The Year of the Storm (22 page)

Then I heard the high buzz of cicadas and the crackle of electricity. Men's voices, search parties, and the aftermath of a brutal storm, one that I'd narrowly escaped. I listened to it all, picturing the scene perfectly, even down to Sheriff Martin's squad car, which I saw overturned among trees shredded like mulch.

This was my place, my home.

I woke up.

W
hen I opened my eyes, I'm not sure what I expected. What I got was darkness, pure and silent. It took me several moments to realize where I was, to realize that I was back where I'd started inside the storm shelter. I tried to get up, but my body was weak, my mind cloudy. It felt like I'd just awakened from a weeklong nap.

Gradually, I worked my way up to my feet and steadied myself on the ladder. I started to climb when I remembered Pike. He'd been near death when I left the last time, and then when I came back, he'd been gone. Or at least, I thought he had. Suddenly, I wasn't exactly sure of anything.

I paced the shelter two times over and it was empty.

This was good, right? I tried to convince myself. No body meant he was still alive. Still, something nagged at me. Where were Anna and Mom? I remembered—if only vaguely—them joining me in the quicksand. We'd done it. We would be a family again.

But we weren't. I was alone.

Trying to hold off my tears, I climbed the ladder on unsteady legs. My ribs and head hurt. My nose was bleeding. When I opened the hatch, the daylight burned my eyes so badly, I had to close it again. Wincing, I opened it back up just a crack and stuck my head out. In the distance, I saw a line of men trekking through the woods. They had dogs and one of them had a rifle. They were looking for someone.

They were looking for me.

I closed the hatch, shaking. They could find me after I knew where Mom and Anna were, after I'd determined if Pike was alive. Not until.

I went back down the ladder and lay on the ground. I slept. This time, I know it was sleep because my dreams were dreams, and when I woke up, the world hadn't changed a bit.

Well, maybe that's not quite true. A miracle was waiting for me when I woke up.

—

M
iracle.
I don't think Dwight cared for that word much. He once told me he thought it strange that I'd use it to describe Pike's return. After all, hadn't he abducted me? Left me for dead in the storm shelter?

I told him it hadn't been like that.

He nodded. Smugly. Son of a bitch.

There are things about the slip, about fourteen, that I'm willing to consider, to question. Indeed, treading back through those memories is like navigating a rocky sea of unanswered questions. I can accept this. I have to accept it. To do otherwise would be foolish. The swamp, the girls, all of it was open for debate; even if I leaned one way or the other, there was always something waiting to sway me back. But Pike? His honesty, his genuineness, his true desire to help me? No, I don't question this. He wanted to help me. He believed the story he told.

Sometimes, that's all that matters.

—

T
here are bad days. More, lately, than ever before. Days when I remember the swamp like a distant dream, and on these days I hit the bar right after work and drink until I'm sleepy, until I can't think of anything except dragging my ass home and climbing into my warm bed. If I'm lucky I'll go right to sleep and dream nothing that I'll remember. But sometimes, even the alcohol isn't enough to keep my mind away, and I make the case in my head, a slow and painful kind of litigation, a weighing of facts versus memory. I build scales inside my head and heart. Try to strike a balance that I can live with. But eventually, I give up. The balance between what I remember and the physical world governed by universal and tenable laws is either too ethereal for grasping or it does not exist at all.

So where does that leave me? To answer that question honestly, I have to consider my greatest fears—that I have in the course of my life slipped away from any universally accepted definition of sanity. Either that, or all of us have been wrong about everything, every notion, every law, every piece of this great pie we accept as reality.

And that's when I remember the storm. The magic that it carries. If there's magic in a storm, why can't there be magic in a storm shelter? Why can't there be magic in anything, really? We don't know.

None of us really know, and finally, I think this is the only comfort I have.

—

W
alter Pike shook me gently. He had a flashlight sitting behind him, and his long shaggy hair glowed in its beam, illuminating his haggard face. Haggard, but kind. One of the kindest faces I'd ever seen.

“Damn it, damn it, damn it. I knew you didn't leave me. You slipped. Tell me you slipped.”

“I slipped.”

He stood up and danced—yes,
danced
—around the shelter. He did this until a coughing fit took him and he had to get some oxygen from his tank.

I sat up. “I don't understand it all, though.”

“It's a mind trip, isn't it?” He leaned forward, his face turning deathly serious. “Were they there?”

I nodded.

He waited, his mouth hanging open expectantly.

“I thought I brought them home. But . . .” I trailed off, not wanting to finish the sentence.

