Words of Stone (5 page)

Blaze stared at this new woman. There was something different about her. He sensed that she would be around for a long time. And he wasn't exactly certain how he felt about that.

I
t took some prodding, but Nova convinced Blaze to go.

“I think you'll be sorry if you don't,” Nova said from the pantry. She entered the kitchen with a jar of her homemade pickles.

“But
you're
not going,” Blaze replied, eyeing the picnic basket that sat on the kitchen table bulging with good things to eat.

“Too much walking. And I wasn't really invited anyway,” Nova said as she reorganized the contents of the basket. “I think your father would love for this to be just the three of you.” Jars, small bags, and plastic containers fit together like the pieces of a puzzle. “This Claire woman must be special. It's odd of him to want you to meet her so early on.”

Blaze didn't exactly know what Nova meant by that comment. And Blaze didn't tell Nova that he'd already seen the woman.

Nova tucked some silverware and striped cloth napkins into the basket and nodded approvingly. “There's too much food for just your father and Claire,” she said, wiping her hands on her faded gingham apron. “I really want you to go,” she added, her eyes doing half the talking.

Blaze fingered through the basket, looking at the food again. He could see pickles, plums, potato chips, deviled eggs, brownies, iced tea, and chicken. “Okay,” he said. “For you.”

During the drive to the lake it seemed to Blaze that Glenn and Claire were smiling every other minute. The smiles broke across their lips like bubbles, and, more often than not, erupted into laughter. Glenn and Claire already appeared to be comfortable and familiar with each other—which made perfect sense, because Claire worked at the high school with Glenn.

“Claire teaches Art Metals,” Glenn had told Blaze that morning. “You know—rings and belt buckles. Things like that.” They had been folding an old blanket to use on the picnic. Glenn and Blaze each held two corners, the blanket drooping between them. The piping was coming loose in Blaze's fingers, threads giving way. They drew near to meet, and as Blaze handed his corners to Glenn, he noticed a slightly amused look in his father's eyes.

Glenn also told Blaze how much he admired Claire's artwork. She made jewelry, but her specialty was small ornate boxes of gold and silver, delicately clasped and lined with dark velvet. “Last year was her first year teaching here,” Glenn had explained. “And I really want you to meet her, Blazer.”

Glenn seldom called his son Blazer—only when he was wildly happy after completing a painting successfully, or on the rare occasion that he had had too much to drink. Neither was the case that morning.

Blaze shifted around in the backseat. He rolled the window up and down. He fussed with the collar of his shirt and pulled it higher around his neck. He fiddled with the handles of the picnic basket. Finally they arrived. Blaze was relieved to be out of the car and into the open air that was busy with a myriad of sounds—birds, insects, and the laughter and voices of other people.

They found a shady spot on the grass to spread the blanket, secluded a bit from the crowd on the beach. The sun sequined the lake and Blaze squinted when he looked at it.

“Isn't it beautiful?” Claire said to no one in particular. She had long legs and arms that she moved gracefully. When she sat down, the skirt she wore over her swimsuit billowed and fell like an umbrella opening and closing.

“You are,” Glenn said softly, touching one finger to Claire's sandaled foot. “And you are, too,” he said loudly, looking at Blaze. Glenn raised and lowered his eyebrows comically. Then he winked at him.

Blaze could feel himself blush. “Da-a-a-ad,” he said.

Throughout lunch Blaze tried to steal glances at Claire. His eyes flitted quickly from one detail to another. Yellow-green eyes. Long streaky blond-gray hair that made him think of animal fur. Skin tanned dark as tea. There was so much to take in, Blaze had to remind himself to chew.

They talked about art and the high school and what a good gardener and cook Nova was. They talked about books and recipes and Blaze's teachers from last year. They talked long after they had finished eating. Claire told Blaze that she had grown up in Chicago and that she liked being in Wisconsin now. Then they talked about art again. Glenn said that he wished he could make enough money painting. He wished that he didn't have to teach. He couldn't think of anything better than the luxury of being able to paint every day without worrying about mortgage payments and bills. And Blaze thought of his own blank canvas.

