Smoke and Mirrors Read online

  The floor creaks and groans under my weight, so I choose to stay close to the walls and away from the middle of the floor. I make my way into the kitchen. The cabinets and pantry are still intact, despite some rotting wood and faded paint. I head to the pantry first and tug on the door. The doorknob pulls off in my hand, the wood crumbling. I toss the knob aside and pull the door the rest of the way open. The pantry is still pretty full, but most of the food has gone bad. Then I see a stack of cans – corn, beans, a variety of soups. I pile them in one of the backpacks and start rummaging through the cabinets next. There is little of value in the rest of the house, so I walk outside and move onto the next one.

  By mid-afternoon, I’m done going through all the houses on the left side of Ann Street, and I’m on my way to the market in the center of 1st. My backpacks are almost full; I only have room for a couple necessities from the market. That is, if everything is still within a reasonable price range.

  Getting from the “haunted” area to 1st Street takes me a short, five-minute walk. My cheeks are chapped and raw from the biting wind that has stirred up, but I welcome the cold. Snow. Bring snow.

  1st Street is cluttered with the usual mess of makeshift stages, street carts, corner vendors, and Buddha statues. The black market. I inhale the scent of sweat, cinnamon, and wood smoke from the fires lit around. A couple of girls with skimpy clothes pretty much falling off their full-breasted bodies hang around the corners of some of the statues, leaning against the Buddhas in assuming poses; no doubt orphans looking for somewhere to sleep for the night. I quickly look away from them, not wanting to remember…

  I need snow.

  I march straight down the street, shoving my way past people and keeping a good grip on my two backpacks. Children cry, people steal what they can, vendors scream prices, auctioneers boom their “prizes,” and some people crowd around the Buddhas, bowing in reverence. The farther down the street I go, the worse it gets. Cheap medicines, Elixir, slave auctions, sex hotels, party buildings that lead to disasters – all adorn the bottom part of the street. I head there last, getting any necessary food first, and looking for bargain items that I might need to tell Deric of tonight. No mattresses that I can see – but those are always in extremely short supply anyways.

  A vendor selling cheap, ugly jewelry screams at me as I pass, demanding me to look at his wares. I snarl a curse at him in reply, and he gladly returns the favor before turning to the other shoppers.

  A grin curls my lips as I think of the first time I brought Deric to the market, eight long years ago. He had been a tiny little twelve-year-old, shocked at the words I had used to keep the vendors away; I haven’t seen his eyes get that wide since.

  We haven’t been to the market together in a while, though.

  I stop in front of Month’s vending cart, looking at the medicines she has in stock. There’s a bag of cough drops, but nothing else we usually get Christina. No Abrei. I think back to breakfast, remember the way Deric looked at her and spoke to her. A stab of jealousy flashes through me as I reach in one of the backpack’s front pockets and pull out Deric’s money.

  “What’re you getting this time, dear?”

  I shake myself and look up at Month. The old lady smiles kindly at me, the wrinkles drawing up in her dark face. I nod to the cough drops. “Those.” I hesitate, then add, “And the small bottle of aspirin.”

  I hope Deric won’t kill me for spending extra, but then I scowl. I need the damn pills to deal with all of their noise. Deric can cut me some slack this time.

  Month holds out a withered hand. “Fifteen dollars.”

  At least she keeps reasonable prices.

  I hand her the cash, and she passes me the bag of cough drops and mini bottle of aspirin. “Be safe, dearie,” she murmurs. “It’s cold out.”

  Thinking about Deric has thrown me for a loop, so I almost give her a snarky reply as I place the medicine in the front pocket of one of the backpacks. But when the meaning of her warning sinks in, my heart nearly freezes in my chest. I stare at Month, and she nods ever so slightly to her left, my right. I suddenly notice the auctioneer has stopped talking. I slowly turn to look at the stage a few yards away. A group of men - some Chinese, some mixed, some white - in bright red uniforms stand on the stage. One man is pulling a young woman out from the line of slaves to be sold. I can hear her blubbering all the way from where I stand.

  ‘It’s cold out.’

