The Hurricane (12 page)

“
Outside
?” Zola asked, listening in to their
conversation.

“The upstairs tub is empty,” Daniel offered. “We could take
buckets up there and rinse off.”

“We’ll have to conserve the water,” their mother said. “We
need to assume it’ll be a week without power. It could be even longer.”

“There’ll be places we can go if it gets to be that long,”
Carlton said. “After Hugo, they had generators running at the YMCA and we stood
in lines for hot showers. But still, we’ll have to be careful with how much we
use of everything.”

Daniel absorbed those words and thought about how surreal
their lives had become, and in an instant. He could actually picture what the
end of the world might be like. He felt he was getting a hazy glimpse of
Armageddon.

“It’ll get better once we get a car back,” their mother
said. “Once Hunter shows up, we’ll go try and find some supplies, see if we can
borrow a chainsaw, find someone who can get that tree off and patch the roof,
even if temporarily.”

“Can we get your car out of the shop?” Daniel asked Carlton.

He shrugged. “We’ll have to run by there and see.”

“There is
so
much I need to be getting done at work,”
their mom said out of nowhere. She tugged off her gloves and rested her hands
on her knees. “This couldn’t have happened on a worse week.”

Carlton rested his saw on the tree in front of him and went
to her side. “There wouldn’t have been a good week for this,” he said. “When
are you not busy at work?” He put an arm across her shoulders, and Daniel and
Zola looked to each other in the uncomfortable silence. Chainsaws buzzed in the
distance, but it was getting so Daniel hardly noticed them. They were the new
sounds to replace the chirping birds, who still had not returned from wherever
they had gone. Daniel was waiting for them and Hunter to return. He was waiting
for some reason or excuse to visit Anna down the street, even though the idea
of just walking to her house filled him with nervous jitters. He was waiting on
these things—but it was a surprise visitor who came to him first. The visitor
arrived that afternoon as the sun was beginning to set and dinner was being
scraped off dishes and into the yard.

It was then that Daniel’s father came home.

The unexpected arrival of their dad brought the same
bittersweet sting and salve that his departure had wrought. The excitement came
from the sight of a power company truck, one of the bucket machines with large
tires and metal tool cabinets everywhere. Its brakes squealed to a stop in the
cul-de-sac; Zola turned to the window, saw it first, and let out a squeal of
excitement.

“We’re gonna get power back!” she said.

She left the dishes to dry on a towel spread across the
dining room table and ran toward the front door. A chair squeaked on the wood
floor as Carlton got up to follow her out. Daniel hurried after them, hoping to
hear some news from the outside world besides the Charlestonian static from his
Zune.

Zola was halfway down the driveway when she stopped cold.
The passenger door had opened, disgorging a man familiar at any distance. She
stood there, frozen in place, as he shrugged a green duffle up on his shoulder
and walked toward them, smiling.

“Frank,” Carlton said, more out of stunned recognition than
by way of greeting.

Their father nodded. “Carlton.”

“What are you doing here?” their mom asked. She moved
briskly down the driveway, past Daniel who had taken a spot by his sister, his
arm moving around Zola’s back. The driver got out of the truck and slammed the
door, then rummaged in one of the tool boxes.

“I had no place else to go,” their father said, lifting his
hands. The smile on his lips dimmed, then faded altogether. “I lost the boat,”
he said quietly.

Their mom raised a hand to cut him off. She walked past him,
toward the man from the power company, who rounded the truck with a chainsaw in
his hand. Everyone else stood on the driveway, casting uncomfortable glances.

“How long before the power’s back?” Daniel heard his mom
ask.

The man shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck.
“Can’t say,” he said. “We’re just doing a survey right now.” He walked up the
driveway and set the chainsaw down by their father’s feet. “I told Frank I’d
drop him off since I was heading near here anyway.” He jerked a thumb over his
shoulder. “We came in on our service road by the lines. I think you guys are
cut off, but somebody will probably be by in a day or two to let you know
more.”

“In a
day
or two?” Carlton asked. “How bad is it out
there?”

