Kate Day - In the Quick

I shut the drawer, opened the pressure valves, and flipped the boiler’s switch, but nothing happened. I stoked the coals and they glowed orange, but the pressure gauge showed no flicker of movement. I waited several minutes, watching the gauge the whole time; it didn’t change.

My aunt called from above, They’re talking about Inquiry on TV. I dropped the matches and ran upstairs.

In the living room she sat in the dark, the TV flickering blue and green on her face. It’s the communications system, she said.

I sat down on the sofa. What about it?

It stopped working. Or the crew’s not responding. They aren’t sure which.

I watched the screen. What else did they say?

There’s nothing we can do about it, she said. We should go to bed.

Outside the dark window flecks of snow were falling. I wanted to say something to make her feel better. But all I could think to say was, I’m sorry I scratched your cheek.

I know you are, she said. She stood, picked up one of the square sofa pillows, shook it out, and left the room.

That night I woke to a hollow clanging in the walls and a low hiss. I stayed very still under the covers as the sound rose, and rose. I thought of the boiler in the basement and exhilaration—and panic—twisted my stomach. I forced myself to sit up and the air was thick like smoke. But it wasn’t smoke; it was steam. I felt its warm droplets on my face and hands.

A shout came from John’s room. I went into the hallway as he emerged from his bedroom. Damp hair plastered his round face and his cheeks were flushed red. Steamy air billowed through his doorway.

My aunt came out of her room, her eyes unfocused, in a robe printed with blue and green parrots. What on earth? She waved her hand through the steam.

John’s pajama pants sagged with moisture. He looked like he had wet himself.

She tried to burn me in my bed! he said.

I did not!

My aunt bent down, gripped my shoulders, lined her face up with mine. What did you do? One of the parrots on her robe had an orange-and-green wing and a beady eye in the center of its small head. I reached out to pinch the tiny black eye, but she grabbed my hand and held it fast. June? Her voice sounded like it might crack in two.

Then—a jolt of sound under our feet. A popping, sparking roar.

My aunt streaked past me to the top of the stairs, the parrots rippling. Get out, get out! She pulled John and me down the stairs, out the front door, and into the freezing night air.

We stood in a neighbor’s drafty entryway for hours, watching fire trucks and flashing lights from the window. There was only one chair and my aunt sat in it with her arms wrapped around John.

When the firefighters left, we were allowed to go back inside. My aunt went first, and John and I followed, quiet and shivering. We walked through the house slowly, all together in a group. Everything seemed the same, except for the smell of singed wood and something else too, like the time John accidentally melted a plastic spoon in a pan. My aunt touched things, curtains and paintings and lamps and pillows. We kept going and everything seemed all right until we got to the kitchen. The door to the basement was a ragged hole. The walls all around were black, and my aunt cried.

In the morning there was no electricity—the fire had burned the fuse box in the basement. We went to school like normal, but we had to eat cold cereal with milk from a box in the pantry. That afternoon men in gray uniforms came with plastic sheeting and large vacuums with hoses that attached to their truck. They sucked up all the gray cinders in the basement, and the bad smell faded. My aunt sent all her paintings to be cleaned, and then she started washing every pot, plate, cup, and spoon in the house. The next day more people came and replaced the fuse box, rebuilt the basement steps, reframed the doorway, and hung a new door.

My aunt vacuumed every room, aired out all the pillows and blankets, and changed all the sheets. She didn’t talk to me. She didn’t yell or even tell me I had to stay in my room. She kept at it for three days, until the house smelled like it used to again, like toast and her orchid perfume.

A week after the fire my aunt called me into her bedroom. She sat at her desk with a stack of papers in front of her. She wore a dark blue dress and a gold necklace that hung down like a pendulum. Everything in her room was soft or shiny. A large canvas hung over the bed; it had gray lines that looked like a dancer touching her toes.

Do you like living here June? She looked at the papers on her desk instead of me.

I didn’t answer.

She waited.

No, I said softly.

You don’t like living with your cousin and having books and toys and nice clothes to wear? She gestured to my cotton tights and new sneakers. And good things to eat?

I said nothing because I didn’t care about any of those things.

Do you want to go away to school?

I don’t know.

If you went to school you wouldn’t see me or your cousin more than three or four times a year. But maybe you wouldn’t miss us.

My face turned hot. Would you miss me?

She frowned and shifted the papers on her desk, and her rings glittered in the light from the window. I’d stared at one of them before—an emerald shaped like a cushion that sat cradled in gold—and thought how perfectly the gemstone fit inside the gold prongs, like they were of one piece, like they were made to go together.

The truth is— She ruffled the papers. We needed him to make this family work, and now that he’s gone, it doesn’t.

I didn’t say anything. Snow flecked the windows.

I’ve made some calls and you can begin at Peter Reed next week.

I’m not old enough.

They’re going to make an exception.

I thought about this. A thin layer of snow grew in the window frame.

Why? I asked.

She paused. Because I asked them to.

Because of Uncle. Because I’m his niece.

Yes. She nodded. That too. So it’s decided? she asked.

Yes, I said. I’ll go.

We watched the road, my aunt and me. The bus to the NSP campus was late. It was just after eight o’clock in the morning and there was a hard frost in the air. Above our heads a rocket crackled through the sky and I felt a ripple of excitement because I was going to school where I would learn how they were made. I might even, someday, leave Earth inside a capsule powered by one.

Finally a yellow vehicle appeared at the top of the road. When it stopped my aunt didn’t say anything. I was quiet too. She handed me my bag. Then she put her hand on my head. She pulled at the tangles in my hair and sighed. I worried the bus would leave, but I held my body still. I didn’t pull away. She combed her fingers through, tugging at the biggest knots until they gave way.

When she let go I climbed the bus’s tall steps, lugging my bag ahead of me. I chose a carpeted seat next to the window and pushed my duffel under my feet. Out of the corner of my eye I saw my aunt was still there. But I didn’t turn my head. If I did I would cry.

The bus hissed and staggered away, belching exhaust. It moved down the long, straight road. I turned; my aunt was nearly to the door. I watched her, the carpeted seat shuddering against my back. When she reached the front steps, she let her hands loose, and they swung a little at her sides.

The house was gone now; out the window was only gray sky and frozen trees. Inside was just the driver and a sea of empty blue seats. But, no, a person sat a few rows ahead of me. I hadn’t noticed him because his blue uniform matched the color of the seats.

The shaking of the bus was horrible, the noise of it worse. There didn’t seem to be any heat, and my body felt cold and hot at the same time. My stomach rolled as we went around a bend.