"Alice, stop causing trouble. Go to town and buy some fireworks for tonight. Now."
I glanced at Vivian, guarding the ashes like a dragon with its hoard. They were terrified I'd steal their luck.
Suppressing a cold laugh, I snatched the money, feigned disappointment, and stormed out, slamming the door behind me.
But I didn't stop watching.
As I walked down the road, I pulled out my phone, eyes glued to the living room surveillance feed. On screen, Vivian beckoned my nephew over.
"Ryan, come here. Come get some of Grandmother's blessing."
I nearly stopped walking. In her obsession with superstition, she'd conveniently forgotten her own son's severe asthma.
When Ryan had his first attack years ago, I'd begged them to take him to a specialist. Vivian had only screamed at me, blaming me for feeding him "dirty" osmanthus cake—ignoring the fact that he'd begged for it.
"My son's cough is your fault!" she'd shrieked.
My concern had been met with venom. Now, as I watched her hand him the ash-filled mold, I felt nothing but dark, icy anticipation.
The ceiling fan whirred overhead, slicing through the stagnant air.
Just as I predicted, a sudden gust swept through the room, scattering the fine grey powder of Grandmother Henson's ashes. Ryan inhaled sharply. In an instant, his face went from pale to a suffocated purple. He dropped to a crouch, clawing at his throat, gasping for oxygen that wouldn't come.
Panic erupted in the living room.
Vivian shrieked, rushing over to pound on her son's back. "My baby! Ryan, say something!"
I stood outside a convenience store miles away, unwrapping a vanilla cone. The cold sweetness hit my tongue as I watched the chaos unfold on my phone screen. A farce, and I had a front-row seat.
My family swarmed around Ryan like headless chickens. My brother reached for his phone, hands shaking. "I'm calling an ambulance."
"No!" Vivian slapped his hand away. "We need to ask Grandmother first."
Mom chimed in, voice shrill. "Exactly. Hospitals just steal our money. I have a folk remedy. If the dice show a three, we treat him here."
Ryan had collapsed to the floor. His face darkened to a terrifying crimson, his chest heaving in silent spasms. While the boy fought for air, his family debated his fate with bone dice.
Absurd.
Vivian scrambled toward the dice, desperation etched into her features. "Please, Grandmother. Tell us what to do."
She cast the bones.
A three.