Embers Part Two

Embers Part Two 

Tina  and Lyla Ashby were enjoying the pool and each other. Mid-june, when the air itself is full of promise.

It was a beautiful day, bright and optimistic.

Tina was watching her little girl play in their pool, the sun  glinting off her tight curls, splashing , pretending she was a mermaid, and she smiled to herself.  She liked looking at Lyla when she didn’t know she could be seen, getting to look into her world. And she was so heart-breakingly beautiful, her daughter, her features so unusual. Skin the color of copper, hair the exact shade of rich red clay in the earth. Eyes like a tiger’s, a deep gold. When they first brought her home, Tina’s father looked at her and said it looked like  they’d rolled her in cinnamon. He’d called her that ever since, his little cinnamon bun. She loved him unconditionally and fiercely, the way only grandparents can be loved.

Tina sometimes felt that Lyla was more lovely a girl than she and Peter could ever have created on their own, by the force of their collective genetics. She seemed beyond that, more than the sum of her parts. Tina had so often wondered who it was who made her this child and where they came from. Whose DNA coiled like a secret in Lyla’s cells? Who wrote the complex book of instructions that built her daughter, this one-of-a-kind masterpiece? It was like owning a beautiful  painting  with no signature.  It pained her deeply.

But  then, Lyla would say “melk” instead of “milk” just like Pete. Or she would  crawl into Tina’s lap and settle into the soft nook of her shoulder, the one that seemed built for her. And in those moments,  Lyla was theirs entirely. In those moments, Tina just looked at the painting; she didn’t search for a name hidden in the corner. In those moments, she didn’t need to know.

“Momma, can I have some lemonade?”

Lyla, dripping, looked up at her.

“Of course, sweetheart.”

She grabbed a towel off of the chaise lounge by the pool and bundled Lyla up in it. She  filled her a plastic cup from the pitcher on the table and when it dribbled  on her chin, she wiped it for her.

She was so distracted by this task that she didn’t even notice the red mark on her daughter’s left hand.  It was so small, after all. But that night, after Pete got home from work, he decided that he would bathe Lyla.  Have some quality time. She could make him cappuccinos out of the bubbles and serve them to him in the blue sippy cup Tina left in the bathroom for her to play with, tell him stories.  They could be together.  Lyla was still young enough that her naked body was an innocent thing, and he wasn;t uncomfortable with it yet. She was barely more than a baby.

She was laughing at the soapy beard he had put on her chin, making faces. He made some back. Added a tower of bubbles to her head as he shampooed it. It was such an average night. So comfortable.

He made a monkey face and wiggled his fingers at her. She imitated him, and that’s when he saw it. In the center of her palm, a burn.  It was so oddly shaped he did a double take—the white, irritated skin that must have been burned formed a perfect triangle.

“Honey, did you touch something hot? Does that hurt?”

Lyla looked at him with a complete lack of recognition.

“What, daddy?”

“That,on your hand.” He pointed.

“Oh! No. That’s my  superhero arrow.”

“Where did it come from? Your superhero arrow?”

He imagined some creep burning his daughter’s soft flesh and he felt angry, so very angry. How could Tina and he not have seen it? How long had it been there?

“It just came. I was at school sitting with Gracie and Ms. Leonard gave us popsicles for a special treat because it was the last day, and I had strawberry and Gracie had green, and it was so fun, but then I Joey pushed me  and I cried.”  That was just the day before, he thought with relief.

“But where did the superhero arrow come from?”

“I said, Daddy. I was sitting with Gracie. It was the best day ever until Joey pushed me. But before that it ws awesome. I was so happy.  I felt super happy so I got a superhero arrow. “

He sighed, perplexed.

“Did it hurt?”

“No. Not like when Joey pushed me. That hurt. We were playing tag and he pushed me because he’s mean.”

“That is mean. What did it feel like when you got it?”

“It was like when you sit by the fireplace, super warm and good. Daddy, I’m cold. Can you dry me off now please?”

He nodded, picked her up in her hooded ducky towel. Drained the tub and rubbed the towel down Lyla’s arms and in her hair, all without saying a word.

 Probably, she had touched the stove and didn’t remember, or didn’t know that’s where the mark came from. That seemed far-fetched, but Lyla had no other explanation. He tried to forget it, and Tina told him not to worry about it, it would probably go away in a day or two.  But when he tucked Lyla in and turned off the light, her hand lay open on the coverlet, and he could have sworn the triangle glowed.