Wilde Fire

Chapter 12: Present

It takes me twice as long as it should to try and find my way back home. I left the house that morning with a sliver of confidence, but that quickly went away the moment I saw Owen by the river. I don't know what to think of the situation. Why did he kiss me? More importantly, why did he run away so quickly after?

I had never considered Owen as anything more than a friend. Then again, the last time we saw each other, we were kids. We hadn't even hit puberty yet and were still in a stage where we thought the opposite sex had cooties. Despite the strangeness of the situation, my lips continue to tingle as I make my way back home.

I round the corner onto our street and climb up the porch steps. Before going inside, I make sure to smooth out my hair and wipe my mouth, as if my parents will be able to see Owen's miniscule germs lingering on my face. They kept me away from Owen after the accident for a reason. Though it had been four years, I didn't want them to be upset that I ran into him--the kiss was out of the question.

I examine myself in the reflection on the glass door, take a deep breath, and follow my parents' voices into the kitchen.

"Hi, Sidney," my mother says, transferring dishes from cardboard boxes to the cabinets lining the kitchen walls. "I was hoping you would be home soon."

I pull a stool from the kitchen island and sit down, glancing to the floor to see my father's lower half hanging out from beneath the sink. "Why?" I ask curiously. The last time my parents and I had a talk in the kitchen, they told me we were coming back here. That was bad enough at the moment, so I am worried to find out what this next conversation might involve.

Fortunately, my mother's tone signifies that no such dreadful conversations are planned. "I wanted to see if you were hungry," she says with a small smile.

My father grunts from under the sink, his right leg kicking to the sound of the wrench. I avert my gaze from him to my mother's eyes, instantly noticing the grumble in my stomach. "Actually, I am," I reply.

My mother nods just as my father slides himself out from under the sink, moving into an upright position to wipe the sweat from his face. The look of concentration on his features reminds me so much of Ben.

"Well, I'm starved," my father says, out of breath. He glances up at my mother and gives her a reassuring nod. "And the leak is fixed."

"Okay, then let's go!" My mother closes the flaps of the box she has been rummaging in and helps my father up from the floor. I slide off the stool and stare at them, my eyebrows raised.

"Uh, where are we going?"

"It's a surprise," my father chimes in, giving me a playful wink.

I stop in my tracks, watching as my parents wrap their arms around one another and walk out of the kitchen, heading toward the foyer for their shoes. I don't know what the surprise was, nor am I especially ready to find out. Despite my worries, I reach for my necklace and follow them toward the door.

With careful navigation through parts of the neighborhood that would not cause any of my disturbing memory flashbacks, my parents and I finally find ourselves in the parking lot of Rusty's Diner. Not only am I surprised, I am now beyond excited.

Other than the boarded up firework stands that seem to always spark attention, Rusty's is perhaps the most well-known location on Kala Island. It is just off the beach, the last habitable structure on Corley Lane, and the home of the infamous catfish burger.

Before everything went down the drain, the four of us--Ben, my parents, and myself--would eat dinner at Rusty's every single Thursday night as a family, no matter what. Even Ben, once he became a rebellious teenager, obliged to this tradition.

As soon as the car is parked, I step onto the gravel parking lot and jump into my father's arms. He is shocked by my action, stumbling backward a step and glancing at my mother with curious eyes before he wraps his arms around me and returns the hug.

When I pull away from him, he is smiling and there are tears in his eyes. I turn to my mother and give her a similar hug before taking their hands in mine. "Thank you guys," I whisper quietly. My parents knew how hard this move would be on me, so without my knowledge, they made plans to bring me out of my slump. Surprisingly enough, it is working.

It was such a simple gesture, to take me back to one of the few locations in Kala that didn't contain bad memories, but it means the world to me.

"You're welcome, sweetie," they say in tandem, and together we walk to the front door. Although I am scared of the scrutiny we could possibly receive if the wrong people are eating at Rusty's at this time of day, I tell myself that it will be alright. And somehow, that is all it takes for me to be courageous enough to step through the old wooden door first.

Immediately, the smell of Rusty's famous fry batter and the sound of old country music takes over my senses. I glance around the crowded room, taking in the familiar, chipped red paint of the ceiling, the old license plates from all fifty states covering the wall behind the bar. Nothing seems to have changed about Rusty's, despite how much my life has, and it immediately brings me back to a time in my life when I was consistently happy. Rusty's was always a part of that happiness, and surely it will help keep me there now.

I am in a daze, completely entranced by the familiarity and homeliness of the diner that I do not see Rita Ogilvy until she is standing right in front of me.

"Sidney," she says my name softly, reaching for both of my hands.

I jump. She startled me, simple as that, but the look in her eyes tells me that it worries her.

Rita Ogilvy is the wife of the late Rusty Ogilvy, and became the current owner of the diner by default when he died of a heart attack seven or so years prior. She is a small woman, a few inches under five-feet tall, with sleek dark hair that she wears in a tight bun on her head. Years of loneliness and hard work bore hard on her, I notice from the deep wrinkles that have taken over her fragile features. She stands before me then, her neck craned to meet my eyes, empathy reflecting in her gaze. Like everyone in Kala, she knows what happened. But unlike nearly everyone else, Rita is not afraid to feel sorry for our loss.

"I'm so glad to see you all," she says, her voice soft. She hugs my parents before grabbing three menus from behind the door and leading us to our table.

As we walk, my mother and Rita engage in small talk, discussing the new house and where it is and how things have been so far. My father occasionally stops at tables to say hello to people he knew before, people who don't seem phased by our sudden return. By the time we make it to our table, a booth directly in the center of the diner, surrounded by townspeople who can not wait to catch up with us, I am puzzled.

Was there some sort of warning? Did the sirens go off to let everyone know the Wildes were back in town? Was there an article in the newspaper encouraging people to give us a warm welcome?

When we left Kala, my parents assured me it was for the best. After what Ben did, we would never be able to show our faces in town again without being questioned or accused. That is what they told me. Which is one of the many reasons I was so afraid to come back. Yet here we were, surrounded by neighbors and old friends, and none of these perceived notions seemed true.

I don't understand what is happening, and feel almost ignorant for being so terrified of what people thought, when in reality, they seem happy to have us back. But rather than pondering for answers and questioning the situation, I decide to accept it. After all, it is much better than what I originally had planned.

Between my parents' sporadic side conversations with the people around us, I look up and give them a reassuring smile.

"What can I get for ya'll today?" Rita asks, pulling a pen from her apron.

I wait for my parents to order, then turn to Rita. "Catfish burger, obviously," I say with a sly grin.

Despite my fear of coming back here, I am beginning to find more and more reasons to smile. It started with the dogwood tree in the backyard, to my parents' acceptance to move Ben's belongings into the new house, to seeing Owen Blackwood--no matter how uncomfortable that situation ended up--all of these things were reasons for me to be happy. So as I sit in Rusty's diner, eating a catfish burger, laughing and talking with my family, I plaster a genuine smile on my face.

And it does not fade the entire night.