Chapter 5
The trip home was a mess. Despite Acton’s best efforts, Ember managed to slip and fall twice, covering herself in mud. At least the cold and the damp had sobered her enough to stand on the stoop, alone, when they arrived back at the house.
The misting rain was collecting on the leaves, eaves, and pines, and every so often a drip would drop with a splat to the forest floor. It made Ember wince and glance around her. Even though she knew it was only rain, the sound was unnerving. It was like a hundred tiny fairies, snapping twigs and crunching leaves as they surrounded her in the dark. With the clouds blocking all the stars and the moon, the only light was cast from the one dim bulb above the door, and it only served to make Ember feel like she was under the interrogation lamp of the universe.
She only had to knock twice. When the door swung open, it was Gina standing on the other side.
“You’re going to wake up your sister,” she said. Her eyes narrowed in annoyance, and her voice was stern. “You smell like beer.”
Ember shrugged and nodded.
“Thalia told you to be home by dark.”
Still standing in the rain, Ember once again nodded.
Gina looked her over, pausing on her wide, tired eyes. “You broke the rules. Good night, Ember.”
And she started to close the door. With a yelp, Ember lurched forward, shoving her body in the disappearing gap. She felt the heat from the house as it flowed past her and into the night.
“I’m sorry!” she squeaked. Gina hadn’t stepped back when Ember forced her way between the door and the frame, and their faces were close. Ember could see the twitch in her mother’s left eye. “I meant to be back on time, but I ran into someone, and we were talking, and—“
Gina lowered her gaze. “Who?”
Ember paused, trying to figure if she should lie. Gina was waiting.
“Acton Knox.” Ember licked her lips and said a silent prayer.
Gina stared into Ember’s eyes, and blinked away a distant look into outright hostility as she stepped away from the door. “Get in this house. Stay away from Acton. You’re trouble, and he has enough of it on his own. I don’t want that kind of mess on my hands.”
As Gina held out her hand, pointing toward the stairs, Ember stood and peered through the door, looking for the trap. Like a shy animal, she eventually edged over the threshold, and bolted for escape up the stairs.
“Ember!”
She froze. She could feel Gina’s eyes boring into her back.
“Don’t knock on this door after dark again. Thalia needs her sleep, and it gives her nightmares.”
Ember sighed, turning around. “You can’t stop me from going out.”
Gina crossed her arms. The same distant look she’d had before was on her face. Her jaw hung slack for a moment, but then she pursed her lips and looked down at the floor.
Ember turned back to go up the stairs. She took three more steps.
“I’ll get you a key,” Gina finally said in a high whisper. “But you have to promise to use it. Don’t knock. I don’t want you going out after dark, but if you’re going to do it, you’re going to use that key to come back in every night. I want you to have a way to get inside this house, when you need to.”
Without turning or looking, Ember nodded. She went up and put her muddy clothes in the bathtub, and went to bed.
When the key appeared on her nightstand the next morning, she couldn’t bring herself to touch it.
Small and bronze, Gina had attached it to a length of string, wound into a ball and laid neatly along the side. Ember stared at it as though it were a coiled snake about to strike.
In the morning chill, she looked around her room. It was darker than it should have been on account of the taped up window, but there was still enough light to see without flipping a switch. It was a small room, and Ember was nearly sure it wasn’t the one she had been in when she was a child. The memories were hazy, but she thought that she had shared a room with Thalia, and there surely wasn’t enough space in this room for two beds.
Ember pressed her eyes shut and concentrated. She could remember the nighttime routine—dinner was eaten, the table cleared, the dishes done, and then there was family time in the den. Nan would sit with the paper, and Ember would either read it over her shoulder or sit in the corner with a book. Gina would run a brush through Thalia’s hair, and then the two would sew clothing or plant potted seeds that would grow in the south-facing kitchen window until spring, when they were transplanted to the garden.
When it was time for bed, they went upstairs and brushed their teeth. They changed into their pajamas, Gina read them a story, and then tucked them in to bed, and sang them songs until they feel asleep.
Ember opened her eyes. She could remember the smell of Thalia’s hair as they laid in bed. She always slept with it in a braid, and it looked so much like a fancy braid that Ember often found it hard to keep from touching or smelling it. They had shared a bed when they were little.
Now, Thalia could hardly stand to be around her.
Ember looked back at the key on her nightstand, and her clothes strewn about the floor, and suddenly didn’t want it. It made her feel like she was falling into the sky, as through gravity had shut off. The key meant that she had no anchor anymore. She could leave when she wanted, and return when she wanted, if she wanted, because Gina wasn’t looking out for her anymore.
Refusing to touch the key, Ember slipped out of the bed, holding her comforter around her like a poorly-fitting winter jacket to keep the morning chill off of her skin. She picked up some clothes from the floor and went to the bathroom to shower, turning the water so hot that it made her skin pink and painful to touch. After too much hot, the cold felt good. It made it easier to change clothes.
With her hair still wet, she walked downstairs to breakfast. Thalia and Nan had been laughing about something, but Thalia’s smile vanished when she saw Ember standing at the end of the table.
