Peshtigo

I woke up this morning to a room bathed in a sickly gray light, the sun still choked by the smoke. The wildfire had moved further north, but that smoke and the floating ash still hung low over whatever trees and buildings remained along the shore of Catfish Lake. It felt weird having watched it all from this little island, the fire and the destruction, almost like sitting up in the bleachers while everything happened just out of reach.

But that’s life these days, everything’s getting crazier and the crazy’s moving closer to home. Mom tells me that there was a time before I was born when California was rich and Michigan was poor, when people believed our country was beyond things like martial law and insurgency.

But I never wanted to know about the news. I didn’t want to feel scared all the time.

Dustin was still sleeping when I got out of bed; I gave him a quick poke and he grunted a few curses at me. There’d been little seduction last night as he’d brought me to his bed, when both of us were well past tipsy and with the adrenaline making us crazy… whatever romance there’d been had long since drained away.

“Well I’m getting up,” I said, not that he was actually listening.

I pulled on the same clothes I’d worn last night, my school hoodie and matching sweatpants; I didn’t care how much they reeked of lime-flavored light beer and woodsmoke. The whole cabin smelled of that smoke, really, and I wondered if we were making ourselves sick by staying. Today was supposed to be the day we headed back home to Madison; I’m not so sure there’s a way to get there now. Last Friday I couldn’t wait to get away from my parents, and now I already miss them more than I ever thought I could.

And I can’t remember where I’ve left my phone.

I found Xander downstairs in the kitchen, deeply entwined with a couple of mixing bowls. His sloppy brown hair was a mess, more so than usual; I’m sure he was feeling a little hungover too.

“Don’t tell me you’re making breakfast,” I said with a smile.

“It’s man’s work,” he said. He didn’t smile back. “Good morning, Isabella. Did you… did you sleep okay?”

I felt awkward knowing that he knew. You don’t really expect your first time to be so… obvious.

“I’m still tired,” I said. I knew he wouldn’t ask for more, but part of me wanted to tell him everything.

He kept mixing. “I’m making the last of the eggs.”

“Did you lay them yourself?”

He gave me a little laugh, but I could tell he was just being nice. His mood seemed pretty sour.

I offered my help, but he waved me away with a politeness that didn’t seem that honest. I went out to the porch and found my magazine, and then I tried to find a bright enough place for reading. But the sunniest room in the cottage was dreary and cold, more than you’d ever expect in the middle of May. And I didn’t really feel like reading.

I just wanted to go home.

I went back into the kitchen where Xander was still working. I thought about just how much food might be left in the cupboards.

“Do you think the fire reached all the way to town?” I asked.

“I’m sure it did,” Xander said. “That’s where the wind seems to have taken it.”

It was weird knowing that people around here might have lost everything, maybe even their lives. I didn’t know any locals — I’d never been to Eagle River before — but I still felt closer to their grief than I would’ve expected.