Page 3 of Embers

At least I have something to call him now other than Derek’s dad. “Rachel. I’m his girlfriend.”

Cal’s eyes briefly cut over to Derek, who’s leaning against the truck, trying to clear his throat. Then he asks me, “Where’s your family?”

“There was only my mom. She’s been dead for more than a year.”

“Is there anywhere else you want to get right now?”

“I want to stay with Derek.” I no longer have any idea what to expect out of life, but this much is clear to me. Wherever Derek is, that’s where I’ll be too. He’s the only person I have left.

His dad nods, accepting my statement without comment. Then returns his gaze to his son. “What happened to your mom, boy?”

“She died last month. It was her lungs. Everyone’s getting it.”

Cal begins to reply but stops when Derek starts coughing again.

None of us state the obvious.

After a minute, when Derek has settled, Cal asks, “Why didn’t you tell me your mom died? I could’ve helped.”

“I didn’t want to tell you,” Derek replies. “I’m eighteen, and we were fine.”

We weren’t fine. We’ve been barely scraping by for the past month. But I wouldn’t dream of contradicting Derek in this. This is his dad. He gets to make the choices. If I still had my mom, I’d get to make the decisions regarding her.

“You shoulda told me.” Cal turns and gestures toward the house. “You’ll have to stay here for now. Cabin’s only one room, but we’ll manage. I’ll see what I can do about beds.”

Derek says, “Thanks.”

I should probably thank him too, but I don’t want to. I don’t like this man. He’s mean and rude and rough-looking. He was in prison for a few years, although I don’t know what for. He makes me want to cringe.

Yes, he saved our lives, and that’s a good thing, but he doesn’t have to be such a jerk about it.

If he cared about his own son even a little, he would have been checking in on him a long time ago.

* * *

A couple of hours later, I’m not any more optimistic about us staying here with Cal. The small cabin is indeed only one room—without even a bathroom. Just a disgusting outhouse in the back. There are chickens and pigs in the yard, clutter filling a couple of run-down outbuildings, and way too many vehicles parked everywhere.

It feels dirty and depressing, even compared to our deprived lifestyle for the past year.

I don’t complain, of course. I might be superficial enough to dislike unpleasant surroundings, but I’m not selfish enough to whine to a man who is keeping Derek and me alive.

There’s no electricity or indoor plumbing in the cabin, but we didn’t have power or water in town either—not for months now. At least here there’s a well.

When we need more water in the cabin, I volunteer to go get some.

I’ve never gotten water that way before, but I’m imagining a pretty girl in a long dress and mobcap, filling up a little bucket that descends into an old-fashioned stone well. Surely it can’t be that hard.

I’m wrong. It’s nothing like that.

There are two big metal tanks behind the cabin and a huge handle that I have to pump up and down to fill up a large container. It takes most of my strength to pump enough water to fill it up, and then I struggle to haul it inside.

I’m doing it though. That should be made clear. I’m short and small-boned, and it’s been a long time since I’ve had healthy food to eat. I might not be big and strong, but I’m managing. I’ve got both hands clenched around the handle of the container as I carry it, and only a little of it is sloshing out from my wobbles.

I definitely could have made it back to the cabin on my own. I don’t need Cal to appear out of nowhere in that annoying way he has and grab the water container away from me.

“I had it!” I react before I remember it’s smarter to be nice to this man since both Derek and I are at his mercy.

“Yeah, with about half of it slopping out onto the ground.” His eyes aren’t soft and brown like Derek’s. They’re a dark grayish color and pin me down. His hair and beard are medium brown, uncut and tangled, and he’s got ugly scars covering the bared expanse of his left arm.

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