Although Claire and Glenn tried to include Blaze in the conversation, he tended to nod a lot and give one-word answers and comments. He was busy observing and being shy. He found himself watching Claire's hands.

When they had picked up Claire at her apartment, Blaze had been surprised by the seriousness of her handshake. As Glenn introduced her to Blaze, she held his hand in hers for a long moment as though she really meant it. Her hand had been warm. His had been cold.

After a while they went swimming. Blaze was leery about going in water over his head, so when they did finally go in the deeper water, he rode on Glenn's back while Claire floated beside them. Periodically Claire would swim ahead and then somehow end up surfacing behind them. She'd pop up out of the water, dripping and blinking. Her eyelashes were beaded with water droplets and they sparkled. Her color was high, her movements quick and sure.

“Look at that,” Blaze said to Glenn.

Blaze had spotted a wiry towheaded girl and a big bald man not far from where they were. The girl climbed onto the man's shoulders, then jumped off, making an enormous splash. She did it again and again, her laughter growing louder with each jump.

“Want to try it?” Glenn asked.

Blaze tensed, but said, “Yes.” His response surprised him. And he even asked Claire to watch.

“We should go a little farther out,” Glenn said.

Glenn crouched.

Claire watched.

And Blaze climbed onto Glenn's shoulders, holding on like a clamp. Glenn's birthmark was visible between strands of his hair, between Blaze's thumbs. Blaze hesitated. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes—and jumped.

Blaze's hands were in fists as he hit the water. Then they opened up. And so did his eyes. And so did his mouth. He took a breath under water.

When Blaze surfaced, he was coughing. He grabbed Glenn.

“Are you all right?” Glenn asked, carrying Blaze to shallow water.

Blaze shivered. “Yeah,” he said. He coughed some more. “I just swallowed some water.”

“That was some jump,” said Claire.

Blaze didn't say anything for a moment, and then he told them quietly, “Maybe I'll just sit on the beach for a while.” His throat and nose and eyes were burning. He shivered again.

“Want company?” Glenn asked.

Blaze shook his head no. He was embarrassed.

Blaze walked the length of the beach looking at stones. Then he sat at the water's edge, poking his toes at the bubbly fringe that lapped about him, wishing that he knew how to swim.

“Bored?” someone said.

Blaze turned with a start. It was Claire. She wrapped her towel around herself and sat down.

“Where's my dad?” Blaze asked, trying to cross his legs in a manner that would hide the scars on his ankles.

“Over there,” Claire said, pointing.

Blaze watched Glenn with a combination of pride and envy. Glenn sliced through the water, his arms cutting perfect angles, his head turning rhythmically.

“He's good,” Blaze said. “At swimming. You are, too,” he added.

“I didn't know how to swim until I went to college,” Claire said. “I could hardly float before that.”

“Really?”

Claire nodded and narrowed her lips. “It was one of those things I always wanted to do, and always put off. I still want to learn how to play the piano and speak French.” She paused. “Is there anything you really want to learn how to do?”

Blaze was paralyzed by the question. There were so many things he wanted to be able to do. But they would seem so simple to anyone else: Go to sleep without the light on. Go out for the basketball team at school. Pet a big dog without shaking. Ride the Ferris wheel alone.

Sweat dripped down Blaze's face. He touched one corner of his mouth, then the other, with his tongue. “I'd like to fly,” he managed to say. “I've never done it.”

“In an airplane, or on your own like a bird?” Claire asked, smiling.

Blaze laughed, relieved a bit. “Like a bird,” he said, relaxing.

“Me, too,” said Claire. She closed her eyes and threw her head back, stretching. She hugged herself. “Wouldn't that be wonderful?”

Two children, holding hands, ran past Blaze and Claire, splashing them.

“You know, that jump you did out there was good,” Claire said, her eyes following the children down the sand.

“Really?”
Blaze thought it had been terribly clumsy, not to mention all his coughing.

“Good jump,” Claire said. She ran her fingers through her hair. “Good jump,” she repeated, her face slanted upward as though she were talking to the sun.