The man frowned. “Governor’s calling it a national disaster.
They’ve got trucks and men heading this way from as far away as Florida, but
coordinating it all is gonna be a nightmare. Columbia got hammered. Storm went
right up twenty six. The entire interstate is closed down while they get it
cleared of trees. Hell, it took us all day to work our way over here.”

“Is anyone going to bring food or water around? Are the
stores open?”

The power man looked to their mother. “Most people who’d be
working are too busy tending to their own mess.” He glanced toward their house
and the massive tree resting across it. “Believe it or not, you guys are lucky.
I wish I had better news, but I don’t want you guys to plan for the best and be
disappointed.” He patted their father on the shoulder, nodded to the rest of
them, then took a step away. “Somebody will be around in the next day or two,”
he said again.

Daniel watched his mom run after the power man. “If you and
Frank are friends, take him home with you.”

The man shook his head. Daniel heard him say something about
inlaws, a full house, as much of a favor as he could repay, and then a door
squealed on twisted hinges and slammed shut on the rest. The power truck roared
to life and did a tight turn in the cul-de-sac. A guilty hand waved from the
open driver-side window.

“I’m sorry to do this to you,” their father said as their
mother stormed up the driveway. Daniel and Zola hadn’t moved. It was all
playing out like a scene from a daytime drama.

“You’re in the toolshed,” their mother said. Daniel could
tell at once that she actually meant it. She stopped by him, bent and retrieved
the chainsaw, then stood back up. “The chainsaw can stay in the house.”

With that, she marched back toward the front door, past a
frozen Carlton, the silence blooming as the distant buzz of chainsaws fell
still and the Beaufort sun set over the first day of Hurricane Anna’s
aftermath.

••••

Daniel slept fitfully that night. He thought of his father
out in the toolshed, curled up in a sleeping bag, and his guts twisted with a
mix of worry and anger. When he wasn’t dwelling on that, his thoughts turned to
the girl down the street. Anna, who had smiled up at him as they’d partnered to
build—to him at least—a near magical device for sipping juice out of sunshine.
The back and forth—feeling infatuation one minute and rage the next—had him
spinning in his bed, searching for comfort. Daniel was dying to run to either
of them, to wake his dad or Anna up and have some sort of conversation—but to
say what? A storm had blown through his life and somehow had left these two
people behind like fallen oaks. Both had appeared out of nowhere, even though
one seemed to have lived a few houses down for quite some time, and the other
was probably just a short drive away for who knows how long.

Twice in the night, Daniel went to his window and looked out
over the moonlit back yard—still jumbled with downed trees—and out toward the
toolshed in the back. It was one of those prebuilt units, made to resemble a
small house with two little windows in the front, a covered porch, and brightly
colored trim. Daniel had helped clear a spot for his father inside, twitching
his nose at the heavy smell of gasoline, checking the plywood floor for any
sign of rat droppings, feeling sorry for him and hating him at the same time.
He stood by the window both times that night and looked out at the barely
discernible toolshed, then went back to his jumbled sheets and tried to find
some solace in them.

In the morning, he woke to the sound of a chainsaw, buzzing
like an alarm, but much closer than the others had been the day before. Daniel
crawled out of bed and tugged on some bluejeans, despite the sticky heat in the
powerless house. His legs had been scratched to hell by the yard work the day
before, and it wasn’t like he could sweat any more than he already would. The
jeans, at least, would offer some protection.

He pulled on a fresh t-shirt and padded downstairs. The
front and back doors were propped open, along with all the windows, allowing a
slight breeze to plow through the heat and humidity. The roar of a chainsaw
chewing through wood rattled through the house. Daniel hurried out to the front
stoop, expecting to find his father manning the machine over a thick log,
buried up to his knees in sawdust. As he scurried down the steps, Carlton
looked up from the limb he was cutting, his safety goggles fogged with an early
sweat. He powered the chainsaw down, the chain clacking in complaint, and
smiled up at Daniel.

“You want a turn?” Carlton lifted the chainsaw and held it
out toward Daniel.

