THE FIRE SAGA

FLAME 49 - ABJURATION

I wake up to unresponsive legs and arms. Have I burned them beyond repair? No, they're still sleeping.

The midday sun scorches my eyes through the window. Surprise! No more retinas for you, Supermom crows.

Derry's splayed out on top of me as if I were his personal pillow. His heavy breathing causes my hair to tickle my neck with each exhale. I elbow-jab him, and he groans. Unfortunately, he doesn't move, meaning I can't move. Not that I particularly want to disentangle myself from him, but my lack of circulation insists.

"Psst," I whisper.

No movement.

I increase my volume. "Wake up."

Groan. Shift. Grumble.

Wake up! I project loudly.

"What time is it?" His voice is sleep-thick.

"No clue." I take advantage of the opportunity he gives me to free my arms. Two limbs down, two to go.

He rolls to the side, moaning when the sunshine finds someone new to torture. "Wake me once the solar flare is over," he complains.

"We should be outside enjoying the sun."

He rolls onto his back, completely freeing me. "How's your temperature?"

I instantly regret wishing for my freedom. Without the warmth of his body, I'm unnaturally cold. His hand runs along the visible proof of my chill.

"You have goosebumps."

"Those are Derry bumps."

He lifts a brow. "I give you the chills?"

"Not exactly. What can I say? You bring out the human in me." My stomach rumbles, validating my claim.

"Hungry?"

"Starving."

"Why don't you get ready? I'll see what I can throw together," he offers.

"You'll spoil me," I warn.

"You say that like it's a bad thing." He kisses me too chastely on the forehead. Crack.

I pull the blankets up to my neck, sighing when a tingling sensation replaces the numbness of my limbs. Time to wake up. Even your body agrees, Supermom presses.

"No need to be so pushy," I snap.

I throw the bedding to the side, frowning that I'm fully clothed. Apparently, I'll have to work harder on my persuasion techniques. Falling asleep in the middle of a make-out session isn't saying much for my prowess. I certainly didn't lack interest. My stamina is questionable, however.

Hopefully, I didn't offend Derry. Probably not, being he's hammering the abstinence wedge extra hard. Boy doesn't do anything in half measures. Is his tenacity admirable? To an extent, yes. Is it driving me up the wall? Also yes. Bright side: those wedges make sturdy footholds for climbing.

After my too-quick shower, there's a steaming hot cup of coffee on my dresser, next to what can only be defined as deli art in the form of a breakfast sandwich. Lifting the mug—yes, I still go for liquid energy first—I notice the message on my phone.

Hey Sweetheart. Barry wants 2 do dinner. Taste test on dresser. Bring Tally? She's avoiding. C u soon! —Derry.

Yeah, no. With a long lineup of issues to resolve, Tally's self-imposed drama isn't high on my priority list. If not for Barry, I wouldn't bother, but I'm a bit of a softy for him.

I throw on some running gear and head downstairs. No Dad at the table. No Dad in the recliner. Guess he hasn't returned from his guilt-prompted hospital visit. I do the dutiful daughter thing, writing a short note telling him where I'll be and what time to expect me home. Good job, me.

"Going for a run?"

I nearly trip on the step. Dad's on the front porch. That's new. He's gone from a predictability factor ten to zero, and I'm struggling to handle it. Is he planning on scolding me for Derry and I's little sleepover? Was it technically a sleepover since it happened in daylight?

"Yep," I chirp.

"After?"

I sigh.

He furrows his brow.

"Dinner at the Connells." I shift back and forth on my feet. "Derry's brother is a wicked cook."

"He sure is." Dad pats his stomach. "He's a fine young man."

Why was Barry talking to my dad? What did they discuss? Why is my father sitting on the porch swing, looking so normal? Has that swing always been here? I shake my head to focus, loose nuts and bolts from my defective robot clinking haphazardly.

"What time will you be home?"

I shrug. "Later."

"How later?"

"I wrote you a note."

"Thank you for that."

"How late am I allowed to be home?"

He frowns.

"I'll be home before midnight, okay?"

"Good. You're not sleeping enough." He scowls. Weird. This one is more concerned than disapproving. I assume he's worried over the situation with Derry and me. "I'll wait up for you."

"I won't sneak him into my room." Waiting up is a tad over the top.

"Just..." He's embarrassed talking about it. "Leave your door open."

"Seriously, Dad." I roll my eyes. "I'm not a kid. I'm entitled to some privacy."

"You're still my kid," he reminds me, "and I'm entitled to sleepover stipulations."

Is he saying it's cool for Derry to stay? That won't be a regular occurrence. I'm not abandoning my solitude. Private reflection is necessary. With everything happening, I'll need it more than ever.

Derry might be Morning Glories and Sunshine to me, but my sunshine isn't him in totality. I could've looked for a lifetime without finding it because I was looking outward instead of inward. For both sides of my collective family, I'm the light. Too many people are depending on me to put all my eggs in one basket. Plus, that sucker would be heavy. I'd buckle from the weight. Wait, maybe it's straw. Not eggs. Is Derry the straw or the camel in this analogy? Ugh. Forget it. No eggs. No straw. No camels. No sleepovers. Okay, maybe some sleepovers.

"There won't be many."

"Even better."

I stretch in preparation for my run to the Keanes. Despite everything strange surrounding me, running helps me feel in control. It grounds me. As my sneakers hit the pavement, I realize it also helps me stay ahead of the flame-induced misfortunes. As long as I keep on running, maybe the fire won't catch up.