Playing with Fire

I gave Marla a quick hug and sent her off, then hiked up my sleeves to pound on the door.

The water had begun to leak through the door crack. My breath hitched as I watched the thin sheet of water sliding down beneath my FILAs, making its way to the hallway. Was she filling up the bathtub?

I didn’t know how she managed to lock Marla outside. She wasn’t supposed to be there alone. Ever.

You were supposed to swap out the doorknobs that could be picked from the outside, a little voice inside me fumed. You kept telling yourself Grams was incapable of being so reckless. Of doing something so dangerous. Another lie you fed yourself about her.

“Grams,” I called out in my softest voice. “It’s me, Gracie-Mae, your grandchild. Please open the door so I can help you.”

“Gracie who?” she asked with a suspicious huff. “I don’t know any Gracie-Mae. The only family I have is Freddie and my Courtney, and she’s in trouble, because riffraff like yourself are trying to sell her drugs. But I’m not going to let it happen anymore. It ends now. Right, Courtney, baby?”

Who was she talking to?

Dear God, how bad was she?

But I already knew the answer to that question. I just pretended it wasn’t so.

I grabbed the door handle, giving it a shake. When that didn’t work, I slammed my palms flat against the wood desperately.

The water kept pouring, slithering down the stairs now. Just like the night of the fire, but in reverse. She was going to drown. I couldn’t let it happen. I feared even if I called West or Sheriff Jones, by the time they got here, something bad would have happened.

“I’m comin’ in!” I announced, angling my shoulder toward the door and taking a step back. I used all the momentum I could muster and crashed into the door with the side of my shoulder.

Other than possibly dislocating it, nothing happened.

Crap. Crap. Triple crap.

“Grams!” I hit the door, gasping. No answer.

I thrust my shoulder against the door again, trying to pick at the door handle, the sting of tears coating my eyes. I fumbled to take out my phone, calling West while continuing my attempts to open the door.

“Tex,” he answered after the first ring. “What’s up?”

“I need you to come here. Grams locked herself in the bathroom, and the water’s runnin’. It’s everywhere, West.”

“On my way.”

I heard him getting up and the sound of his wallet chain, the jingle of his keys as he scooped them up, and the crunching of his boots on loose gravel.

“I worry you are going to be too late …” I choked on my words. I should have never left her alone. Marla couldn’t take care of her on her own.

Then, what? Do you want to drop out of college and dedicate your life to taking care of someone who you make miserable and doesn’t even remember you half the time?

I heard him revving the Ducati, but he didn’t hang up.

“Do you have your debit card handy?”

“Ah, I don’t have a card,” I mumbled, blushing.

“Any cards in your wallet? Costco? Health insurance?”

“I have my library card,” I swallowed.

“Is it plastic?”

“Yes.”

“I’m going to walk you through unlocking the door. Get the card.”

“Okay.”

I ran back downstairs, holding the phone while he was on speaker, and hunted for my wallet in my JanSport. It took me three times before I managed to produce the library card, my fingers shook so badly. I sprinted up the stairs again, positioning myself in front of the bathroom door. The water reached the ground floor, and terror flooded through me.

I could hear West riding, the wind blowing about. His phone was tucked inside his helmet, the way I saw him doing dozens of times.

“Got it?” he asked.

“Got it.”

“Slide the card between the door and the frame, just above the lock.”

I did as I was told, my breath stuck in my throat.

“Now, tilt the card toward the door handle and try to bend it between the lock and the frame.”

“On it.”

I wiggled the card back and forth, feeling the lock latching and unlatching, but not all the way. My raw nerves shot a signal to the rest of my body, making me tremble. The heavy swishing of water in the bathtub on the other side of the door made me want to throw up. And then …

The door clicked, sliding open, just an inch. I flattened my hand on it, bursting in. Grams was in the bathtub, completely clothed, the water at her chin-level. She stared me down, awake, her eyes murky.

She looked like she wanted to shoot me.

“It’s open!” I cried into the phone with relief, dropping the device in the dry sink. I launched toward Grams. She swatted me away, her hand heavy with water. I turned off the water immediately.