When Your House is on Fire
The next morning, I woke up at dawn feeling that same starry thrill. The same joy. Rushing downstairs, I made breakfast. My mom’s favorite, French toast.
Putting everything on a tray, I went to her room. Through the half-open door, I saw her looking at a photo on her laptop of Howard, herself, Tabitha, Mac, and me. Everyone smiling, except for me. Covering her face, Mom cried. “So much for a fresh start.”
My joy flew out of me. I was a Bertie Blount bomb that went off. And everybody around me got wounded by the blast.
Wheeling around, I brought the tray back to the kitchen. This wasn’t going to be a breakfast-in-bed kind of day. Instead, I laid breakfast out on the table, and I waited.
“French toast? Nice, Bertie,” my mother said five minutes later when she stepped into the kitchen. She had composed herself. She even smiled as if it were a normal morning. I kept waiting for her interrogation, a hundred questions about the accident. But Mom didn’t ask me anything. And even stranger, she didn’t threaten to punish me.
Was she using reverse psychology? I decided to reverse her reversal.
“Should we talk about the accident and my punishment?” I asked.
“Why? What good will that do anyone?” Mom said.
“Well, I-I-I don’t know, but …”
She cut me off. “Right now, the house is on fire. And when your house is on fire, you don’t stop to look at who or what caused the flames, you just put out the fire. That’s why Howard and I are not discussing it with you. But make no mistake, young lady, we will. And we will discuss it in full.”
For a second, I thought she had done reverse-reverse-reverse psychology on me. But then it made sense. Number one: Put out the fire. Number two: Arrest the arsonist. Number three: Toss her in prison for a hundred years.
Gesturing, my mother said, “Where did you get those sunglasses? Are they the ones your great-aunt Tillie gave you?”
Unsure how to answer, I went with the truth. “These? No. The universe gave me these glasses, actually.”
Mom darkened. “Do I look like I’m in the mood for clever answers?”
Before I could say anything, Mom’s phone played a Mariah Carey song,
“You and I must make a pact, we must bring salvation back. Where there is love, I’ll be there…”
That was Howard’s ringtone. “I’ll Be There” was Howard’s and Mom’s song.
She answered. The call was quick, less than a minute. After my mom put away her phone, she said, “Mac’s still in critical condition. It’s still touch and go.”
I cursed under my breath. Why wasn’t Mac improving? Did we need to find some better doctors or ship him to a better hospital?
Mom did not wait for my response. Turning away, she said, “I’ll be leaving for the hospital in ten minutes.
“Okay, great. I’ll get dressed,” I said, following her down the hall.
“No need for that, you’re staying home today,” she said. “Clean up around here. Tidy up your room, and maybe think about how you can be a better team player.”
“But Mom, I need to be at the hospital.”
She shook her head. “You being there will only make things worse.”
Mom’s words stung like an attack of angry hornets. I fought crying, and I fought saying mean things back. Fine, I thought. If no one wants me at the hospital, no problem. I won’t have to deal with stupid Tabitha or weepy Howard. Leon and I will hang out and watch Netflix all day. Or, even better, we will run away somewhere where people want us around.
But then I wondered what Better Bertie would want me to do. Watch Netflix or run away was not the answer that popped into my head.
“Mom, I have to be at the hospital,” I repeated.
She looked at me eye-to-eye.
“It’s not a good idea. More of Mac’s relatives will be at the hospital this afternoon. They may not say it, Bertie, but they’ll be looking for someone to blame. That means they’ll be looking at me and they’ll be looking at you. The me I can take.” Mom tapped her chest. “The you I cannot.”
“Mom? It’s super important that I go to the hospital with you.”
“Are you not hearing me? This is not about you, Bertie. For once, can you please just listen and not argue? Just do as you are told.”
“I am listening. Mac’s family may say some mean stuff to me. I get it, and I’ll just take it. I don’t really care what they say or do.”
“Well, I do. And I can’t always be there to protect you.”
“Mac needs protection more than I do. I’m the reason he’s at the hospital, and I … I need to find a way to help him get better. So I have to be at the hospital!”
Her hand gently cupped my face as she smiled and looked into my eyes. “How can you help Mac?”
“I don’t know, but I feel like I’m supposed to do something. Please let me go with you, Mom. We are a package deal, right?”
“And if Tabitha or someone else says something harsh, what happens then?”
I hesitated, unsure of how to respond. Then suddenly I came up with an answer Mom couldn’t argue with.
“Then I feed the right wolf,” I said, holding my breath and waiting for her to agree to let me go see Mac.
“Clever answer,” Mom said, her voice softening ever so slightly.
“Let me go, Mama. I promise I’ll be good.”
“You better,” Mom jerked her thumb toward the stairs, “Get dressed. You got five minutes before the Volvo leaves.”
Running to my room, I peeled off my pajamas and threw on some clothes. But as I dashed down the hall, something stopped me. Gravity or some other unseen force pulled me inside Mac’s bedroom. The room of the boy I had nearly killed.
Surveying his walls and shelves, I decided to put on the sunglasses. Maybe Better Bertie would have some answers or advice.
The room came alive, just like I was hoping it would. I didn’t see Better Bertie, but everything had a glow to it, except for a pair of leather dress shoes that I imagined pinched Mac’s growing feet. Near his bed, a stack of comic books glowed like nightlights. They weren’t all that different from the manga and anime I liked.
Then I saw something glowing red through the nylon fabric of a backpack hanging on a wall hook. Opening a pocket, I pulled out a red Hot Wheels race car that shone much brighter than everything else. I placed it on Mac’s desk.
“Bertie, it’s time!” Mom called from downstairs.
“Be right there,” I yelled.
Before I could leave the bedroom, the red race car started doing loops across Mac’s desk. No joke. After three loops, the car did a tight three-sixty around a pencil cup, then it stopped in the middle of the desk as if it were proud of itself.
“I’m guessing Mac really loves that toy car,” I said, astonished.
A voice sounded behind me. “You are an excellent guesser.”
Whipping around, I saw Better Bertie sitting on Mac’s bed. “Do you want to help Mac, Bertie? Do you really want to help him?”
“Yes! I’ll do anything!”
“Great. How are you gonna do it?” Better Bertie asked.
“What do you mean, how? You’re the one with all the answers!”
“Well, what do you think would be most useful to Mac?”
“Not you, obviously. What is this, are you trying to make me mad?”
“I’m trying to make you think, Bertie. If I just tell you stuff, it won’t stick. You need to puzzle things out for yourself. What is the one thing Mac needs more of? Think. It’s what everyone needs. You even heard it on Mom’s phone this morning.”
“Mom’s phone?” I said, confused.
Better Bertie sang Mom and Howard’s tune. “Where there is love, I’ll be there.”
“Stop singing! Love’s not gonna work for me, dude. I stink at love.”
“Because you keep pushing it away.”
“Whatever! I don’t have time to get all soul-searchy with you now. Mom’s waiting.”
I turned for the door, but Better Bertie jumped in front of me.
“If you don’t start thinking differently, Bertie, nothing will change. Instead of listening to your head, try listening to your heart. You’ll be amazed at what can happen.”
“BERTIE, NOW!” Mom shouted, from downstairs.