“I’ll meet you there,” he says. He’s already putting his hat on his head. “Is it on the north side or the south side?”
“Both. Jake and I can go to the north side if you want to take the south.”
“Sounds good,” Ethan replies. “Call me if anything changes.”
He hangs up the phone and pulls me against him again. “I’ll be back in a little while.”
“Are you sure this is a good idea?”
“No, but I’m going anyway.”
“Glutton for punishment,” I mutter.
He gets Mitchell’s attention. “I’ll be back in a few minutes, son. Behave yourself, okay?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Mitchell mutters, but he doesn’t look up from his book.
“Sorry,” Ethan says. “I know I just got here.” He looks worried.
I shove him toward the door. “Go so you can get back sooner.”
He leaves, his shoulders hunched against the rain that’s still falling. I watch him through the window as he backs out. He hesitates, staring toward the screen door for a moment, so I raise my hand. He raises his too, and I watch him back out and leave, the rain still pouring so hard that I can barely see his outline in the truck.
“He’ll be fine, Abigail,” Gran says from her spot at the table. “Come help me shell these peas.” She shoves a tall stack of peas toward me, and she puts the bowl between us.
“I do not like shelling peas,” I say with a frown.
“Well, I don’t like sitting idle,” she says. She glares at me until I start to shell the peas.
We shell peas together quietly for about a half hour, until Mitchell calls my name.
“Hey, Abby?” Mitchell says. I don’t correct him. I kind of like that he shortens my name. It’s kind of our thing. He’s standing at the front door, staring out.
“Yes?”
He turns toward me and there’s the oddest look on his face. “Is my dad all right?”
“He’s fine,” I say. But the boy looks like he doesn’t quite believe me.
“Abby? Are you sure?”
I lift my brows at him in response. “Of course. What makes you think he’s not all right?”
He turns slowly back around to stare out the screen door again. Now I’m a little concerned. Is it just nerves at being separated from his father, or—
Suddenly, I notice the flashing blue light that’s shining off the door as it goes around and around. The moisture from all the rain reflects the light, making it seem to penetrate everywhere.
My heart is immediately in my throat. “The police are here,” I say to Gran and I clutch her hand.
She walks over and takes Mitchell by the shoulder, guiding him away with some excuse as I step out onto the porch.
Little Robbie Gentry runs up my front steps, his state trooper hat dripping water. “Robbie?”
I know immediately, because he won’t look into my eyes.
“Robbie!” I say louder.
Finally, he looks at me. “Abigail,” he says, “I’m so sorry. They sent me to get you.”
“Get me for what?”
“It’s Ethan, and it’s bad.”
37
Ethan
When I arrive at Big Belly Creek, which is one of the smaller branches of the system that feeds the lake, I see that the small bridge there is flooded, and I can easily identify the trees that are blocking the road.
I stop and get out my tow straps, and I get ready to tie up to the trees so I can pull them out of the road at least. If I can get them out of the way, I can come back tomorrow and cut them up, when the rain isn’t so bad. But as I bend over to attach the straps to the trees, I hear the screams.
It sounds like the howling wind at first, so I dismiss it. But then I hear it again.
I look up and don’t see anything but rushing water over the main road that leads to Big Belly Bridge. The bridge is completely flooded, the water high up on the road. Then I see it. I see a car stalled out in the water. On the top of a little white Honda, a lady stands with two small children. One is clutched in her arms, and the other holds tightly to her legs.
She screams and waves her free arm. Water rushes around her feet, and the child she’s holding loses his footing and she catches his arm, pulling him up to rest on her hip. The water rushes fiercely past her legs, and it looks like it’s getting deeper