“I told you to get home before dark,” she said.
“I know.” Ember paused. “I’m sorry.”
Thalia stared at her a moment longer, and then went back to eating her oatmeal. Nan was giving them both suspicious looks. The frown marks made deep trenches in the wrinkly skin on her face, from the height of her brow to the tip of her chin. Ember leaned to peek into the kitchen, and was about to ask where Gina was, when she spotted something outside the kitchen window.
“Is the back yard on fire?” she asked, squinting.
Thalia turned to look, and then shrugged. “Mom had some stuff to burn.”
“Stuff?” Ember asked, looking her sister in the eye.
Thalia shrugged again as she chewed on her oatmeal for a little too long. When she finally swallowed and opened her mouth, Nan cut her off.
“Old boxes from the shipments,” the ancient woman grunted, sending a small streamer of spittle to settle on her chin. A tiny half-bit of oatmeal sat right at the end of it, like an exclamation point. “She burns them—the boxes and the crates. We’ve got nowhere to put them, and they pile up in the side yard, and then the damn spiders start nesting in them.”
Ember tried not to stare as Nan wiped off her chin with the back of her wrist.
“Some people think spiders are good luck,” she mumbled absently. “They say a spider hid the Christ child from Herod when he was born.”
Nan leveled her glare on the girl, and Ember suddenly felt three feet shorter. Nan had picked up a butter knife to point as she spoke. “You’re a Christian, girl?”
Ember looked from the knife in her grandmother’s hands to her accusing eyes, and felt the air escape her lungs like it had been sucked out into the vacuum of space. She turned to Thalia.
“We’re a Christian household,” Thalia offered. The way she said it was almost robotic.
“Yes!” Ember gushed in relief. “Yes, I’m a Christian.”
Nan contemplated for a moment; her eyes danced around Ember’s face as she pressed th
e flat of the knife to her lips. Slowly she set it back down on the table. “You’re a liar. Real Christians don’t need permission or prompting. Damn Christians go around telling damn well everyone what they think and who’s right and who’s wrong……”
Nan hoisted herself up from her chair, and grumbled herself into the kitchen to put her dish up in the sink. Ember looked back at Thalia.
“She’s more devout some days than others,” Thalia said quietly, looking at the table.
“The problem,” Nan continued, walking back out into the dining room, “With Christians, is the same as the problem with spiders. You’re going along fine in your life, and then, bam! They drop off the ceiling and scare the crap out of you. You’re swatting them with newspapers to make them go away, and the lucky ones escape out the door. A perfect afternoon of reading is ruined, and your coffee’s all over the damn floor…”
Ember waited until the older woman had ambled up the stairs before turning back to Thalia.
“She doesn’t really think that Christians drop from the ceiling,” Thalia said seriously.
“Are you sure?” Ember asked, raising her eyebrows.
They had just started to smile—both of them, together, for the first time in Ember’s memory—when the back door slammed open.
“Yow!” Gina yelled, grabbing at the door handle as another gust of wind threatened to bounce it off the wall. She kept talking as she turned to shut the door and lock it behind her. “It’s a cold one today, I’m going to have to talk to—“
When their eyes met, Ember felt the fun sweep from the room, like it had gone with the wind out the door. Gina’s eyes glistened momentarily, and then she looked at the floor as she walked into the kitchen.
Ember looked back to Thalia, whose lips had sunken to a sullen frown.
“Excuse me,” she whispered, standing and moving toward the stairs.
Gina rinsed off the dishes in the sink, and shut the water off, wringing her hands on the rag that rested over the sink divider. Taking a deep breath, she turned and stared Ember straight in the eye as she walked over to fetch Thalia’s plate and fork. With the plate in hand, she paused, her nostrils flaring slightly, and then turned to go back to the sink.
“Are you going to yell at me?” Ember finally asked.
“Why would I yell?” Gina asked levelly. “You’ve got your key. Take it, use it, and enjoy your vacation. You’ve got school again in the fall.”
“I don’t want the key,” Ember said, taking a few steps toward her.
Gina took a few steps back. “And I don’t want you here, Ember. We’ve been over this. Do you remember?”
They both froze. Gina slowly brought her hand to rest on her stomach, and then stood up straight. “It’s neither of our faults.”
With the morning sun angling through the window, making both of their faces bright and without shadows, Ember felt exposed. It was like they were standing there, staring at x-rays of each other’s souls.
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. What I never had the words for,” Gina continued slowly. “You can’t be my daughter any more than I can be your mother. I wish you no ill, and I hope you have a happy life. But you are not my daughter, and you’ll have to leave. You’ll have to leave the key when you leave, too.”
Ember nodded, and looked at the floor.
“What is it?” Gina demanded.
Feeling much smaller than she was, Ember looked back up, and shrugged. “I won’t have a family. I’ll be alone.”
Gina turned back to the sink, and flicked the knob to turn the water back on, picking up the brush to wipe down Thalia’s breakfast plate. “If you want a family, then be a good person. Finish school, get a job, and live a normal life. You’ll find someone. You’ll have some kids. That’s your family.”
