he realized what he was doing, he pulled out the photo.
Outside, the wind continued to howl and he could hear branches slapping against the structure. With every passing minute, he knew, the rain was engorging the creek. All at once, an image arose of the tree house platform collapsing, with Ben trapped in the raging water beneath it.
“I want to give you something,” Thibault said, the words out before he’d even consciously thought them. “I think it’ll take care of your problem.”
“What is it?”
Thibault swallowed. “It’s a picture of your mom.”
Ben took the photo and looked at it, his expression curious. “What do I do with it?”
Thibault leaned forward and tapped the corner of the photo. “Just carry it with you. My friend Victor called it a lucky charm. He said it’s what kept me safe in Iraq.”
“For real?”
That was the question, wasn’t it? After a long moment, Thibault nodded. “I promise.”
“Cool.”
“Will you do me a favor?” Thibault asked.
“What?”
“Will you keep this between the two of us? And promise to keep it with you?”
Ben considered it. “Can I fold it?”
“I don’t think it matters.”
Ben thought about it. “Sure,” he finally said, folding it over and slipping it into his pocket. “Thanks.”
It was the first time in over five years that the photo had ever been farther from him than the distance to the shower or the sink, and the sense of loss disoriented him. Somehow, Thibault hadn’t expected to feel its absence so acutely. As he watched Ben cross the bridge and he caught sight of the raging creek, the feeling only intensified. When Ben waved to him from the other side of the creek and began to descend the tree ladder, Thibault reluctantly stepped onto the platform, before moving onto the bridge as fast as he could.
He felt exposed as he crossed the bridge step by step, ignoring the certainty that the bridge would plunge into the creek, ignoring the fact that he no longer carried the photo. When he reached the oak tree on the other side, he breathed a shaky sigh of relief. Still, as he climbed down, he felt a nagging premonition that whatever he had come here for still wasn’t over—and was, in fact, only beginning.
26
Beth
On Wednesday, Beth stared out her classroom window at lunchtime. She had never seen anything like it—hurricanes and nor’easters had nothing on the series of storms that had recently pounded Hampton County as well as every county from Raleigh to the coast. The problem was that unlike most tropical storms, these weren’t passing quickly out to sea. Instead, they had lingered day after thunderous day, bringing nearly every river in the eastern part of the state to flood levels. Small towns along the Pamlico, Neuse, and Cape Fear rivers were already knee-deep in water, and Hampton was getting close. Another day or two of rain would mean that most of the businesses downtown would be reachable only by canoe.
The county had already decided to close the schools for the rest of the week, since the school buses could no longer make their routes and only a little more than half the teachers had been able to make it in. Ben, of course, was thrilled by the idea of staying home and playing in the puddles with Zeus, but Beth was a little more leery. Both the newspapers and the local news had reported that while the South River had already risen to dangerous levels, it was going to get far worse before it got better as the creeks and tributaries fed the rise. The two creeks that surrounded the kennel, usually a quarter mile away, could now be seen from the windows of the house, and Logan was even keeping Zeus away because of the debris washed out with the deluge.
Being trapped indoors was hard on the kids, which was one of the reasons she’d stayed in her classroom. After lunch, they’d return to their classrooms, where in theory they’d happily color or draw or read quietly in lieu of playing kick ball or basketball or tag outside. In reality, kids needed to get their energy out, and she knew it. For years, she’d been asking that on days like this, they simply fold up the cafeteria lunch tables and allow the kids to run or play for twenty minutes, so they could concentrate when they returned to class after lunch. Not a chance, she was told, because of regulatory issues, liability issues, janitorial union issues, and health and safety