Obscura Burning by Suzanne van Rooyen Page B

Now it’s got a dingy diner tucked between “native culture” curio stores.
    “Have you seen Shira’s mom since…?”
    “Nope.” I tug strands of hair over the left side of my face.
    “Me neither.” Danny tucks the strands behind my ear and I almost flinch, not wanting him to reveal deformed flesh. Only I’m not scarred in this life. I don’t know how I could’ve forgotten.
    We pull into Garry’s and park outside the diner. There are more cars than I anticipated. Height of summer, the tourists are out in full force flocking to the Northwest to see the Native sights.
    “I hope she’s not here.”
    “Probably passed out at the back of the diner.” A bell chimes above our heads as I wheel Danny into the curio shop. The lady behind the counter looks up to greet us, and her ready smile is replaced by a frown.
    I freeze. I can’t look this woman in the face.
    “Hey, boys,” she says. “Nice to see you again.”
    Danny wheels himself forward, forcing me out of the way. “Morning, Mrs. Nez.”
    I don’t trust myself to speak so I just nod. Even though her husband died years ago, she still uses his name. Dead husband, now dead daughter. Some people’s lives really suck.
    “How you doing, Daniel?” She ignores me completely.
    “Pretty good actually. Getting stronger every day.”
    “Good for you, kiddo. Can I help with anything?” Not even the faintest whiff of gin on her breath. The night of the fire she was passed out drunk at a bar in Farmington. No one could get hold of her until the next day. I guess losing your daughter is as good a reason as any to sober up.
    Shira wouldn’t believe me if I told her that her mom could actually go a day without marinating herself in alcohol.
    “We’re hunting for a sombrero. Been all over town, but no luck. Right, Kyle?” Danny looks up at me and Shira’s mom finally makes eye contact. But her gaze is searing, and I know my face is turning beet red.
    I hang back as Danny negotiates the route between rails of traditional Navajo dress, woolen rugs fresh off the reservation, turquoise beaded jewelry, pottery, and other artworks. There’s a gaggle of sunburned tourists oohing and ahhing over the various wares, fingering feathers and tinkling wind chimes. How many in the shop are ones that Shira made?
    There’s a TV on in the corner, tuned to CNN. The sound’s off, and the picture shudders as the anchorman mouths words I can’t decipher. The image holds for a moment or two as a crystal-clear photograph of the visiting planet fills the screen. The scrolling along the bottom reads Astronomers believe Obscura might be affecting time itself. My veins wither beneath my skin as the screen crackles with snow.
    Danny emerges moments later with a rainbow-colored straw sombrero.
    “That the best they’ve got?” I ask, and Shira’s mom purses her lips.
    “I think it’s cool,” Danny says.
    I crouch down so he can put it on my head. It’s a little big and I feel like an idiot, but Danny’s smiling, and that’s all that matters.
    “How much is it?” Danny reaches for his wallet.
    “Nah, have it on the house.” Shira’s mom smiles at him and returns to the register.
    We’re almost out the door when I turn back, heart hammering against my fractured ribs, and walk right up to the counter.
    “Mrs. Nez.” There’s tumbleweed in my throat. “I’m really sorry about what happened. Shira didn’t deserve that. There isn’t a day that goes by…” My gaze slips from her glistening eyes to the countertop. The words are choking me. “We’re going to hold a memorial for Shira after the street dance. I just wanted to let you know. We’re really sorry. I’m really sorry about everything.” Part of me wants to tell her that actually, it was Danny who died, me who got burned to a crisp, and that Shira is doing just fine.
    I leave in a hurry without looking back.
     
    * * *
     
     
    “What’d you say to Shira’s mom?” Danny asks as I put the truck in