Soul Fire Read Online Free Page B

stir crazy doing nothing.
    So, when Linda Murphy, coordinator for volunteers at Harborside Medical Center called to ask if I would once again volunteer at the therapy pool this season, I happily agreed while silently promising myself to be careful. Like many hospitals, Harborside relied on volunteers. Celeste and I, along with the rest of our swim team have done this sporadically over the past two years. It wasn’t much to give back in exchange for the hospital’s ongoing sponsorship of our team.
    Within minutes of Linda’s call, an idea began to form. Justin had been transferred to Harborside from Vancouver. For the past two weeks, I had agonized over his future and imagined him in a wheelchair forever. Had I destroyed his entire life ? Would he ever walk again? Questions like those and constant worry over his broken legs haunted my dreams. Daytime thoughts were around what I had done to him, so it all came down to one thing. I had to see him and find out for myself how bad things really were before I lost my mind. I had to find a way to make things right . . . somehow.
    But how do I do that without him recognizing me? I was certain the mere sight of me would freak him right out.
    Thanks to Linda, a plan began to form, and I set off on a shopping trip. The outcome was now tucked under my arm. I climbed our front steps, opened the door to our warm, welcoming home, and was immediately assailed by squeals of little voices and laughter. A row of miniature shoes and boots lined the brightly painted hall and small winter coats hung from hooks above them. Not yet five o’clock, Mom’s home daycare was still in full swing. I hung my wet things on the coat rack to drip dry and headed for the kitchen. Thinking of a hot drink, I dropped my backpack and shopping bag onto the kitchen table.
    Even though Mom was busy inside the daycare area, she heard my arrival and had mentally tracked me to the kitchen. She called out, “Hi, Ashla. Could you unload the dishwasher while you’re in there? And put the lasagna in the oven? Three fifty, please. Thank you . . .” I filled the kettle, turned it on, and then pulled a package of hot chocolate from the cupboard.
    Neither of my parents had spoken to me about the whole Whistler ski disaster or the fact that I had misled them about it; so now, I was packing around a ton of guilt and felt like a total jerk. When I asked to borrow Mom’s car to go to the mall, she had refused without explanation, so maybe that was my punishment, or maybe she was following doctor’s orders.
    A young voice interrupted my thoughts. “Buy me something?”
    I swung around to see five-year-old Anika standing behind me. She was a miniature likeness of our father with his dark hair and eyes. Fortunately, she had inherited his calm, complacent nature as well as inquisitive ways. Her pudgy fingers probed my plastic shopping bag.
    “Anika! Don’t sneak up on me like that.” Feeling suddenly neglectful for forgetting her treat, I knelt down and hugged her. “I didn’t bring you anything this time, Sweetie, but I promise that I’ll bring you two bags of gummies tomorrow.”
    Her pretty little lips turned upward, the smile lighting up her button face. “Two,” Anika said, and held up two fingers. “Okay, Ashla,” she sang happily and planted a kiss on my chin before turning and racing off.
    As I stood, I caught sight of my grandmother, a skeletal apparition hovering inside the kitchen door. The older woman had ghosted into the kitchen and was standing rock still in the far corner of the room, her white curly hair—once my color, was wild around her head. Her eyes, like pinpoint lasers, were honed in on me. She held Crossbow, her white Siamese cat. Even he appeared to be sneering at me. Hoping to miss whatever caustic remark she was about to fire my way—something she did with relish—I snatched my things off the table and started out of the kitchen.
    “Hold it!” The screech sent shivers up my spine. “Get