Playing with Fire (14 page)

I find Mrs. Hassan back in the kitchen busily putting some things away. “I don't mean to intrude,” I say in a quiet voice, “but I think some uninvited guests have come to your party.”

She nods and frowns. “Yes, Vijay just told me this.”

“And I think some have alcohol.”

“Oh dear.”

“I just wanted to let you know. You see, my friend Olivia, the girl in the band, has made it clear she won't play for parties where teens are drinking alcohol.”

“Yes. That's understandable. I must inform Neri of this development. Thank you for telling me.”

To my surprise, and probably everyone else's, Dr. Hassan loudly claps his hands and asks the band to stop playing so he can make an announcement.

There is some misunderstanding here.” He speaks in a loud but polite voice. “It has come to my attention that some of you were not invited to this party, and some of you teenagers have been imbibing alcohol. I ask you please to excuse yourselves from these premises before I am forced to call the authorities for police assistance.” He pauses and looks at the crowd. “My apologies to our legitimate guests. Please remain and enjoy our hospitality until midnight.” He smiles now. “Thank you very much.”

Then almost as quickly as they came, the intruders trickle out. And after about fifteen minutes, the party is back to what it was before. I'm impressed with parents who really do care and who are willing to do the responsible thing, even if some kids think it's uncool. To me it's refreshing.

“You were out pretty late,” Mom says to me when I finally get home. It's after midnight, and I explain about Olivia's gig and how I gave her a ride.

“Did you just get home too?” I ask, noticing that she's still wearing what she had on when she went out with Steven.

She smiles. “We went out dancing after the movie.”

“Did you have fun?”

She nods, then looks at the clock. “But if we're getting up early to go skiing tomorrow, we'd better hit the hay.”

“Is Zach home?”

She frowns.”Not yet.”

“Oh…”

Then she shrugs. “Nothing we can do about that, Samantha.”

“I guess.”

But there is something I can do—pray for my brother. As I dig through my closet to find some ski gear for tomorrow, I pray that God will get Zach's attention and help him get back on track.

I smell smoke. But when I look around me, all I see is snow. Not crisp white snow like on a Christmas card, but snow that's been trampled and is dirty and dingy. And because it's getting dusky out, the shadows from pine trees are making it seem even darker, sort of a gray blue color that feels sinister and unclean and frightening.

Among the footprints, one particular set of prints catches my attention. They appear to have been made by tennis shoes, and for some unexplainable reason I know that the shoes were Adidas. Then without really considering what I'm doing or why, I follow these prints.

They lead in the direction of the smoke, and after walking about fifty yards, I notice a small wooden structure tucked into some trees up ahead. This is the source of the smoke and fire, and it's not a good fire. The smoke isn't curling out of the stone chimney on the roof but is escaping through cracks and crevices around the windows and doors. I see flickering yellow light dancing in the windows and reflecting out onto the snow. This out-of-control fire is devouring everything within the cabin, yet no one seems to be around or aware of what's going on.

I instinctively reach for my bag to get my cell phone to
call 911, but that's when I realize not only do I
not
have my bag and phone with me, but I am in my pajamas and barefoot! No wonder my feet are freezing.

Worried that someone might be in danger, I hurry toward the cabin, still following those same tennis-shoe footprints, which lead directly to the front door. I hop as I go, trying to protect my frostbitten feet from the icy surface of the snow.

The wooden structure is completely engulfed now. Bright orange flames, like an enormous bonfire someone forgot to tend, explode through the roof and leap into the darkening sky. I have to step back to keep the heat from burning my face.

I notice a stump nearby, like one that's been used to chop firewood on. So I go over and sit down on it and actually lift up my feet and face them toward the burning house, hoping to warm them.

Maybe something good will come from this strange fire. There's obviously nothing I can do to stop it, and as far as I can see, no one is in danger. But as I sit there, I notice this dark liquid trail cutting through the surface of the snow and trickling toward me. Thinking it's something leaking from the house, I follow it with my eyes. But what I see at the source of this trail is alarming.

I dash over to get a better look. There, only a few feet from the burning house, lying facedown in the snow, is a man. He's been shot, perhaps several times, and a dark pool of blood is staining the snow all around him. He has on a Gap denim jacket and white Adidas tennis shoes. And that's when it hits me.

Zach has those exact same shoes and jacket!

My hand flies up to my mouth as I shriek out his name. “Zach!”

Then I wake up. I am still shaking from the dream, and tears are streaming down my face. My feet are uncovered and are clammy and cold, and I am shivering. I pull my comforter closer around me and consider my dream.

“What does it mean, God?” I whisper. “I know it's a warning, but what does it mean?”

I get out of bed, and with my comforter still draped around me like a fluffy cape, I tiptoe out into the hallway and stealthily make my way to Zach's bedroom door. It's barely cracked open but enough that I can hear my brother quietly snoring. I let out a small sigh.

He's okay. At least for now.

I
‘m surprised you made it up this morning,” Mom tells I Zach as we load things into the back of her car. Steven decided we should take her car today since his is too small for four people and ski stuff. Plus her Volvo already has a ski rack. My dad put it on about a year before he died. No one has even considered taking it off. It makes me sad to look at it. I try not to think that it should be my dad adjusting it right now. It should be his hands fastening the skis and poles securely. How much different would our lives be if that were the case? Yet I know there's no going back. And I know that God is bigger than all this. Somehow He must be able to sort this out too.

I'm being quiet as I sit in the backseat of the car, but Mom and Steven make up for it as they discuss the latest news—a stock-market slump that is impacting his job and budget cuts at her work, which mean more employee layoffs.

“I think they're trying to see who can win the pity prize today,” Zach whispers to me, then laughs.

