Wilde Fire

Chapter 8: Present

Kala Island is a small town on the foggy, frigid coast of Maine. Surprisingly enough, it isn't even really an island. Many residents of the town claim that Kala Island was given its name as a joke, considering how isolated and lonely the place seems all year round. Instead of being a detached portion of land surrounded by water, Kala is separated from Grant City by a sliver of water known as the river, even though it is more the size of a creek, and an ancient drawstring bridge that looks as if it will collapse at any given time. The river is simply a dividing line, an earthmade source of water that splits Kala off from the rest of the world. It is a barrier, a border that lets us know how different we are from the city dwellers, even if the difference isn't really so drastic at all.

The beach of Kala is also not quite what a person would expect of a beach. A vast majority of the coast is surrounded by granite rock walls, while the rest is covered in pebbles rather than sand. However, the water is so cold that no one bothers approaching the beach unless they are fishing, anyway.

Fishing is the sport of Kala. Most of the elder fishermen live in their houseboats, spending their days catching mackerel and cod, which they will then sell to the grocery store in order to make a living. Considering saltwater fishing doesn't require a license, the beaches are normally covered in people of all ages attempting to catch dinner.

Kala is the truest definition of a small town. Yet the nightmare of coming from such a tiny place isn't the lack of stop lights or the fact that there is only one grocery store and a population of 603. The nightmare of living on Kala is that everyone knows exactly who you are, as well as more facts about your own life than you even know yourself.If we would have stayed in Kala after Ben's death, we would have suffocated under the weight of questions and criticism. And even though we have not been in city limits for nearly four years, everyone seems to remember who we are. I can feel their eyes on us as we peacefully move our belongings into our new home, located clear across town from the road that we lived on before. It is as if they recognize our faces and know that we were trouble, even if that was far from the truth.

I bite my lip as I walk back out to the trailer, wrapping my small arms around a cardboard box labeled with my name. I say a silent prayer, ignoring the stares of the neighbors peeking through their blinds, and focus solely on making sure that I carry the contents of my life safely into the house.

"Oh, is that your box?" My mother pauses on the front porch, breathing heavily as she places her hands on her hips.

I nod, glancing at the porch swing, freshly painted white. It looks very similar to the one at Lily's house.

My mother smiles. "Good!" she says, clapping her hands together. "That means we're making progress." She bounds down the stairs and starts toward the trailer again.

"You can have any room you want, by the way," my mother calls over her shoulder as she bends over to pick up a lamp. I force a smile and carry my box inside, wondering how she can work so hard under such scrutiny, ignoring the fact that we are already being looked at as if we don't belong here anymore.

I, on the other hand, can't help but think the worst. If the residents of Kala are already unable to peel their eyes away, what else will they do? I try to shake away the image of our neighbors running us out of town with pitchforks and walk through the open door of the house.

The first thing I notice when I take my first steps into my new home is that it looks nothing like our old house in Kala, which is a good start. The last thing I want is to constantly be reminded of the home that I shared with my brother, a house that is now nothing but a piece of land and a vague, disturbing memory.

The foyer is small and quaint, the walls painted a soft yellow color that resemble a hue from a sunset. The color is warm and welcoming. I walk up the staircase, examining my surroundings. I shift the box into my left arm and run my hand along the railing of the staircase. The wood is smooth beneath my palm, leading me gently to the second floor of the house. My mother has already turned the hallway light on and opened the four doors.

I pick the first bedroom I see, and am instantly in awe of the large bay window that takes up almost the entire wall. I sit my box on the wood floor and walk to the window, my hands finding the glass. I have a perfect view of the backyard, my eyes moving from the shed to the garden that is already filled with daffodils. I smile a real smile when the dogwood tree comes into view, just to the left of the shed, fully blossomed and beautiful in every way. I tell myself that it is a sign that Ben is here with me, helping me through the pain.

I am still smiling as I walk downstairs, back to where my parents are unloading the trailer. As soon as I step onto the porch, I notice that they are both staring at me with confused expressions on their faces. I slow my walk, my eyebrows raising as I approach them.

As I step closer, I see the name scrawled on the box that my mother is holding, and I suddenly know why they are looking at me as if they are disappointed.

"Where did you find these?" my mother asks softly. She gestures to the six extra boxes that had been added to our load, all labeled with Ben's name. I didn't plan on my parents finding the boxes before I had them secured in my room.

Ultimately, the reason I retrieved Ben's things from the attic was because I knew that my parents wouldn't. They must have assumed that I forgot they were there, but that wasn't the case.

"I don't think it's fair to leave him behind," I finally say. I step down onto the sidewalk, facing my parents.

My mother, like always, is the one to retaliate. She sighs, rubbing a hand against her sweaty forehead. When she looks at me, there are tears lining the rims of her eyes. I brace myself for the worst. In spite of her oncoming tears, she turns and reaches for one of Ben's boxes.

"If that's what you want, I will help you carry them inside," she says with a smile.

Although it was not the reaction I expected, I feel myself mimicking her smile. It is such perfect timing that I almost ask if she was joking.

"That would be great," I whisper instead.