Daughter of Sand

Chapter 1

I smiled to myself as I walked home, arms full of groceries. Humming quietly, I shouldered the screened door open before depositing the load on a nearby counter. 

"Matt, I'm home! I got the bread, milk, and sandwich fixings while I was out. Esther and I are thinking about -- Matt? What are you doing?" I found myself staring up at the just-visible feet of my uncle, which rapidly disappeared, soon to be replaced by his face. Smothered in clumps of dust, he let out a sneeze before smiling rather sheepishly down at me. 

"Asha, what are you doing home so early? I didn't expect you back until 4:30 and I..." He followed my gaze to the kitchen's clock, whose hands pointed to 5:07. "Oh." The wind knocked out of his sails, he offered me another embarrassed smile before shifting as if to slither out of the gaping hole made by the absent ceiling tile.

"Wait, let me grab a ladder, or you'll kill yourself. How did you get up there, anyway?" Not waiting to hear his response, I hurried to the garage and dragged a ladder in, but I was too late. My uncle had crashed face first onto the kitchen's linoleum floor, and now sat there, nursing a bleeding nose. "Matt! Why didn't you wait?! Why were you even up there?" I dropped the ladder and scrambled to his side. Speaking in a pathetic, nasally voice (due to his nose being pinched shut), he shrugged. 

"I thought I heard mice." Matt said too quickly.

I resisted the urge to facepalm myself, and instead bustled around, tearing squares off of a nearby roll of paper towels and folding them into a thick padding. I sat back down beside him and handed him the wad. 

"Uh-huh. Why didn't you just call an exterminator, then?" I asked tiredly, feeling like the adult in the situation, even though I was eleven years junior to his age of twenty-eight. He held the paper towels to his nose, pausing a moment before he responded.   

"You know how it is with finances, Asha. I thought it would be more economic if I dealt with it myself, and since we'll be out of the house soon--" 

"What?!" My head whipped toward him, blue eyes ablaze, and I saw him gulp. In a voice laced with menace, I managed to snap out, "What. Did. You. Just. Say?" 

Fidgeting nervously, he cleared his throat several times before mumbling, "I spoke to the real estate agent last week, I --" 

"Matt, since when do I not have any say in when and where we move? You promised me that we would make that decision together this time." I could hear my tone, and it sounded furious and accusing even to me, but my uncle clearly couldn't take the hint. 

"Ash," Matt used his pet name for me, which did nothing to assuage my frustration, "please let me explain. I--"

"No! This isn't some little issue, Matt! We are talking about leaving our entire life behind, again. You don't get to explain. You lied, Matt, end of discussion."  I rose to my feet, angry and hurt. I had just turned, prepared to storm into my room when the doorbell rang. Sighing deeply, Matt stood, the pain from our fight still written clearly on his face. 

"I'll get it," he said, his nose still pinched in the wad of paper towels. 

That's when the lights went out.