I nod and attempt a lame-sounding laugh. “Yeah. Wanna compete with them?”

He shrugs. “Well, I'm currently broke, jobless’, fresh
out of rehab with absolutely no direction for my life. Some people think I'm a loser. How's that for starters?”

“What are you saying back there?” Mom turns around from the passenger seat and stares at us. (She asked Steven to drive since she doesn't like driving on snow.)

“We thought you were competing for the best sob stories,” Zach explains. “I'm sure you'd all agree that I can win that one.”

“Oh, Zach.” Mom shakes her head. “If you'd only just try harder, I'm sure you could find work.”

“Yeah, right,” he says. “I mean, you two are up there complaining about the economy and job cuts, and now you act like getting a job is a piece of cake.”

“I didn't say it was a piece of cake.” She frowns. “I simply said you need to try harder.”

“Sometimes there are people, especially job interviewers, who can read you, Zach,” says Steven. “They can tell if you feel negatively about yourself. They catch those vibes and end up feeling the same way.”

Zach gets a very dark look on his face, and I'm worried he's going to say something mean. We're only thirty minutes from home, not even halfway there yet, and this trip could go totally sideways. But Zach keeps his mouth shut. He just folds his arms across his chest and turns and looks out the side window. Still, I can tell he's ticked.

“I'm not telling you what to do, man,” Steven says in a semiapologetic tone. He must suspect that Zach's not exactly swallowing this “fatherly” advice. “But sometimes we need to examine the bigger picture and learn from our mistakes, you know?”

“Yeah, whatever.”

Okay, I know it's time for an intervention or our ski trip is going to be over before we even hit the highway, but all I can think about is last night's dream—Zach facedown in the snow.
Dear God, help me.

“Speaking of learning from our mistakes,” I begin suddenly. Then I tell them about last night's party, how it was crashed and how well the Hassans handled it. I can tell Zach's not impressed. In fact, he probably thinks I'm a big wet blanket since he'd be one of the kids who would want to party hearty. But Mom seems relieved.

“So that's why I didn't get a call from the jail last night,” she teases.

“Yeah, but Olivia and I were ready to walk if we needed to. No way were we going to get stuck in something like that again.”

Zach actually rolls his eyes at me now. But I can tell he's slightly relieved to have the spotlight off him. And Mom seems to get that Steven crossed over a line in his minilecture. I mean, there's no doubt that Zach needs someone to set him straight. But I just don't think Steven's the guy to do it. Anyway, Mom keeps the conversation light and mostly between Steven and her. Zach goes to sleep, or pretends to go to sleep. And I sit there and pray, asking God to lead me today.

, For some reason—maybe the snow—I think last night's dream has something to do with today. And I don't plan to let Zach out of my sight. Okay, that's not going to be easy since last time we went snowboarding, he mostly left me in the dust, or the powder. But somehow I need to make him stick with me today. And who knows, maybe we'll even have a significant conversation.

But later when I attempt to bring up the subject of NA meetings and his mentor and working his recovery program, I am shut down. ‘

“I am working my recovery program,” he insists just seconds before we jump off the lift. “But it's
my
program, Sam. Not yours. Not Mom's. And for sure, it's not Steven's. You guys just all need to butt out and let me do this on my own. I mean, if there's one thing I learned in Washington, it's that it's up to me whether I succeed or not.”

And then we're off the chair, and Zach tears down the mountain at breakneck speed. There's no way I can keep up. Not only that, but this run is way beyond my expertise. It takes me about thirty minutes to get down, and I'm pretty surprised that Zach is actually waiting for me when I get there.

“Sorry, Sis. I didn't mean to bite your head off up there.”

I'm still slightly out of breath. “That's okay. I guess I shouldn't keep bugging you. It's just that I care.”

He nods. “I know you do.” Then he smiles, and it's one of those great Zach smiles that can disarm anyone, even a little sister. “And I'm glad you do. But you have to trust me, okay?”

“Okay.”

“And you still want to ride with me?”

I say that I do, but I'm really not so sure. “Maybe an easier run this time?”

He agrees. And we take a couple of lower-level rides, but I can tell he's getting bored. So I try to do it his way. But by noon, I realize that keeping up with Zach on the slopes isn't just impossible; it's dangerous and stupid. After a nasty fall where I actually think I've broken a bone
or sprained my knee, I give up on the hard runs. I do a couple more easy ones, just to make sure I'm not seriously injured, and then I retreat to the lodge, where I buy a soda and. find a discarded
People
magazine that entertains me for the next hour.

“What are you doing in here all by yourself?” Steven asks as he sits in one of the big easy chairs across from me.

I point to my sore knee and describe my little wreck. “It was a total yard sale,” I admit at the end of my saga. “I almost expected someone to make an offer on my pink ski hat since it was like twenty feet above me on the slope.”

He laughs. “That's too bad. But your knee's feeling better now?”

“Yeah, I think it's okay Where's Mom?”

“I'm not sure. She and I parted ways so I could do some more challenging runs, but we planned to meet here at three.”

“Well, it's not quite three yet.”

He nods, then frowns. “I think I put my foot in my mouth with your brother this morning.”

“That's not too difficult to do.”

“Still, I'd hoped today would be a breakthrough for us. I had actually imagined skiing with him—well, he'd be riding and I'd be skiing. I thought we'd have some nice little chats going up the lifts.” He sighs. “I must've been slightly delusional or watched one too many episodes of
The Brady Bunch.”

“You really watch that?”

He looks slightly sheepish. “Sometimes.”

This makes me laugh. “Well, Zach's still got stuff to deal with. You shouldn't take it too personally.” I don't go
into detail about how I got shut down today too. After all, Zach did apologize later.