Snakeroot

8. Burning

Twelve turned into thirteen. Thirteen bloomed into fourteen, and my body unfurled to five-foot-eight just like Tara. Megan was eight years old by that time. Tommy was three. And Tara was glorious seventeen. At the end of that very summer she would be eighteen. Juan gave her a diamond ring early that summer and asked her to marry him. He did it on one knee, right there in the camper in front of all of us. Tara squealed her yes and threw herself into his arms, nearly knocking him over. Megan and I hugged each other with tears of joy.

By that time, the little ember inside of me was a full-blown fire. Our struggle wasn't over, but it was better. We could finally see a light at the end of our cold, dark tunnel. Juan was saving up for a place, he told us, where we could all live together like a proper family.

"It's a duplex not far from Ms. Linda's place," he said. "It has two bedrooms and a little den that we can make into a third. It comes with a washing machine and it has a refrigerator with an ice maker in it. We'll all move in as soon as we are married. We'll adopt all the kids - "

"You would do that?"

"Of course I would. You know I love them too."

Those few weeks during that summer were the happiest of my life. Juan was there almost every day after work, so we didn't have to worry about Daddy or Uncle Henry at all. All of us stayed outside in the evenings listening to the music playing in Tara's little white pickup truck that Juan had gotten for her. Sometimes we all danced together. Sometimes we just tossed an old baseball around. And sometimes Megan, Tommy and I just stretched out in the back of Tara's truck while she sat in the cab with Juan. We watched the evening settle gently into night, stars winking at us one by one.

"Think you'll ever get married?" Megan asked me one evening when we were watching the stars.

"Maybe," I said, "if I find a guy as good as Juan."

"You're pretty enough," said Megan. "You'll find another Juan someday."

It was hard to think of myself as pretty, even though people were starting to tell me that I was. Folks were also starting to think I was older than Tara, since my face had lost its baby fat and had taken on sharper angles. But I knew that if they could see our insides, they'd know for sure that Tara was older. She radiated strength, whereas I still felt like a scared little kid most of the time.

Even on those happiest of days, there was always a little bit of darkness lurking just around the corner. I was never naive enough to believe that those glorious happy days would last forever. Life was too tough for that, no matter who you were. Looking back on it, maybe I always should have known that it would happen like it did.

It was almost time for school to start again when that awful darkness settled over us again. On that day, we were all outside waiting for Juan to come. It was getting late; the sun was almost below the horizon. Tara was sitting in her truck listening to music, parked under one of the two shade trees on the lot. Tommy was sitting on the front step of the camper, playing with a stuffed animal Juan had given him.

Megan and I were in the yard tossing our old baseball back and forth when we heard Daddy's truck roaring down the road. Tires squealed, then the truck came plowing through the field next to our house, heading right for us. I ran back toward the trailer, dragging Megan along with me. I didn't see the impact, but I sure heard it.

CRASH.

And then...

BOOM.

The ground shook. Hot wind blew my hair around in my face. I whirled around, shoving hair back, trying to get my balance. The sight before me was one of a roaring inferno with our drunk Daddy picking himself up off the ground in front of the blaze, cursing. It was sort of hard to see what was on fire at first, but then I realized what had happened. The front end of his truck had Tara's little cab pinned against that tree, and it was smashed almost flat. Both trucks were burning violently, rudely, taunting me as I screamed for my sister. I ran to it but Megan was screaming for me, and that alone stopped me.

Then I smelled that awful smell, and I knew that Tara was gone.

I don't really remember seizing the closest thing to me - which happened to be half an old cinder block - and knocking Daddy out with it, but they say it left a scar. I don't remember the cops showing up either, or the ambulance, or the coroner. But I remember Juan driving up, oblivious, to find his love burning. He tried to run to the smoldering truck just as I'd done but I threw my arms around him and held him back.

His howl of crazed anguish ripped through me.

Loss. Loss. Loss. Loss.