Burning Bright - By Ron Rash Page 0,23
she could see how pretty the ring’s colors were. Once he gave it to her, Lyndee would finally like him, and it would be for real.
Jared didn’t hear his father until the door swung open.
“Your mother wants you to help light the tree.”
The ring fell onto the wooden floor. Jared picked it up and closed his hand.
“What’s that?” his father asked.
“Nothing,” Jared said. “Just something I found in the woods.”
“Let me see.”
Jared opened his hand. His father stepped closer and took the ring. He pressed the ring with his thumb and finger.
“That’s surely a fake diamond, but the ring looks to be real gold.”
His father tapped it against the bedpost as if the sound could confirm its authenticity. His father called his mother and she came into the room.
“Look what Jared found,” he said, and handed her the ring. “It’s gold.”
His mother set the ring in her palm, held it out before her so they all three could see it.
“Where’d you find it, honey?”
“In the woods,” Jared said.
“I didn’t know you could find rings in the woods,” his mother said dreamily. “But isn’t it wonderful that you can.”
“That diamond can’t be real, can it?” his father asked.
His mother stepped close to the lamp. She cupped her hand and slowly rocked it back and forth, watching the different colors flash inside the stone.
“It might be,” his mother said.
“Can I have it back?” Jared asked.
“Not until we find out if it’s real, son,” his father said.
His father took the ring from his mother’s palm and placed it in his pants pocket. Then he went into the other bedroom and got his coat.
“I’m going down to Bryson City and find out if it’s real or not.”
“But you’re not going to sell it,” Jared said.
“I’m just going to have a jeweler look at it,” his father said, already putting on his coat. “We need to know what it’s worth, don’t we? We might have to insure it. You and your momma go ahead and light our Christmas tree. I’ll be back in just a few minutes.”
“It’s not a Christmas tree,” Jared said.
“Sure it is, son,” his father replied. “It’s just one that’s chopped up, is all.”
He wanted to stay awake until his father returned, so he helped his mother spread the last strips of tinfoil on the wood. His mother struck a match and told him it was time to light the tree. The kindling caught and the foil and cans withered and blackened, the fishing bobbers melting. His mother kept adding kindling to the fire, telling Jared if he watched closely he’d see angel wings folding and unfolding inside the flames. Angels come down the chimney sometimes, just like Santa Claus, she told him. Midnight came and his father still wasn’t back. Jared went to his room. I’ll lay down just for a few minutes, he told himself, but when he opened his eyes it was light outside.
He smelled the methamphetamine as soon as he opened his bedroom door, thicker than he could ever remember. His parents had not gone to bed. He could tell that as soon as he came into the front room. The fire was still going, kindling piled around the hearth. His mother sat where she’d been last night, wearing the same clothes. She was tearing pages out of a magazine one at a time, using scissors to make ragged stars she stuck on the walls with Scotch tape. His father sat beside her, watching intently.
The glass pipe lay on the coffee table, beside it four baggies, two with powder still in them. There’d never been more than one before.
His father grinned at him.
“I got you some of that cereal you like,” he said, and pointed to a box with a green leprechaun on its front.
“Where’s the ring?” Jared asked.
“The sheriff took it,” his father said. “When I showed it to the jeweler, he said the sheriff had been in there just yesterday. A woman had reported it missing. I knew you’d be disappointed, that’s why I bought you that cereal. Got something else for you too.”
His father nodded toward the front door where a mountain bike was propped against the wall. Jared walked over to it. He could tell it wasn’t new, some of the blue paint chipped away, one of the rubber handle grips missing, but the tires didn’t sag and the handlebars were straight.
“It didn’t seem right for you to have to wait till Christmas to have it,” his father said. “Too bad there’s snow on