Free Courage by Angela B. Macala-Guajardo Page A

summer day in Buffalo’s outskirts. Cumulus clouds putted around under a blue sky. Baku inhaled the August air and forced his feet to take him across Eve’s back yard. The porch steps creaked under his bare feet, angrily it seemed, for having taken so long to meet the old woman face to face and, on top of that, for having come bearing terrible news. He already knew how she would react; it was the mental anguish the news would put her through, the worrying, fear, and despair. The possibility that she’d raised a strong young lady just to die.
    The slate grey paint of the house’s wood paneling was beginning to chip badly. It was ashen white in all the gaps. A good summer storm would probably remove many more flakes. Baku stopped on the bristly straw mat before the back door. The mat read “welcome” in black letter worn fuzzy from years of treading. There was an extra flattened patch of straw in one corner that had received the most trampling. Baku felt as worn down as the mat. He still bore bruises and scabbing cuts from the fight with his son eighteen years ago. According to Earth’s time, Roxie had just a handful of days before she turned eighteen. Baku raised a hand to knock on the screen door’s metal frame, but stopped with his knuckles two inches from it. Would Roxie live long enough to see her eighteenth birthday?
    His heart pounded in his chest, just like any nervous mortal’s would. Dropping his hand, he turned his ear to the door and listened. All he heard was the muffled babble of a television. He turned his mind’s eye to the inside of the house. The cat, Tucker, was snoozing away on the couch, and Eve was on her hands and knees, vigorously scrubbing a stubborn spot on the kitchen floor. Baku admired Eve’s ability to adapt inside the two weeks since Roxie had been taken away, and without much comfort to soothe the parting.
    Baku lightly knocked on the door frame. He took a step back and scrutinized the faint reflection staring back at him. He considered donning a suit and tie, but a quick wiggle of his toes convinced him otherwise. Sandals and belted cargo shorts were far more comfortable anyway. He considered a shirt as well, but it just wasn’t him. Yes, more of his injuries were visible that way, and it would be inappropriate for other people, but Eve was the type who preferred the honest truth over facades.
    The inside door opened, revealing Eve in a maroon t-shirt, beige shorts, and a flowery apron. Her pale eyes scrutinized Baku as she rested a rubber-gloved hand on the door frame. “My goodness! What happened to you?”
    “I apologize for interrupting your cleaning. May I have a moment of your time?”
    “Sure. Come in. Do you need a cab into the city? You don’t look well. ” She opened the inner door wide and beckoned him inside.
    “Ah, no, I’m...” Gods, this is hard . “I’m cashing in on your rain check to meet me face to face one day.” Eve’s widened and she opened her mouth a little. “I’m Baku,” he said plainly, forcing himself to meet the old woman’s stare.
    She took a step closer, taking a full measure of him, and pushed open the screen door. “Please come in, Baku. I never recognized your name. What religion is it from?”
    “None, actually,” he said, following the old woman into the kitchen. “It’s the name my father gave me.”
    “Oh.” Eve picked up her plastic bucket with an S.O.S. pad floating in it. “Can I offer you anything to eat or drink?” She paused by the sink and deposited the bucket in it. “Do you eat and drink?”
    “Sure.”
    Eve gestured to the modest oak table before him. He took a seat in the chair closest to the door. She dropped her rubber gloves in the sink and turned to the fridge. “Are you hungry?”
    “I know you are,” he said. “Feel free to make two of whatever you’re having.”
    Eve took out a jug of lemonade and poured two glasses. “I guess you could just magic anything you want onto a silver platter,