“I’m actually scared of those things,” Daniel said. He
looked across the yard for any sign of Zola or his mom, but it looked like
Carlton was the first one out to work on the storm debris.

“They’re completely safe if you use the right precautions.”
He jerked his chin. “Come here and I’ll show you.”

Daniel patted his stomach. “Lemme get some breakfast first.”
He looked back toward the house. “Where is—? Is my dad up?”

Carlton lifted his goggles and placed them on his forehead.
“Haven’t seen him,” he said.

Daniel nodded. “I’ll be back in a little bit.”

He turned and went back up the steps and into the house. As
he crossed into the kitchen, the chainsaw roared back to life and began chewing
through more wood. Daniel grabbed two cups from the drying rack by the sink,
filled them with room-temperature water from a pitcher, shook a shiny pair of
Pop-Tarts packs from an open box, and stuffed them in his pockets. He cradled
the cups of water and headed toward the back door. Before he made it out, his
sister appeared at the bottom of the steps, her eyes thick with sleep. Zola
took one look at Daniel as he prepared to back through the screen door with the
cups of water, and knew where he was heading. She gave him a disapproving
frown.

Daniel wanted to say something, but didn’t. He pushed the
screen door open with his heel and backed onto the patio, allowing the springs to
clap the door shut. He turned and weaved through the labyrinth of downed trees
toward the toolshed. A path through the limbs and brambles had been made by
someone else, probably Carlton rummaging for tools the day before. Several
other chainsaws could be heard throughout the neighborhood. Daniel’s mind
drifted toward the girl a few houses down as he stepped up to the toolshed’s
porch.

He knocked twice and opened the door.

Light spilled through the two small windows. A puff of
gasoline-laden air hit Daniel and tickled his nose. His father looked up from
where he was crouching on the floor, forcing a sleeping bag into a tight roll.

“Daniel!” His father beamed. The smile on his face was not
that of a man who hadn’t seen his son in over a year.

“I brought you something to eat,” Daniel said dryly. He set
down one of the cups by his father’s bedroll and fished in his pocket for a
pack of Pop-Tarts. “Here.” He held them out.

“I’ve actually been awake for a while,” his dad said, almost
defensively. He accepted the food and sat back on a pillow Daniel recognized as
belonging to the living room sofa. “I didn’t want to wake you guys and couldn’t
really get started with the saw ’cause it was inside.”

“Carlton’s using it,” Daniel said, jabbing a thumb toward
the door.

“I heard.” His dad looked away. “So, things are going well?
How’s school?”

The questions made Daniel want to scream, to yell at his
father, to beat his fists on something, to run to a girl down the block that he
barely knew and press his face into her shirt and cry like a fool—

“Fine,” he said instead. “We’d only been back a few days
before the storm hit. So I guess I’m acing all my classes so far.”

His father laughed. More than the joke warranted. He tore
open his Pop-Tarts and patted the bedroll at his feet. “Sit,” he said.

Daniel remained standing. He took a sip from his own cup of
water, his eyes not leaving his father. He drank a deep gulp, and then lowered
the cup.

“I take it you were in the area when the storm hit?”

His dad looked away, as if the truth had scurried into one
of the toolshed’s dark corners. “I’ve been living on the houseboat down in the
City Marina,” he said.

“You’ve
been
living there?” The water sloshed out of
Daniel’s cup as his hand shook. “How long? How long have you been here?”

“June?” His dad said it like it was a question, like he
wondered how much Daniel’s hatred of him would grow if he tossed that out
there.

“Were you gonna call? Were you—what was your plan, exactly?”

His dad took a bite of the cold Pop-Tart, crumbs sprinkling
down on a nice shirt that hadn’t been worn to do nice things in quite some
time. “I’ve been working through things,” he said. “I got to where I needed to
be close to home to get any better. I just wasn’t there yet.”

“You needed to be
close
.” Daniel tasted the words and
wished he had something stronger than water to wash them down.

“I’ve stopped drinking,” his dad said, almost as if he could
read Daniel’s mind.

“Lemme guess—ever since the storm closed the liquor store
down?”