The Last Boy and Girl in the World (14 page)

But no, he went back to paddling, puffing out air in thick blasts from his cheeks. Even in the dark, I could see his face was flushed.

“Jim, give me the paddle,” Mom pleaded. “I'll take over for a while.”

Dad shook his head. I was about to offer too, but he drove the paddle into the water and pulled it through super-hard, pushing us forward even faster than before, as if to prove to us that he could do it just fine.

Mom couldn't take her eyes off him, her lips slightly parted in surprise. I'm pretty sure I was making the same face. Here was the man we hadn't seen for more than two years.

As we neared the north end of town, the water finally became shallower. When the bottom of our canoe scraped against the street, Dad tied it to a stop sign, saying the cops would have an easier time finding it that way.

There was at least another mile uphill until we reached our house.

It was still raining.

Halfway through the walk, and despite Mom's pleas that she was managing fine on her own, Dad took her rolling suitcase and pulled it along with one hand, pushing himself forward with his cane in the other. His pace was crazy quick, determined, a man on a mission, and he led the way up our street about fifteen feet ahead of us, his cane tapping the road in an even, steady beat. Mom held her laptop bag underneath her rain jacket to make sure it didn't get wet. I was soaked straight through to my shirt, my bra.

We didn't walk through our front door until almost dawn. Dad promised to keep watch, but he said he didn't think the water would reach us. We didn't have power, but Dad set up his laptop and turned it on with what little battery juice he had left.

I went upstairs, peeled off my wet clothes, changed into a nightshirt, and went to the window of my bedroom. Usually, I could see down to the river. The view reminded me of a Christmas village, like the kind people set up under their trees, miniature houses with twinkling lights. But that night there was only darkness.

Monday, May 16

Partly cloudy in the afternoon, high of 49°F

With all that rain, I'd almost forgotten how warm the sun could feel. But I woke up that next day with rays shooting straight through my comforter, turning my white sheets a honeyed shade, like yellow cake batter baking in the oven.

I kicked the covers off and sat up, cross-legged, in my striped nightshirt. I used to have matching pajama pants that went with it, but they split open while I was doing an impression of the weird way that Wes fast-walked through the movie theater parking lot—exaggerated lunges and leg splits—the one time I went to the movies with them and we were late for the show. It honestly was more embarrassing than those weird old people who speed-walk through the mall for exercise. Morgan didn't want to laugh at first. She actually seemed a little mad, but eventually she gave in, and I had her cracking up so hard she was in tears.

The sun was everywhere in my room. I clicked on my bedside lamp, just to see if we had power, and thankfully, we did. The combination made me so hopeful that things would be okay.

I returned to my window.

Our front lawn looked more like a bog, pools of water collecting wherever the ground sloped. Tree branches were splintered, snapped. But it was minor damage. At most, a day of yard work.

Down the hill, into the valley, was like nothing I'd ever seen before.

The river had poured into the first few streets, filling them up like little streams and tributaries, transforming the houses into islands. You couldn't see any blacktop. Just water. It gave the neighborhood a creepy, surreal look. The water cut everything in half and then doubled it, like a rippling fun house mirror. Houses with two roofs, trees with trunks that sprouted two sets of leaves, cars with two tops and no tires. When the wind picked up, everything shimmered, and it reminded me of the moment right before you wake up from a dream.

But it was no dream. Things were not good for a lot of people. The flooding had never, ever been this bad. Elise and her family had lost everything, and it hardly felt like the rest of town was much better off.

I patted around for my cell in the sheets, but it had fallen onto the carpet sometime during the night. The screen was full of missed calls and texts. One text was from Jesse, the other nine were from Morgan.

I sat on the edge of my bed and scrolled through Morgan's in reverse order, newest to oldest.

OMG KEELEY CALL ME!!!!!

Can they even do this? Like, legally?

I think I'm going to puke.

This is so not right.

Okay. That did it.

I'm honestly five seconds away from crying.