  They’ll get me again.

  I slowly turn and start speed walking the other way, weaving and shoving through the frozen throngs of people. My sharp breathing adds to my hysteria; the cold wind scars my lungs. Get away, get away…

  I break into a sprint when I reach my turn, running from the market, from the Jun soldiers and their cruel hands and twisted minds. I race away from the center of the city, charging for the streets nearby. Getting away is my only concern.

  Finally, finally, I slam into the back door of the warehouse building I call home. I struggle with the door knob and finally fling the door open. I slam it shut, shutting out the cold, the noise, the Jun.

  Home. Home. I’m home.

  The thought isn’t reassuring enough. I breathe heavily, my lungs crying for air and warmth, my feet numb. My whole body quivers and I have to hold the railing as I climb the stairs. The tiniest amount of light from the setting sun filters through the dirty windows, giving me just enough light to climb without tripping. I’m whimpering a little by the time I reach the second floor. I open the door and stumble into the room.

  The fire is lit again by the window and the room smells like wood. Deric is there. Deric is home. He turns around, giving me a smile that quickly disappears from his face. “What’s wrong? Miriam, you’re shaking…”

  For a split second, I imagine myself running into his embrace. I imagine him holding me up with his strong arms and telling me everything will be okay, that he’ll protect me, that I’m safe.

  He used to want me to do that.

  “Miriam.” Deric’s walking toward me, concern etched on his face.

  The wall goes up immediately. I unzip the front pocket of one of the backpacks, grab my bottle of aspirin, then chuck the backpacks at him; they land by his feet as he stops in surprise. “I’m never going to get medicine for Christina again! You can do it.” I jut my chin in the air, trying to appear stronger than I feel. My short red hair flops in front of my eyes from my jerky movement, but I don’t push it out of the way. I don’t want to be seen.

  Deric stays where he is, holding his hands up calmly; his figure is blurry through the cracks in my hair. “Miriam,” he says softer this time, “you’re shaking.”

  I clutch the bottle of aspirin tight in my hands. “They were there today.”

  “They?” Deric mouths, brow furrowing. Then his eyes widen in recognition. “Oh my god. Miriam -”

  “Just forget it!”

  I know I’m being unreasonable and rude, but I don’t care. I can’t deal with Deric right now. I storm away from him and slam the door to my room as hard as I possibly can. I don’t want him to come check on me for a while.

  But as soon as I’m in my room, behind the closed, old office door, I go weak kneed and drop to the floor. I haven’t stopped shaking, and my trembling hands hold onto the bottle of aspirin as tight as they can. I choke quietly, heavy tears starting to roll down my cheeks.

  I want snow. Snow is clean. Snow is pure.

  ‘It’s cold out.’

  I choke again and let the bottle slip from my fingers and onto the floor, then pull my knees to my chest.

  The snow is clean, but I am not.

  Three

  Rhianna

  I wake up to the soft sound of Deric’s grumbling. It’s early in the morning, it has to be, because Christina isn’t up cooking breakfast and Penn’s not teasing me about my late sleeping habits.

  I sit up and rub my eyes to get the sleep out of them. It’s cold in the room and I shiver, wrapping my arms tight around myself as I s
tand. My bare feet on the frigid floor sends another shiver up my spine. I try to stand on tiptoe and peel back my curtain at the same time.

  Deric sits in one of the chairs, no longer grumbling. I see the cause of his annoyance – those ratty, small boots are finally on his feet, but he does not look comfortable. My stomach twists a bit as I think of all the clothes he’s gotten me instead of getting new shoes for himself.

  Deric stares at the floor for a moment, before leaning back in the chair. His shoulders rise up and then fall down, as if in a sigh, and he rakes his fingers through his long dark hair. My heart aches for him. I wish he didn’t have to work so hard.

  “Hi,” I whisper, and tiptoe towards him.

  Deric looks at me with a start, then blows out a breath and smiles. “You scared me, Ree. What’re you doing up so early?”

  I feel like Deric would feel guilty if I tell him the real reason I woke up. I shrug. “Couldn’t sleep,” I say softly.

