Page 34 of The Burning
I shut off the bathroom light, went into the living room, and plopped onto the couch. I already felt accomplished, dying my hair, getting my nails done, and finally completing the overdue skin-care routine; I could now justify spending the rest of the day on the couch reading and watching TV.
Five minutes into my scrolling Instagram withBoy Meets Worldplaying in the background, Elodie texted me. Thank God for being able to pause shows. She was going to a cookout after work and wanted to know if I wanted to go. There was a steak emoji, a beer, and a smiley face in the text.
Nope.
I started to type that I didn’t feel like leaving my couch, but knew that would make her more inclined to push me to go, so I Googled things to do at Fort Benning on a Sunday. There was the local mall, a flea market, a craft show on post. I tapped my finger on the flea market even though it was twenty miles away and swiped through the pictures. I had lived here for years, but had never heard of it.
All outdoors, it looked like stall after stall was filled with stuff like tables and wood and lawnmowers. One guy even sold tile. I looked at the time in the corner of my phone. It was only one in the afternoon. I could get dressed, put on a tiny bit of makeup, and be out of the house before Elodie got home to push me into going to the cookout with her friends. Or even better, I could just put a bra back on, brush my teeth, and go in less than ten. At least my hair and nails were done.
I went with the second option. No one I knew would be at a random flea market twenty miles away on a Sunday afternoon. Most of them would be at the same cookout as Elodie. I bet Kael would be there, too, and an encounter like that was far from what I wanted on this refresh-and-self-care Sunday.
What I needed was to drive my car on the highway with the windows down and depressing-ass music turned up, to sing to myself, and maybe cry, on my way to buy something for my house. Maybe I would find a cool and unique lamp from someone’s grandparent in Germany, to replace my IKEA lamp that I could find in all the matching houses on post. I loved the idea of secondhand furniture. The possible story behind each item made me giddy for some reason and allowed my recently dormant imagination to surge.
As I drove, I was getting more and more excited about what I might find, and about what I wanted my house to look like when it was all set up. I was nowhere near finished, but I hoped this little gem of a market would bring me good deals and easy assembly.
I looked in the rearview at my small backseat as I pulled into the lot. I wouldn’t be able to fit much in my car, but maybe they had delivery? I had to know someone with a truck or big enough car, or maybe Austin did? Someone besides Kael, of course.
I stopped by the ATM at the closest gas station and pulled out two hundred dollars. I debated with myself about how much I might spend, so much so that by the time I got my cash, there were two people behind me waiting impatiently. It’s not like I had the two hundred to spare, but I hardly ever spent money on myself and could justify a little shopping spree because I had just saved myself at least that much by not going to the hair salon.
When I drove into the dirt-paved parking, I smelled the food vendors first. I could always smell a taco a mile away. I parked as close as I could to the front, next to two massive trucks that made me feel like I was in Texas again. I shoved my cash into my small purse and climbed out of the car. As I got closer, looking past the gates to the stalls filled with rugs, jewelry, clothing, blankets, and big pieces of wood repurposed from barn doors, I wondered if two hundred would even be enough. My heart was racing in the good kind of way. This place was exactly what I needed today, and I wasn’t even inside yet. Families crowded the parking lot and the entrance, excited kids, whiny kids, dads who looked like they’d rather be watching football, moms who looked like they hadn’t slept in a week.
Finally, it was my turn, and I got my hand stamped at a counter, my cash pile going down ten more dollars for entry. I was surprised by how many people there were inside, a mix of military families and civilians. You could immediately tell the difference, of course. I scanned the crowd as I got a whiff of hot sugar and funnel cakes. This place was magical.
My first stop was a table covered in jewelry. I felt guilty because I knew I wasn’t going to buy anything, I just wanted to look at it and admire it. I wasn’t a jewelry person, but the deep-turquoise stones were mesmerizing and hard to walk past without stopping. The woman selling them smiled at me but didn’t approach. She must get browsers like me all the time. She had a sweet smile, and I could tell just by looking at her that she had spent her life working herself to the bone.
The ring that caught my eye the most happened to be one of the cheapest. It was simple, just two thin silver bands, connected by a line of the same width up the middle. There was something about it that was calling to me, but it was twenty bucks and I really needed furniture and supplies.
I walked away with naked fingers and reminded myself not to get distracted by pretty rings or huge barn doors that I wouldn’t be able to fit in my car. I walked past rows of wooden stalls and took in all the details, from the calluses on the fingers of the man selling the campfire wood, to the detail in an old painted shutter. I could see chips of the other colors it had been painted before the deep blue it now was. I didn’t stop, I just walked past slowly, admiring everything.
Finally, I stopped at an old Airstream decorated with little cactuses and a huge water cooler full of lemons and limes and ice. They were selling pots of succulents and hanging plants. Adding more life to my house was essential, and I’d much rather be around plants than humans, hands down. I got a free drink in a biodegradable cup, then bought a couple of plants, took a picture of my two new babies that I really hoped I could keep alive, and sent it to Elodie and Instagram. Evidence that I had left the house that day.
Wasn’t there the meme that said: “If it’s not on Instagram, did it really even happen?”
I felt kind of lame right after I posted it and tucked my phone into my pocket. I sat down at one of the little tables and drank another plastic cup full of their water. Something about the aesthetic of fresh lemon and orange slices floating in mint-infused ice water on a hot-ass Georgia day made it the best water I’d ever had. I felt like I was at a spa, even with dirt covering my flip-flopped feet and my hair in a nest of a ponytail on top of my head. The longer I was at the market, the more I loved it. I mentally thanked Elodie for inviting me to the cookout that caused me to run to this place. It felt like the reset I needed—I was in a new town, with Golden Walnut hair, and beautiful plants to look after. The flea market felt so far from my house, from Fort Benning, even if it was only a thirty-minute drive. The drive there had been peaceful, only country roads and one little town with one gas station, a post office, and a couple houses spread out far enough that they wouldn’t hear a peep from their neighbors.
I tossed my cup into the recycling bin and picked up my plants, ready to explore the rest of the market. I didn’t really think it through, though, because the plants were actually pretty big, and I could barely see over one of them.
“Need some help with those?” a voice asked from behind me.
When I turned around, I almost dropped them both onto the ground.
Chapter Sixteen
Kael
Karina adjusted the plants in her arms. I reached to help her, and she took a step backward, nearly stepping into a pool of water to avoid my hand touching her.
“I got it,” she repeated twice in a row, discarding my offer of help.
No surprise. She was a stubborn ass. No damsel in distress, and she loved to prove it, even if it made her blue in the face, or red in the arms, like she was now with the plants scraping her skin as she tried to distribute their weight. She had on gray shorts that were pretty damn short for the flea market on a Sunday. The thickness of her soft, exposed thighs made it hard to look up at the rest of her. The chances of two women having that body weren’t likely.
When she first turned around, I thought it was my guilty conscience making me see Karina’s face or body on a stranger’s. A stranger with different hair than Karina had the last time I saw her just a few days ago. Watching her struggling to hold the pots was a little painful. I knew firsthand how heavy those fuckers were. One of them had big green leaves and a few purple flowers peeking out of soft soil, but the cactus had pebbles all around it and the pot itself was stone. The thorns on the cactus looked sharp as they poked at her arms again, and sure as hell wouldn’t be fun to drop on bare legs or flip-flopped feet.
The first things I clocked about the girl were her thighs and bare feet. Not because I’m a pervy motherfucker, but because the soldier in me was wondering what the hell she was thinking wearing flip-flops to the flea market. Especially with the rain we had been having in Georgia.
“You’re really not dressed for this,” I said.
She glared at me.
