Smoke and Fire

excerpt of 1782-word short story

available for publication

            The sky was full of smoke. That wasn’t unusual, not anymore. For the past few years, the drought had been so bad that fires were rampant. The slightest spark could light up a whole block. The fire department was run ragged. Water was so limited, it was all they could do to contain the fires, let alone stop them.

            Andrew had had about enough of it. He was tired of inhaling too quickly and choking, tired of wiping ash from the windshield before he could drive anywhere, tired of using his headlights at noon because there was smoke shielding the sun. He couldn’t even light up a cigarette without thinking twice.

            But he didn’t have a choice. Ma needed him, and God knew she wasn’t going to move to Chicago. No, her house was in Cranton—the house her husband built with his own two hands, and she’d never live anywhere else; she’d die in that house—her friends were in Cranton, her doctor was in Cranton. The only doctor she would talk to—the doctor that Andrew was on his way to pick her up from. He’d considered putting her in a home, but she’d always been good at guilting him. Always “I kept your father off your back” and “Do you know how much I paid for that?” and “You know I love you.”

            So he pulled up outside the hospital. Ma came out the glass door—using the handicap button, naturally, though there was nothing wrong with her arms. She stood under the overhang and stared at him, her umbrella clutched in one hand.

            Andrew sat there for a moment, eyes fixed on a flake of ash settled at the left edge of the windshield. At the corner of his vision, he could see her standing perfectly still, her black dress fluttering slightly around her ankles, her eyes dark and set deep in her skull. Andrew fingered the pack of cigarettes in his breast pocket, the matches behind them. With a heavy sigh, he pushed the door open and got out. He jogged through the grayish air with one hand over his head, trying to keep his hair clean.

            “You’re late,” she said, extending the umbrella.

            He took it and opened it, holding it over her head as she shuffled toward the car.

            “You know it’s not good for me to be standing for too long,” she fussed.

            “Sorry.” He opened the door for her and held the umbrella steady while she eased into the passenger seat. “House fire on Bridge Street. They had the whole block barricaded. I had to go around.”

            Ma settled, Andrew closed the umbrella and hurried back to the driver’s seat. As he shifted into drive, Ma sniffed.

            “You shouldn’t leave the car running like that,” she said. “It could roll away.”

            “It was only for a minute,” Andrew said, pulling out of the parking lot. He pulled the lever to send washer fluid spurting over the windshield. “And the brake was on.” It hadn’t been, but she wouldn’t have noticed.

            “Still, Andy. It’s irresponsible.”

            “It’s Andrew,” he muttered. They were nearly back at the house when he said, “How was your session?”

            “Oh, Doctor Kelagar is a lovely man,” Ma said. “He’s so kind. You know, his daughter is going to Yale?”

            “Yes, you told me last week,” Andrew said. “Is he helping? You know, if the therapy isn’t helping, we can look into medication.”

            “Don’t be silly, Andy—”

            “Andrew.”

            “—I don’t need any more pills. I’m taking enough as it is.”

            “Your blank spells are getting worse,” he said. “I just want you to be healthy.”

            “It’s not your job to worry about me,” she said, reaching over to pat his cheek. “I’m your mother.”

            Andrew pulled into the garage, then turned the car off. “If you’re not comfortable telling Doctor Kelagar about things, you can tell me,” he said. “That’s why I’m here.”

            “Don’t be ridiculous,” she scoffed. “I don’t need taking care of. Now come escort me into the house, like the gentleman I raised you to be.”