FIRE [FIRST DRAFT]

Chapter 22: Calculated

Abba gasped, "What a big word!"

Benjamin and Suzanne followed with impressed wows. Abba had placed the word radio on the board, and Aimee had linked the word jellyfish to it. And although, the 'i' in radio had become the first 'i' in 'jillyfish', the misspellings of a five-year-old were easily forgiven.

Whilst squeezed in the arms of her mother, Aimee pointed to the floor and crooned, "It's like the rug!"

"Yes, it's like the rug," she laughed adoringly.

Abba's phone rang suddenly, and her arms unfurled from Aimee. There was a grin on her face when she answered the call, oblivious to the caller ID. That grin disappeared. She stood up from the floor and Suzanne and Benjamin did the same, visibly and vividly anxious.

"Aimee, please put the game away," she said, stroked her daughter's chestnut hair.

"Is it Buckley again?"

Abba ignored Suzanne and dashed into the kitchen. She and Benjamin hurried after her, to find her standing near the pantry door. They waited patiently, listening to her side of a heated dispute.

"I do not believe a word out of your mouth. You will never lay a finger or an eye on my microchips!"

Then, Abba's eyes went wide with angst. For seconds, though they felt much longer, she said nothing, only hoped that the man on the line was lying, as she had first suspected. Gradually, her thumb ended the call.

"He wants us to meet him this evening to discuss a new deal," Abba explained mutedly.

"Are you going to give –?"

"No," Benjamin blurted. "He's not getting his hands on them."

"Nobody was supposed to find out!" Abba's face was scarred with dread. Her husband's hand held her shoulder in consolation as he promised her that everything would be fine. "He wishes to meet at the house. That means he might already have them."

"Or he is lying," murmured Suzanne.

Abba sighed, "That is what I'm hoping for." She cursed softly in French.

Aimee was on her ankles, cleaning up, when her parents came back to the living room and each gave her a kiss.

"We'll be back soon, chérie," Abba promised, her kiss still warm on her daughter's forehead.

Aimee silently watched the grown-ups head for the stairs. Abba and Benjamin would retrieve their coats from the coatrack at the door and then be off.

"Ils vont justement à la boutique," Suzanne enlightened Aimee once she had returned from walking them out.

Aimee hadn't asked where they were going. It did not matter to her as long as they would return soon, like Mom had said. But now, when Aimee's conscience recalled that night, it seemed as though they had known something ominous was to come. And it did: the accident, the phone call, the hasty and first mysterious race to the hospital, the realisation of what was happening, and speaking to Abba for the last time.

Suzanne and Aimee sat in the waiting area. Aimee had been crying so much that she tired and rested her head on her aunt's lap, determined to stay awake until keeping her eyes open became impossible.

In the ER, Abba had given Suzanne a note. It hid now in her pocket – a miniscule, crumpled piece of paper – and she was both worried and made curious by the thought of what it held. She took it from her pocket eventually, thinking of how she had told herself to read it when no one was around – with Aimee asleep, she was practically alone. The note was no bigger than the palm in which she held it. Abba's handwriting was messier than usual, but Suzanne could still comprehend the words written.