“But they didn't come with you, huh?” He looked sad. He sat back and lit another cigarette. “Shit fire. Goddamn shit fire.”

“What happened to you?”

“Woke up and found my oxygen tank. Saved my life. You were gone. Slipped, I figured, so I climbed out of here in the dead of the night. Saw my place. Torn to the ground. They're saying it was the worst storm in the state's history. Your place had some damage too, but all in all, you were lucky.” He puffed on his cigarette. “Can you tell me about it?”

I told him I could, but first, I thought I needed something to eat. “How long have I been gone?”

“Best I can figure it is three days.”

I tried to get my head around this number. It seemed like only a few hours.

“Your daddy made bail. Least that's what I heard one of them sheriff's deputies saying while they were out hunting for us. I found an overturned tree. Hid back behind the roots, right down in the mud, but I could hear every word they said.” He shrugged. “Wasn't about to leave until I saw it through with you. When are we going to go back?”

“Back?” The very idea caught me off guard. “You don't understand. There's no going back. I did everything I could do. The rest is up to her.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“I'm sticking around for a few days just in case.” He stood and clutched the ladder with one hand, his flashlight with the other. “Can you make it home?”

“I think so. But aren't they looking for you?”

“They are.”

“You'd better split.”

“Nah, I'll be fine in these woods, at least for another few days. I know them like I was born in them.” He grinned, and so did I. As much as I didn't want him to get caught, I was still glad he was going to stick around.

“Give me five minutes to make sure the coast is clear. I don't want one of them cops to start harassing you before you get a chance to see your daddy. I'll whistle when it's clear, okay?”

A few minutes later, I heard the whistle. I climbed out of the shelter and made it about halfway home before collapsing in the mud.

I
woke up in the hospital with two IVs in my arms. My dad sat beside me, and when he saw my eyes open, he stood up and put his hand on my shoulder.

“Son?”

I think I tried to smile. It was tough. Before the expression could form, I remembered that I'd tried and failed. Mom and Anna did not come back.

He squeezed my shoulder gently. “Thank God.” He dropped his face into my chest and began to sob. I put a hand on his head and patted. It was strange, feeling like I was the one with the strength and not the other way around.

Eventually, he sat up, wiping his face clear of tears. He smiled weakly. “I thought I lost you too.”

I shook my head. “No, I'm still here.”

“I'm so happy.”

“You made bail. That's good.”

He flushed, embarrassed, and I wished I hadn't said anything.

“Are you okay?” He said the words slowly, as if I might be traumatized. “You can tell me what happened. You can tell me anything, Danny.”

“Are Mom and Anna back?”

He shook his head. “Danny, please don't do this, okay? They're gone. I don't know where, but sometimes you have to accept that and move on. Your mother didn't want us in her life.”

“I saw her.”

“What?”

“She came with me. She may be here. Did you check at home? When have you been home last?”

“Danny, the doctors say you're dehydrated and you've had a severe concussion. I'm sure things have been confusing for you, to say the least.” He leaned forward. “Did he hurt you? It's okay, Danny. Just me and you. You don't need to be afraid.”

“Did who hurt me?”

“Walter Pike. Who else? If he hurt you, just say the word. Sheriff Martin is already looking for him. They'll bring him to justice.”

“He didn't hurt me. He helped me. Pike would never hurt anybody.”

Dad scoffed. “History says otherwise. You know he was wanted for murder when he was fourteen?”

“I know. He told me. It was self-defense.”

Dad stood up. I could see he was getting angry. “Danny, he's brainwashed you. I don't know how he did it, but it's clear.”

I closed my eyes. There was a small part of me that was ready to concede. I'd taken Pike at his word, done exactly as he recommended, and what did I have to show for it? Sleep deprivation? Dehydration? Three days missing from my life?

No. I went there. I saw her. I beat Sykes. I would believe it. I had to.

—

T
he doctor came in and talked to Dad. They stepped outside into the hallway, so I couldn't hear what they were saying, but afterward, Dad didn't mention Pike. He didn't seem angry at me either, so I imagine he was told that I was in a fragile state, some bullshit like that. Whatever it was, he laid off me.

Until we were on the way home.

I asked him about the man he assaulted.

“Who was it?”

“I don't want to get into that, Danny.”

I sat in the passenger seat, watching the cotton fields go by in long silver streaks.

“But I do. I need to know.”

He sighed and pulled the car over to the shoulder. He killed the engine and turned to face me. “I suppose you're old enough to handle the truth.”

