The Burning Side(47)

We spring out of the car, and I narrow my eyes to block the swirling dust and dirt. We only have half a house for shelter, but it’s better than nothing. Grabbing as much loose miscellany as I can, I push through the front door. The tarp is even louder inside, and I’m not sure if it’s going to hold.

I round the corner toward the unburned side, my eyes adjusting to the darkness. An angry whistle of wind surrounds me. There’s a pile of stuff in the hall, so I unload my armful on top of it.

The pile shifts and yells, “Ow!”

I let out a scream.

Leo appears fast by my side as a bearded face emerges from the heap.

Leo steps in front of me and says, “It’s okay, we won’t hurt you.”

My heart races. We won’t hurt him?!

Both men hold their arms up. The man makes no move to rise, and Leo is towering over him. I whisper, “I think he’s on something.”

Leo says impatiently over his shoulder, “And?”

Their arms lower slowly, and Leo sits down on the floor with him.

I’m left standing frozen in place, heart thumping.

The man seems to barely be with us, and Leo begins to gather the bilge from around him. “Hey man, sorry to say but you’ve got to leave our house.”

The guy groans as Leo continues. “I’m not calling the cops—I’ve squatted before too—but you have to let me take you somewhere.”

I double back at the ease with which Leo lied.

The man nods. “Okay.” His voice sounds like it hasn’t been used in a century. He stands up, holding a green knit baby blanket. He is skin and bones and sweat. “Can I have some food first?”

Apologetically, Leo says, “We don’t have a kitchen. Is a drive-thru okay?”

The man nods.

—And then the storm siren goes off.

I cover my ears, locking eyes with Leo and saying through gritted teeth, “We don’t even have a solid house!”

He scans our dilapidated home. “The hall will be fine.” Another lie. The windows nearest us are gone from the fire, nothing but planks of wood. Having no better option, the three of us sink to the floor, hunkering down in the grayscale dark as the whistle of wind becomes a scream.

I breathe through my mouth: our guest is unshowered.

I text to check with Mom, and she says it’s only a light drizzle over there, so at least the kids are safe.

The tarp whips up and down. I shut my eyes, and Leo grips my hand as it gets to the point in the storm when we can’t tell what the crashes and clanks are. Metal, wood, plastic, who knows. We can’t know whether our remaining roof is about to lift away, or whether a tree trunk is going to fly at our skulls, killing us on impact. All we can do is wait.

“I’m Leo.”

I open my eyes to see Leo addressing our squatter, who is shaking.

“Nathaniel.”

Leo turns to me expectantly, so I say, “April.”

“Hey—” Leo stretches to pick something up. “A book.”

Our bookshelf was on the other side of the kitchen wall, lost to the fire. This one must have been hiding somewhere else in the house. Nathaniel and I watch Leo shine his phone light on the cover. The Little Prince.

The sirens are quiet now, but the storm is still ramping up. The warning won’t expire for twenty more minutes, which might as well be eternity with a storm like this. Lightning flashes around us. Wind is lashing what remains of our house, and the sounds are horrendous. Leo’s phone light still on, he asks if he should read. Neither of us responds, so he just starts reading, loudly. Once when I was six I saw a magnificent picture in a book…

We can hear it the instant the tarp flies off our roof, ratcheting up the volume of the storm. We hear branches snap as if they’re close enough to reach out and touch. Thunder vibrates through us. Leo reads louder, telling the story of a planet-hopping child, and I feel like I might weep. Like we might die. Nathaniel and I stare at each other in the shadows.

When the world quiets at last, we all exhale, alive.

Leo lowers the prince and his planets.

Nathaniel breaks the silence. “Wonder what happens to that kid.” His words bump into each other as he stands and folds his blanket. His hands are jittery, but he takes care to make neat folds.

Leo holds the book out to him, but Nathaniel says, “Nah.”

Leo insists. “So you can find out what happens to him.”

“S’okay. Can’t read.”

All the starry-eyed dreams of my youth rise up to deride me. Young April who wanted to change the world, one page at a time.

We emerge from the hallway into the roofless part of the house. In the gray light, I can see that Nathaniel’s eyes are blue. Bloodshot, yet blue as a sky that has never known rain. I wonder if he once had a mother who kissed the corners of his eyes the way I kiss Otto’s.

He looks at me. “Sorry, I thought the house was abandoned.”

Before I can respond, Leo inserts, “It’s always startling to find someone in the house you don’t expect to be there.” He stares straight at me and my scarlet letter. Then he turns—first his face, then his eyes—toward our stranger. “Ready to go get some food?”

Nathaniel says, “Give me a sec to take a leak.” And he does a little shuffle out the door.

Leo faces me. “You okay here until I get back?”