  Deric chuckles and pulls one of the rolling desk chairs over for me. “That’s unusual for you.” I sit down in front of him, tucking my knees underneath myself to keep my toes off the cold floor. Deric frowns then. “Don’t you have more socks to wear?”

  I blush and lower my eyes. “Penn and I were fooling around yesterday, and I forgot to do the laundry.”

  I wait for a reprimand, one that he would give Penn if he forgot to do his chore. Instead Deric reaches over and squeezes my hand.

  “That’s alright. I’ll do most of the laundry when I get home tonight.”

  It’s all I can do to not squirm in my seat. “I’ll do it, Deric, really. You don’t need to do anything when you get home from work but rest.”

  Deric chuckles again, and I glance up at him. He gives me a boyish grin, one of his rare ones, that reminds me that he’s twenty, not forty, which is what he tends to act like. “I don’t think life works that way in Newburgh.”

  “I wish it did! You work so hard for us.”

  “Rhianna,” Deric draws out the syllables, “caring for you, Calvin, Penn, Trina and Miriam is my job. I enjoy it.”

  I know I won’t be able to argue with him. He’s kind and loving enough, but he’s also stubborn as a mule. I decide to change the subject. “You need new boots.”

  Deric’s happy face leaves. I’m sorry to see it go and wish I can take the words back. Deric nods finally. “So everyone keeps saying. But we need food more than anything, and Christina needs medicine, and we need to have batteries for the flashlights, wood for the fire, socks for you…” I listen to him rattle off an incredibly long list.

  “Why are you giving me that look?”

  I blink, realizing I must be giving him a pitying expression. “I just hate you don’t get the things you need, too. Like boots, and rest, and relaxation.”

  Deric leans toward me and tugs on a strand of my curly hair. “I’ll get it one day, Ree-Ree. We all will.”

  Even though I feel the nickname is too babyish for an almost sixteen-year-old, there are times like these where I adore it. I smile and hug him tight. “Pinky promise, right?”

  It’s a childish question, really. But after finding me after the market fire almost seven years ago and taking me in, it’s become a sacred promise for just Deric and me.

  Deric hugs me back and runs his fingers through my hair. “Pinky promise, kiddo,” he murmurs. “Now I’ve got to go to work. Get back in bed and go to sleep, okay? And don’t forget to do your homework.”

  I nod and stand up, giving him one last hug before tiptoeing to my room. I grab the curtain, ready to shut it, but only after waving at Deric one more time before he goes. I shut the curtain and dive back in bed, burying my toes in my quilted blanket. Even though I had woken up out of sadness and pity for Deric, I feel a whole lot better getting ready to fall back asleep.

  Deric pinky promised. That means everything is going to be alright.

  ◆◆◆

  Trina isn’t doing well today.

  I realize that when Calvin comes over to me and mumbles something about me cooking breakfast. His expression is calm, calm enough; but his eyes are slowly traveling around the room, straying from mine. That’s how I can tell something is wrong.

  I agree to make breakfast without complaint, despite my secret resolution to do other extra chores so Deric won’t have a lot to do when he gets home. But before I can ask Calvin how Christina’s doing, he shuffles away. I decide it would be better not to call out the question to him; Calvin’s never liked yelling.

  I try to cook. Boy, do I try. By the time everyone’s woken up and ready for a good breakfast, I’ve burnt the toast, spilled orange juice all over the floor, and set one of the potholders on fire.

  Miriam blows out a heavy breath as I apologize over and over again while wiping up all the orange juice. Despite her furious temperament last night, Miriam manages to handle things surprisingly well. She steps over me on the floor, puts the plate of burnt toast on the table, and grumbles at Penn, “Put pot holders on your list today. And bread.”

  Then she goes to our makeshift pantry to figure out something we can eat so we won’t suffer with the burnt toast.

  I pick up the sopping orange juice towel and carry it to one of the buckets of dirty laundry. I sigh. Someone pokes my side from behind. I whirl around with a start, then manage to breathe again when I see it’s Penn.