They stayed on the beach, side by side, silently. Without realizing it, Blaze had untucked his legs and begun rubbing his ankles. The blister-smooth skin was vivid in the sun, the rippled areas emphasized like tiny raised cursive writing. Suddenly, Blaze noticed that Claire had been watching him; he saw her looking at his ankles. When their eyes met, Claire didn't turn away; she just smiled naturally.

And then, for some reason, Blaze told her about the fire.

How he had been waiting in line to ride the Ferris wheel on the Fourth of July after Reena died. How there had been a short circuit. How the electrical wires that lay at his feet sizzled and jumped like snakes on fire. He told her about the awful smell in the ambulance. Even about the paramedic who tried to comfort him by telling him that both his father and mother could ride with him to the hospital. And how—during a confusing minute—he asked for Reena, even though she was dead.

When Blaze finished he felt numb and weightless. He thought he might rise off the beach and drift above the lake like fog, the way he did in his father's paintings.

“W
ell, what do you think?” Glenn asked. They were driving home after dropping Claire off at her apartment.

Blaze shrugged. “I don't know,” he said. “What do
you
think?”

“I like her,” Glenn answered, lightly tapping out a rhythm on the steering wheel. “I like her a lot.” Glenn looked sideways at Blaze. “Is that okay with you? I'd like it to be.”

“I guess,” Blaze replied. “She's pretty.”

“She is, isn't she?” Glenn said, smiling. “And smart and artistic and nice . . .”

“Are you going to marry her?”

Glenn let out a quick laugh. “Not tonight,” he said, joking.

“No, really, are you going to?”

Glenn lowered his voice. “It's too early to tell. But I know that we have a lot in common. We have a good time when we're together, too.” He paused. “I've known Claire for a year at school now . . .” His voice trailed off. And he smiled a big smile again.

Blaze thought it was a goofy smile, like the smiles he drew with crayons when he was three. It made Blaze feel good to see Glenn so happy. And at the same time it was scary. What if Glenn
did
marry Claire Becker? What would their life be like? How would it change?

Blaze watched the passing clouds, searching for different shapes in them: a car; a cow; a wizened, bearded man. It had only been hours since he had told Claire about the fire, and already he regretted it. Why had he revealed so much to a near stranger? Claire was pretty; was that why? At least he hadn't told her everything. He hadn't told her about the skin grafting or how hard he had cried. And he hadn't told her
why
he had been waiting in line for the Ferris wheel.

“Do you mind if we stop at the grocery store?” Glenn asked. “I should pick up a few things.”

“Okay,” said Blaze.

Glenn hummed in the parking lot. He raced Blaze up and down the aisles. And, laughing musically, he plucked oranges from a display and tossed them to Blaze directly in front of a sullen-faced man who shook his head and clucked his tongue disapprovingly.

After grocery shopping they stopped for ice cream. Sitting on the curb in the muggy afternoon air, spumoni dripping down his wrist, Blaze wished that he could see the future. He wished that he could see ahead to the end of summer, to Christmas, to the following summer. He wished that he could know for sure what would be happening to his family. He wished he knew what was happening now.

Blaze's mind was muzzy. He was thinking about his mother. He rolled over on his stomach and his bed squeaked. Sometimes he would forget exactly what his mother looked like, and he would have to study a photograph. Sometimes what he could remember was clouded. Sometimes he and Glenn would look at old photographs and mementos together, and it would make Blaze feel calm and edgy at the same time.

After a few minutes, Blaze flipped over on his back again. He thought of the fire and the Ferris wheel and Claire and what he
hadn't
told her. . . .

Reena rode the Ferris wheel with Blaze shortly before she died. It was the last thing they did together before Reena went to the hospital for the final time. They were at the fairgrounds on the Fourth of July. Glenn watched and waited while they rode. It was a small Ferris wheel, part of a small fair that came to town every July. There were rides and game booths and bright billowy tents where food was sold. Two weather-beaten wooden soldiers marked the entrance. They looked like the unwanted toys of a giant, dropped into the trees and forgotten.