Bill and Sally tucked in Tom. Sally stroked his hair and Tom, exhausted, fell asleep immediately, his small leg cast propped up on his own bed for the first time in a month. Tom put the back of his hand on Tom’s forehead like he used to, with the affection of a father.
Sally looked at Bill. It seemed she hadn’t looked at him in a long time, not since Tom’s diagnosis. Then it was only work and the hospital and sorting through her company’s insurance policies, late nights worried whether the co-pay would cover the chemo because he wasn’t brought in for his tumor, he was brought in for the leg. She would stay up nights. She would cry. She always just accepted Bill was there. She had blamed him for it some nights even though it wasn’t his fault, because Bill let her even while she cried into his chest and it was easy. He was always in the doorway waiting to intervene if it ever became too much, but allowing her space, too, to handle it the only was she knew how even though he wanted to help. She looked at him, really looked at him and how he held his hand gently across their son’s delicate forehead. She had to tell him. Now that it was okay, now that Tommy was back, she had to tell him. This was a fresh start for all of them.
“Bill, I need you to know –
“He’s cold.”
“Put another blanket on him.”
“No he’s cold. Like ice.” He took Tom’s small wrist. He moved his fingers along the underside looking for the sign of a heartbeat. He searched up and down the small forearm but there wasn't any movement. “No pulse."
"Tom? Tom?” He slapped his son lightly on the cheek.
“Dad? What? Stop!”
Tom’s body flashed white and burned Bill’s hand. Bill pulled back. “Ouch!” His hand smoldered. Tom sat up.
“Son,” Sally said, “you glowed.”
“I, I know. I feel good.”
"Honey that's great."
He flashed incandescently a second time and his bed caught fire. "Tom!" Sally reached to pull him from the burning bed but his skin burned her fingers. She stepped back. She looked at Bill and the two of them looked at their only son, who was gazing at his own hands that were glowing like Fourth of July sparklers. His eyes reflected the light and glowed with their own intensity, like two smoldering bits of coal. The fire spread to the wall, and then the drapes. "I feel really good."
“Run,” Bill said to Sally and pushed her out the door. Tom looked at him and held up his hands.
"Neat, huh Dad!" He shot a ball of fire into his dresser.
"Son, not in the house." He said, as if shooting fireballs was as naughty as playing catch near the china. He wondered if any other father had this talk before.
Tom shot another fireball. "One more fireball and you are grounded, mister!"
"Don't treat me like a kid. I'm almost fifteen." The coal in his eyes blew red hot. "You always try to tell me what to do!" Bill barely dodged the ball of gas. It flew into the door and exploded. The room was unbearably hot. Bill felt like he was melting.
"Son, you're going through a lot of changes at this time in your life." He shielded his eyes. "It happens to everyone in their own way." Tom glowed hot again. For an instant Bill could see the bone in his arm like an x-ray and then a blinding darkness. He felt someone grab his hand and drag him away, cooler, cooler, cooler ...
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