The Firebug of Balrog County by David Oppegaard Page A

beneath her skin. When you hugged her you had to be careful (she cracked ribs frequently, sometimes just from coughing hard). When I hugged her, I’d feel the knobby ridge of her spine with my fingers. It reminded me of the outline of a mountain chain, or the armored plating of a small, vegetarian dinosaur.
    W omen joked with my mother about how they wished they could transfer some of their fat onto her and men treated her with exaggerated courtesy, holding doors and carrying anything that needed carrying. When you went out around town with her, you could feel people staring, startled by her thinness, by the fact she was still among the living. Mom didn’t mind—I think she felt that it was far better to be stared at, to be seen, than to be tucked away in a hospice with more privacy than anyone could possibly want.

    In November, I got a call from Dad during my lunch hour. He said he was taking Mom to the hospital because she was having trouble breathing. More trouble than usual, he meant. My grandparents were going to pick up Haylee and he thought it might be a good idea if I also left school early and rode with them to the hospital.
    The first thing I thought about was my American history class.
    â€œI have a test next period,” I told him. “A big history test.”
    â€œYou do?”
    â€œYeah.”
    Dad didn’t say anything. I thought about all the long years of siege, all the false alarms and minor incidents.
    â€œIs it okay if I take the test first and then show up? Sam’s grandma can take me.”
    I saw Dad standing in the living room with his phone to his ear, frowning.
    â€œSure, Mack. That’s fine. We’ll meet you at the hospital.”
    â€œCool. I’ll get there as soon as I can.”
    I took my test and then dutifully rode with Sam’s grandmother to Thorndale. At the hospital, I found my father sitting with Haylee and Grandpa and Grandma Hedley in the waiting room. They all looked worn out, blasted. They told us Mom had been sedated and put on an artificial respirator. She couldn’t breathe on her own anymore.
    I’d missed her by an hour.

A Slow Afternoon at
Hickson Hardware
    S o you went on a drive?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWith her? That hot college chick from Lisa Sorenson’s party?”
    â€œVroom vroom, baby.”
    â€œAnd you drank … brandy?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œAnd you watched the sun set behind a field of cows. A beautiful, romantic sunset.”
    â€œYes, Sam. We did.”
    â€œAnd you didn’t put the moves on her?”
    â€œWell—”
    â€œDamn it, Mack. That was your shot. Your one shot at the big time.”
    â€œI didn’t really see an opening—”
    â€œAnd you fucked it up. You fucked it up and now she probably thinks you’re solid best friend material. You will now be BFFs.”
    â€œI don’t think you should be behind the counter. What if Big Greg checks in? That’s his stool you’re sitting on. He loves that stool.”
    â€œBig Greg? That’s what you’re worrying about right now?”
    â€œHe can get mad, dude.”
    â€œNo he can’t.”
    â€œHe yelled at this guy for returning a ladder. He’d already seen him using it to trim branches in his front yard.”
    â€œWow.”
    â€œAnd then he pummeled him with both fists, Incredible Hulk-style.”
    â€œThat didn’t happen.”
    â€œAnd then he bellowed. He bellowed so loud Mr. Ladder’s head exploded in a spray of meaty fragments. I had to use the wet mop and tons of bleach after that one. You wouldn’t believe how much fluid the human body actually contains.”
    â€œI bet I would.”
    â€œHa ha.”
    â€œJesus, Mack. Do you want to be a virgin forever?”
    â€œSam, it’s not like she’s dead.”
    â€œUnless you killed her. Did you kill her, Mack? Is this really what we’re talking about here? A country