On Fire by Dianne Linden Page A

to talk.
    Marsh turned to look at me. His eyes were red. I didn’t know what I’d do if he started to cry. “I promised you I’d take you with us when the kid . . . ”
    â€œDan,” I said.
    â€œWhen we took Dan to the hospital. And I would have kept that promise. He didn’t run off because of anything I said. If you don’t believe me . . . ” He reached in his pocket for his cigarettes. Then stopped and put his hands in his lap.
    â€œHow did you find me?” I said.
    â€œI followed the bus route, and I saw you get off here. I’m supposed to tell you that Mrs. Stoa has gone to her nephew’s, right up the hill. She wanted me to move your stuff along with hers but I said not until I talk to you. If you’d talk to me.”
    I turned and leaned my back against the truck door. “How did Mrs. Stoa get mixed up in our lives?” I asked.
    â€œHeaven must have sent her,” Marsh said.
    I turned around again to look at him and he seemed so miserable I couldn’t stay mad any more. “She’ll want to know everything I’m doing,” I said.
    â€œShe will.”
    â€œWell, I’m not moving again as long as you’re still living in the parking lot.”
    â€œI am.” Marsh smiled when he said that, but it was a really weak one.
    â€œIsn’t it uncomfortable sitting up to sleep?” I asked. I knew Marsh slept in his truck a lot, but up until then I hadn’t really thought about how he did it.
    â€œWhat makes you think I sit up?” he asked. “I’ve got my sleeping bag in the back. I can roll the top back on the canopy if I want and look up at the stars. There was a meteor shower last night.”
    â€œDid you make a wish?”
    Marsh shook his head. “I’m past that,” he said.

4

W HAT A F IRE C AN D O
    B Y THE END OF THE FIFTH evacuation day, the light supper had gotten a lot lighter. Only plain chips were still available. None of the flavoured ones. There were no seconds on sandwiches. The fruit was cut into pieces and the edges of the apples especially were brown from standing a while. Still, the food was better than one of Mrs. Stoa’s casseroles.
    I took my sandwich and a bag of chips outside and sat on the bleachers to watch some kids playing soccer. I put the chips down next to me while I got the plastic wrap off my sandwich and right away someone sat down next to me and turned my chips into something Mrs. Stoa would love to sprinkle on top of her next tuna delight.
    â€œHey!” I said. I turned to look and saw a big man wearing sunglasses and a black baseball cap with Chief printed across the front.
    â€œSurprise!” he said.
    â€œYou need to trim your eyebrows, Frank,” I said back. I’d been planning on giving him the icy shoulder for saying Dan had to go to the hospital and for generally neglecting me, but that was the best I could do. When he put his arm around me for a minute and squeezed my shoulder, I even let him.
    â€œI was looking for you this afternoon,” he said. “What have you been up to?”
    â€œOh, the usual. Riding the bus. Spending my allowance on coffee.”
    â€œYou think that’s a good idea?”
    â€œI just found out about decaf,” I told him.” I might be switching. Or they have lemonade.”
    â€œI’m talking about the bus,” Frank said. “Be serious.”
    I shrugged. “No one bothers me. And you know I can handle myself.”
    Frank took what looked like a tiny radio out of his pocket and studied it. “It’s a beeper,” he said. “In case anybody needs me.”
    I guess they didn’t because he put it back in his pocket.
    â€œYou won’t be crowded in here much longer, Matti,” Frank told me. “I’m trying to find a place for you.”
    â€œI have a place. It’s called Blackstone Village and I want to go back there.”
    I suppose I would have