I waited. For some reason I felt nervous, even though I was pretty sure I knew what he was going to say.

“When you were a little kid, your mother had an affair with a man. His name is Wallace Turner. He's the bartender out at Ghost Bells on County Road Seven. She had been drinking a lot. Using drugs. When I found out, I don't know, I sort of freaked. It wasn't hard to know something was going on. She was out every night—she said it was with her friends, but I knew that was a lie—and I was home every night with you.” He touched my shoulder. “Not that I minded hanging out with you.

“Anyway, she eventually told me she wasn't happy. She told me she wanted to leave me. Us.” He let the last word linger, and I felt tears welling up from some place deep within me, tears that I'd tucked away for a while, tears that I'd pretended weren't tears at all.

“I couldn't accept it. I went down there one night and followed her out into the parking lot behind the bar. Wallace was with her, and they took turns shooting up. Do you understand what I'm talking about when I say that she was shooting up, Danny?”

I nodded.

“She was using heroin. I lost it. I went for her right then and there. I dragged her back to the car and took her straight to a rehab clinic. Two months later, she came out a different person. At least she seemed different. Life got better. It really did. We started trying for a second child, and after some pain and heartache, we had Anna.

“Anna changed your mother. At first, I thought it was for the better. She was fiercely protective of her. Whatever Anna needed, your mother made sure she had. She took a second job waiting tables to help pay for the tests Anna needed.” He shrugged. “But that didn't last. She came home late from work one night, drunk out of her mind. I told her to quit. She quit, but not before making it clear she didn't like being told what to do.

“Then about a year and a half ago, I noticed some of the signs again. She was drinking again, maybe even doing drugs.” He clenched his fists on the steering wheel. “I tried, Danny. I tried to pull her back out again, but I couldn't. The man I beat up was Wallace. I shouldn't have. Since I caught them those years ago, he's cleaned up, stayed away from her, I think. But I was so angry. I think she's with somebody else now. I just wish she could have left Anna behind.” He let go of the steering wheel and put a hand on my shoulder. “If I could have just done more for her. I tried, son. I promise that I tried. I think that sometimes when a person goes too deep, only they can decide to come back. It has to be something that she wants to do. You understand?”

I did. I understood all too well. Dad wiped away a single tear and started the car. We drove the rest of the way in silence.

—

T
he roof was partially gone from the house, and Dad had covered the missing sections with black tarp.

“We were lucky,” he said. “You should see Cliff's house.”

“Is Cliff okay?”

“He's fine. He and his parents were in the basement. Wanna know the kicker? Because they had such a great insurance policy, they'll be rebuilding the whole thing from the ground up. It'll be bigger and better than ever. That Banks, he called to check on you, and then talked for fifteen minutes about the movie room they're going to have. Son of a—”

He finished the sentence. Eventually. But what happened in between his last word and the expletive to follow totally changed his meaning.

Mom stepped out of the house. She was haggard, worn out, maybe even dirty, but she stood there on the stoop in the very place Pike had stood on that stormy night not too long ago. She stood there and smiled.

“—bitch,” Dad finished.

I didn't wait for him to stop the car. I opened the door and jumped out while he was still rolling to a stop. I ran as fast as I could and embraced her.

When I finally let go and looked into her eyes, I saw something—recognition, maybe.
She knew.
I can't explain how I was so sure, but I was. She remembered.

“Dan-dan,” a voice said from inside the house. “Say ‘in the dark.'”

—

T
his is how I explained it to Dwight.

I accept that my mother left me. Left us. She took Anna with her. Based on what I remember about that day, it wasn't planned, at least not completely, but something caused her to take Anna and go. If Dwight helped me at all, it was only to see this.

What I also accept is that I had a hand in bringing her back. I can't explain how I used the slip to contact her. I think it had something to do with Anna and those girls and Pike's steadfast belief that she'd be there. The darkness that had fallen over her life had put her there, or at least a version of her, a husk of herself that could at least see me and respond to me. Maybe to her, it was just a dream, but not on my side. On my side it was real.

At least I think it was.

No, not think. Believe. I believe it was real. I have to. The other choice scares me worse than anything else in the world. Not only does it make me crazy, it makes the world sane. It makes a storm just a storm and the past something that can't reach into the future and matter. It makes the wind that blows against my window at night nothing more than a trick of the atmosphere instead of the breath of heaven. Dwight says I'm choosing to believe lies.

Maybe he's right.

Then again, maybe he's wrong.

There is a possibility, however slim. And that's enough for me. Always has been.