Kee?

Wait up. Kee, are you hearing this?

Last chance for speaker phone.

Our old middle school crossing guard (remember him? Bert?) offered my mom his chair. So sweet! Too bad he's eighty years old.

If you want, I can call you and hold the phone up so you can hear what's happening.

The women in the bathroom had said some kind of presentation with the governor was supposed to go down this morning. And from Morgan's texts, it was clearly not good news. Maybe the emergency order was extended and they were forcing people to stay in the gym. Or maybe they weren't telling people which houses had been flooded, or worse, destroyed. Morgan and her mom lived about six blocks from the river. I hoped their home was safe.

I felt like the worst friend in the world as I dialed her number. My call went right to her voice mail without a single ring. I sent a text to her right after. Though I knew she was upset, I tried to keep things light until I knew more about what exactly was going on.

Hey! Are you still at the gym? Did you hear anything about your house? Sorry I missed your msgs. Call me!!!! Let me know you're okay!!!

Then I opened the text from Jesse.

He'd sent it at six in the morning.

I hope you made it home ADVERB. That was completely ADJECTIVE the way your dad stormed out of the PLACE like that. What a ADJECTIVE + BODY PART. So Julia is ADJECTIVE for Mad Libs. Meanwhile, I'm ADJECTIVE because I only VERB—PAST TENSE for PAINFULLY MINUSCULE AMOUNT OF TIME. Okay, I'm going to VERB some BREAKFAST FOOD ITEM. Thanks again.

I leaned backward and let my head sink into my pillow. Even though his text didn't necessarily require a response, I wanted to send one anyway, to try and keep the ball rolling. I thought about asking him if he knew whether his house was okay, but that felt too serious. So I decided instead to send back some funny answers to his fake Mad Libs.

The strange reality is that just because your town is almost washed away doesn't mean you stop being in love with a boy.

While I paused to consider which breakfast food item was funnier—either Belgian waffles or eggs Benedict, because I figured sausage would come across as too racy—my phone went to the lock screen and flashed the time.

1:13 p.m.

Jeez. I'd been sleeping forever. Definitely later than I would have on a crappy cot in the middle of the gymnasium.

I opened the draft back up, went with Belgian waffle for my breakfast food item, and hit Send. Then I closed my eyes and imagined the text soaring through the warm sky and hitting his phone, imagined him opening it up and laughing, and it blew the sadness and fear from the night before away, so my heart felt as clear as the bright blue sky outside my window.

I went to pee but only made it a few creaky steps across my room before I heard my parents in the living room below me. Talking about the night before, I assumed, though I only heard Dad speaking. He didn't sound angry, exactly, but his voice was definitely raised and agitated.

I tiptoed down the stairs and leaned over a few steps, straining to hear what exactly Dad was saying. My phone buzzed in my hand. I hoped it was Morgan, but it was Jesse.

Nope, sorry, but thanks for playing. The correct answer is: stale ass Danish. BTW, where are you?

I typed,
Just getting out of bed. Where are you?

I hit Send as another man's voice drowned out whatever my father had been saying. I swear my heart stopped beating.

The cops.

The cops were here.

I hurried down the rest of the stairs and turned toward the living room, but I couldn't enter it. It was too crowded. Only not with cops. There were about fifteen or maybe twenty families filling it up, crammed five deep on our couch, in each of our kitchen chairs, leaning against our walls. I recognized a woman perched on our radiator as one of the smoking ladies from the high school bathroom the night before. Her eyes were red and puffy.

Everyone faced my dad as he held court in a chair he'd pulled up in front of our fireplace. I couldn't see my mom.

“Listen, Russell,” Dad said, gesturing to an older man in dirty coveralls who was seated on our coffee table, hunched forward, shaking his head sadly, eyes on the floor. I recognized him from the gas station. “I appreciate that you've come here. But—”

“You're the only one who saw this coming, Jim. And you were brave enough to say so. So we're hoping you'll also know how we can stop this.”

