Smokeless Fire by Samantha Young Page B

walking out of Stepford into Sandford. Charlie’s neighborhood was still considered the west side, as was their high school, but only four blocks over from the high school was all the low income housing and two well-kept trailer parks. Overall Sandford Ridge wasn’t a bad place to live. It just… wasn’t great either.
    Just as she was taking her first steps onto Charlie’s street the smell of sandalwood and spices floated up her nose and Ari skidded to a halt, her heart suddenly thumping in her chest. Sniffing the air to catch the scent again her skin prickled as if someone were staring at her. Or standing right over her shoulder. Heart hammering now, Ari twisted her head around and stared. No one there. She sniffed again and couldn’t find the scent. Thoroughly freaked out at the reminder of the invisible hands that had rescued her, Ari curled her arms around her waist, hunching over and picking up her feet.
    Jittery, Ari felt her heart kick into super speed as she strode up onto Charlie’s porch. She blew out nervous air between her lips, glanced once more to make sure there was no one behind her and rapped on the porch door. When there was no response she rapped again, only harder this time.
    Mrs. Creagh appeared at the door, pulling it open and shoving the screen door open so hard it almost whacked Ari on the nose. Charlie’s mom’s expression cleared somewhat at the sight of her but Ari missed the huge smile she always used to bestow on her when she came around. “Ari. Haven’t seen you in a while.”
    Ari shrugged apologetically. “Yeah, I know. Things have been… busy. I’m looking for Charlie, is he still home?”
    Mrs. Creagh snorted and stepped back. “You’ll be lucky. You can go on in and check his bedroom if you like. I’m late for work.” She grabbed her handbag and keys and scooted past her, patting her shoulder almost affectionately before she left. Ari stared after her, watching her walk to her car with slouched shoulders and angry lines around her eyes. The bubbly, mothering woman who would have known whether or not her son was safe and home in his bedroom every night and every morning was gone. She’d died two years ago along with her youngest. Feeling anger at her loss and her subsequent treatment of the son she had left, Ari swallowed hard, trying to force the choking sensation in her throat away.
    “Mrs. Creagh!” she called out before she could stop herself.
    Charlie’s mom nearly dropped her keys, her head jerking up in confusion. “Yeah?”
    “He’s not good,” Ari told her, her voice cracking on the words. “Charlie.” His mother gulped, her skin seeming to tighten even more across her cheeks, her lips trembling. Seeing the emotion Ari took a step towards her. “He still needs you, Mrs. Creagh. The way he’s going… you’ll be lucky to have any kids left.”
    Rearing back like Ari had slapped her, Mrs. Creagh’s face darkened, her eyes narrowing. Ari waited for her to say anything, even if it was to tell her to mind her own business, but instead she jammed her keys in the car door before hauling ass into it as if she was running from a wall of flames. Feeling almost bad for what she’d said, Ari turned away and peered into the house. If Charlie was in, she hoped he hadn’t overheard that.
    Pushing her shoulders back, she walked slowly into the house, amazed by how familiar and yet unfamiliar it was. Mrs. Creagh had always been this TV mother, always baking so the house consistently smelled like mouthwatering heaven. She’d also hated clutter and there was never a speck of dust anywhere. Now the walls were faded, darkened by cigarette smoke; there were photographs of Mike everywhere, frames cluttering furniture and the walls. Ari stopped at the doorway to the living room and felt her chest twist in pain. Mr. Creagh, about thirty pounds heavier than the last time she’d seen him, was lying on his recliner in front of a flickering TV screen, his eyes closed, his mouth