “See? By the way, the pot’s on the patio.” The water jug is indeed by the patio. I whistle, and three dogs come to lick my hands free of chocolate and marshmallow. I wipe the slobber off my hands onto the grass and get my phone out.
- IT’S HAPPENING AGAIN. Lilly doesn’t answer right away. She must be with people. - NOT SO BAD THIS TIME. TTYL.
“You don’t want to swim with the rest of them?” Aunt Jane asks, sitting next to me.
“I only have one more set of clean clothes, and I wanted to hold out ‘til tomorrow if I could.”
“I’m doing my wash tonight if you want to put some stuff in.”
“Thanks. I think I’ll do that,” I say.
“So how many times have you answered the college questions so far?”
“How many people are here?”
“You don’t have to go right away, you know. You could take a year off and do some travelling, maybe even focus on some art classes or something.”
“Yeah, but I want to be done with school, y’know? Once it’s over, I don’t want to go back.”
“No kidding. I still wish I’d finished when I was your age.”
“You were skipped ahead, too?” My dad always said Jane was the slowest of his family in school.
“No, I was in ninth grade when I was 15, like other normal people. But I wish I’d gone straight to college. It’s really hard to start over in your forties.”
“I hear you. I’m pretty sure I don’t want to be in school in my forties. Except maybe as a teacher.”
“You see what your dad goes through, and you still want to be a teacher? That’s pretty bold, Sarah.”
“We’ll see what happens along the way,” I say. I get up and head to the back door. “Do you want anything from inside?”
“No, thanks,” Jane says. “I’ll just watch the fire ‘til Dave comes back.” She throws another newspaper log into the pit.