  He presents me with his famous lopsided grin, a dimple etching into his warm tan skin. “You cleaning up orange juice is adorable, you know.”

  I blink at him, he grins bigger, and I shake my head, grinning too. “Penn…”

  “C’mere, Ree-Ree.” He smirks at using Deric’s baby name for me and pulls me into a tight hug. I hug him back, my heartbeat quickening in my chest.

  “I looked like an idiot.”

  “Oh please. Any man would want a beautiful young lady such as yourself that knows how to properly clean up orange juice.”

  I snort and hide my face in his shoulder. “You’re crazy.” But at least he’s making me feel less embarrassed.

  Penn steps back to look down at me. “And you’re cute.” He winks.

  The way he looks at me sends heat rising up my cheeks.

  “Breakfast, you two! Come on already.” Miriam’s temper may be better than last night, but she certainly isn’t feeling like an angel.

  Penn takes my hand and leads me back to the table, where we take our seats. Miriam’s cut up the remaining oranges into slices and scraped some of the burnt parts off the toast. We have water to drink. It’s not great, but Miriam’s done her best to fix my mistakes.

  Calvin eats very little and then fixes a plate for Christina. He gets up from the table to take it to her, stopping only to retrieve the cough drops. Penn doesn’t eat as much, probably because of the quality of the food, and I feel bad. He seems to notice and flashes me a smile; almost instantly, everything is perfect again – crappy meal or not.

  Miriam stands and starts clearing away the dishes. “You know the drill. Rhianna, homework. I’ll clean. Calvin will help clean and take care of Christina on and off. Penn –”

  Penn nods. “I’m going out today, I know. I’ll go later though.”

  Miriam stacks the dishes none too lightly in the buckets. “And how much later do you plan on going? You know Deric doesn’t like it when you wait.”

  I shift in my seat and open my mouth to suggest perhaps a change in tone of voice. Penn cuts me off by running his fingers through my hair. “I won’t wait too long. I just have to help this beautiful thing with her homework first.”

  My breath lodges in my throat.

  Miriam makes a disgusted noise and leaves without so much as a second glance. My heart patters in my chest as Penn grins at me. “What subject are we doing first?”

  ◆◆◆

  Penn keeps me busy…and not just with my homework.

  I pull away from him, inhaling quickly, the pencil in my hand shaking. He grins and scoots closer to me on the floor. “Going somewhere?” Penn w
raps me up in his arms, holding me close against him. His dark eyes sparkle devilishly, enjoying every minute of this.

  “What about Calvin?” I whisper, half nervously and half giggling. Calvin’s cleaning on the other side of the room, and while we’re somewhat out of view, thanks to the fire pit and table, I don’t want to take any chances. If Deric heard about it, he’d probably kill me.

  Penn runs his thumbs over my cheeks, over all of my freckles. “He’s busy,” he murmurs, “and so are we.”

  “What about-?” Before I can ask about Deric, Penn’s kissing me again, tangling his hands in my long, dark hair. My heartbeat quickens, and I kiss him back. Forget Deric. Forget Calvin.

  I’m busy, after all.

  ◆◆◆

  Despite Penn’s eagerness to do more than help with the algebra and history Deric assigned me, I finally – though reluctantly – convince him to help me get things done. Soon everything is finished, and I lay it on the table for Deric to look over later. He’s a very firm grader, so I hope he won’t notice how distracted my essays and answers to questions seem. Then, Penn and I take time to do the laundry for Miriam. Penn leaves my side to add more wood to the fire, the open window sweeping the frozen wind through the room. I shiver and continue to pin up the remaining wet laundry.

  I hear a snort from behind and look over my shoulder. Miriam, while still showing some signs of agitation through her hunched shoulders and heavy eyes, is smiling. Half smiling, but nonetheless smiling. “Why do you do that?”

  I grin despite myself. “The socks have to be color coordinated.”

  Miriam snorts again, and I sneak a glance over at Penn. He’s quietly adding wood to the fire, but he’s grinning as well. It’s a been a little while since we’ve heard Miriam laugh.