Ember shook her head. “But, I won’t have a legacy. I won’t have a history, or a past—“
“The past doesn’t matter!” Gina snapped, making Ember jump. “You have a future. That’s all that matters. Go and live your life. That’s what I gave to you, and what I can give to you now: your life.” She paused, gripping the sink as she stared at the bits of oatmeal and toast clinging around the lip of the disposal. “I wish things were different, but they aren’t. Take it, and go, and be happy. Then we’ll both be happy. That’s what you really want, isn’t it?”
Ember had shut her eyes; her jaw was throbbing. When she realized she was clenching her teeth, she opened her mouth and forced herself to exhale. When she opened her eyes, she saw that Gina was watching her.
“You own the island,” Ember said, surprised at the vehemence in her voice.
Gina turned her back to the sink, crossing her arms as she leaned back against the counter. “That’s what you want? The land? The money?”
Ember continued to glare at her.
“You can have the money,” Gina said, almost too calm. “But the island belongs to Thalia. Believe me, you wouldn’t want it anyways. You need to leave this place, and never come back.”
With a sneer she couldn’t suppress, Ember turned and left. She didn’t bother to get a coat. She slammed the door behind her as she stomped from the house and into the wild. It was cold outside, but the heat running in her veins was still too much.
She didn’t go home for lunch that day, and had no intention of going back for dinner. She got lost twice, but eventually found a high point that allowed her to spot the dock that hung off of Main; with her bearings back, she made her way through the thicket, intending to go to The Garden. She didn’t have her wallet, but Zinny would know she had money.
Apparently, everyone knew she had money.
Huffing as the cold air raked her lungs, Ember rolled her eyes at her own stupidity. She had to be the only girl in history to be raised by paid strangers who hadn’t figured out that she was rich.
“Hey, little girl. Want some candy?”
Ember’s heart leapt in shock as she spun around. Isaac was twenty feet behind her and off to the left; he rolled up the magazine he had been reading, and awkwardly rose from the log he had been sitting on. His eyes remained on the needle-strewn ground as he took short, deliberate steps toward her, smiling nervously.
“Isaac,” Ember said as he stopped in front of her. His magazine, an old copy of American Mechanic, was torn and nearly wrinkled and weathered to death, and the sleeves of his brown sweater weren’t in a much better state. Ember frowned as her eyes moved from Isaac’s uncombed hair to his watery eyes, and finally to his pale and dirty feet. His toes stuck out like bleached white bones from the cuffs of his ripped jeans.
He wasn’t wearing any shoes.
“Are you okay?” She asked, her eyes snapping back to his face. “Isaac, what hap—“
“You shouldn’t be out here,” he mumbled, taking a step back as she moved toward him. He waggled his ratty magazine at her. “You’re supposed to be back at the house. You were out late with Acton. He told me. He tells me everything, tells me—tells me…”
Isaac froze, as if he had heard something in the forest. As Ember stared at him, she saw his face relax, and then his shoulders. It was like watching an ice cream cone melt.
“Isaac!” She lurched forward to catch him as he started to faint, but just before he lost his balance, his leg shot out as if it had a mind of its own. Isaac recovered, and straightened up to face her in one of the most unnatural gestures she had ever seen.
Ember kept her hands on his shoulders, gripping the wide weave on his sweater. “Are you okay?”
Isaac nodded, his eyes staring directly into hers, until he laughed and shook her off.
“I apologize, Em,” he said, tucking the magazine into his back pocket. “I come out here sometimes to be alone with my thoughts. Just me, the island, and a little inspiration.”
“And you don’t wear shoes?” Ember raised her eyebrows. “I mean, it’s like fifty degrees out here.”
“Yeah,” Isaac said with another nervous smile. “And I have low blood
pressure—it gets me sometimes when I stand up too quick, as you saw, and the cold doesn’t help.”
“The cold does that?”
“It does,” he said, putting an arm around her shoulders as they started walking again. “You’re going to lose yourself at the Garden tonight?”
“Lose myself?” Ember laughed. “Fancy talk for a car guy.”
“Ember, Ember, Ember, Ember…” He shook his head. “Do you see any cars around here? I like taking things apart, and seeing how they work. The mechanisms beneath the surface are amazing, and biologic mechanisms are the most interesting.”
Ember smiled and nodded. “So you like to sit in nature, and contemplate what makes the universe tick.”
“Or something like that.” Isaac smiled back.
“How very poetic of you.”
“You read poetry?” Isaac asked.
“Only what they assign in school.” Ember confessed. “I think it’s kind of boring. I mean, okay…Emily Dickinson, and Edgar Allan Poe, stuff like that is okay. But most of it I just don’t care for.”
“Emily Dickinson…” Isaac said, taking a step forward and spinning to face her. He pressed his hands together, shutting his eyes in thought. “You like dark things. Emily and Edgar were both fond of graveyards, weren’t they?”
Ember frowned, pushing past him. “They made death seem beautiful.”
His smile never slipping, Isaac followed after her. “If you say so.”