Looking back, I can see how much that simple statement must have meant to my dad. To go from the town crier at those stupid meetings to someone respected. And, even more than that . . . needed.

Dad shyly lowered his head. “Well, there is plenty of precedent. In fact, about a month ago, there was a land grab on Block Island. The mayor there was trying to say certain beachfront homes were blighted, so they could condemn them, kick the people out, and build mansions to bring in more tax revenue.”

A shocked silence settled over the whole living room. They'd never heard the story. I had, but only because Dad had been railing about it for a whole week when it happened.

A female voice piped up from a part of the living room I couldn't see. “That might be what they're going to do to us! The first floor of my house was full of water last night, but it's mostly gone down now. Only damage is a few broken windows, really. But they're telling me not to bother repairing any damage. I'm just supposed to sleep in the gym until I can have it assessed. They said that'll be my best chance at getting a good payday.”

Dad turned his chair so he was facing the woman. His fingers found the back of his neck and he rubbed the skin there so hard it left white streaks where the blood had been pushed away. I squeezed my way into the room. She had long white hair and clothes that looked dated, but were in good condition. She was trembling. Another neighbor had an arm around her.

“I can't say one way or the other,” Dad said. “Block Island wasn't dealing with the flooding we've got on our plates here. My guess is that they'll try to use that against us. But, Bess, it's still your home. You own it, they don't. And you can do whatever the hell you want with it and no one should tell you any different.” His voice was rising. A few people nodded, but Bess started to cry. “I know how upsetting this is. Luckily, there's no more rain in the forecast, at least not for the next few days. I've got some old plywood we can get up over those windows today so you can sleep at home tonight.”

A few men in the room offered to help too. They also had tools, and trucks, and materials. “Put us to work, Jim,” one man said. “We'll do whatever you say.”

Dad stood up. He seemed to be drawing energy from everyone in the room. “You all found your way here because something about this doesn't feel right. And believe me, I hear you. Until we get more information, we have to stick together and take care of each other.” He reached for one of my school notebooks that I'd left on the coffee table and opened it to the back pages. “Here, I want everyone to put their names and addresses down on this sheet and let me know what damage we need to take care of to get you back into your homes. And reach out to your neighbors, find out what they need. We can help them, too.”

My phone buzzed again.

Nice jammies.

I searched the room but didn't have to look hard. There, on the arm of our couch, sat Jesse Ford. As soon as we locked eyes, a toothy grin spread across his face.

I immediately ducked into the hallway and pressed my back against the wall.

Jesse Ford was in my living room.

The first boy to ever be inside my house.

I glanced around, panicked, and saw every flaw.

There were fevered scratch marks dug into the wood of our back door from our old dog Donut begging to be let outside, even though he'd died years ago. Outlets that had no plastic covers. A big pile of old newspapers on the floor. An even bigger pile of dirty laundry waiting to be taken to the basement. A collection of embarrassing school pictures that Mom insisted on framing and displaying. Eyeglasses that were too big for my face in sixth grade, bucktoothed and banged in fifth, rocking a boy's bowl haircut in fourth, and in third, one of those weird reflection things where it's two of your faces, one looking straight on, one in profile, with a backdrop of the cosmos. That one, unfortunately, was my idea. I went through a huge NASA phase that year.

Jesse came through the doorway. I tugged down the hem of my nightshirt to make sure my underwear was covered. Underwear and the nightshirt were all I had on. I folded my arms across my chest because I wasn't wearing a bra.

His eyes traveled up and down the length of me and it sent me on a woozy roller-coaster dip.

“What are you doing here? What are these people doing here?”

He leaned against the wall next to me. “It's Monday.”

“I know it's Monday.”

He grinned. “Then why does your underwear say
Thursday
?”

I felt like I was having a stroke. Or an aneurysm. Something medically epic and potentially debilitating. It took me a second to get ahold of myself. “I'm serious. What did the governor say?”