The Last Boy and Girl in the World (15 page)

Jesse started laughing. Which confused me, because it was pretty clear that something terrible was going on. Finally, he composed himself enough to tell me, “I want to be the first one to welcome you to the future home of Lake Aberdeen.”

My face squinched up. “What are you talking about?”

“They've decided to dam the river and sink this place for good. It's for a flood protection thing. Apparently, they never should have built up this land in the first place. Something about the elevation is screwed up. Oh, and the logging from back in the mill days likely made things unstable. Whatever. There was a very informative-slash-boring presentation given by a guy from the Army Corps of Engineers this morning, but I fell asleep. The point is that everyone in town will supposedly get a chunk of relocation money from the government. But we've all got to bounce.”

It was hard to make sense of what Jesse was saying, mainly because of how he was saying it. Bored. Unemotional.

“Can they do that?” I said, echoing Morgan's text.

“Probably.” Jesse shrugged. “Look, we're small, we're poor, and a bunch of houses in town are completely wrecked. It's kind of the best scenario for a fuck-over.”

Just then, my mom passed us on her way from the kitchen into the living room. She looked like she hadn't slept a minute, and I felt guilty for being so rested. But she was still smiling. Not a happy smile, exactly, but more dazed shock. She had a pot of coffee in one hand and as many of our coffee cups as she could loop through her fingers in the other. Her head whipped around as she passed us, giving me a stern look that basically said,
Clothes, now,
before disappearing into the living room.

Jesse lifted his hand in this shy little boy way. And I swear his cheeks turned the littlest bit pink.

“I should—” I felt someone tug at the hem of my nightshirt. Julia, Jesse's little sister, was still in her nightgown, one that had a pattern of horses with pink hair; a hooded sweatshirt; and a pair of jeans and rain boots that had ladybug spots on them.

“Can I have something to drink, please?” she asked, rubbing her eyes.

“Umm, sure. But I don't think we have juice or anything. Maybe milk?”

“Julia, this is Keeley. She's the one who gave you the Mad Libs.” I was expecting a smile or a thank-you, considering how Jesse had implied with his text that she loved them so much, but Julia barely looked at me. Jesse lifted her into his arms and she immediately dropped her head on his shoulder, like a baby about to fall asleep. Except she was long, like him. “Sorry. She hardly slept last night. Anyway, she doesn't drink milk, but could she have some water, if it's not too much trouble?” He rubbed his sister's back and then patted it a few times.

It made my heart break wide open.

I remembered that I had one of those plastic loop-di-loo straws in our junk drawer that Julia might like, and I was about to grab it, but then the meeting broke up and Jesse's mom poked her head around the corner. I don't know that I would have recognized her if not for her curly blond hair, because she looked way too young to have two kids. Her jeans pockets had rhinestones on them. “Let's go,” she sighed, lifting Julia out of Jesse's arms and walking out the back door. I was happy that she didn't notice my near nakedness.

“Wait. So is your house okay?” I asked Jesse.

“Yeah. Piece of crap was barely touched, unfortunately. I bet they offer us five dollars for it.”

Another joke, obviously, because what else could we say?

I suddenly had the overwhelming urge to hug him. Because our town was apparently being condemned. Because I had no idea what tomorrow would bring. Because I loved him and I didn't want him to leave, not yet.

Jesse nudged his chin at one of my photos across the hall. “I didn't know you used to wear glasses.” Teasingly, he pushed an invisible pair up on my nose. Then he ran his hand slowly through my hair before he followed his family out our back door.

Every inch of me tingled.

Whatever I saw in the hallway at Spring Formal between Jesse and Victoria, it couldn't have been anything. It must have been the dark, my eyes playing tricks on me. Or, even more believable, my own insecurities getting the best of me, casting shadows where there should only be sunshine. Because something was clearly still sparking between Jesse and me.

I was sure of it.

•  •  •

After the last person left, I expected Dad to flop on the couch. Instead, he zoomed around the house, digging for tools in the basement boxes we had carried up the night before. Stuff that hadn't seen the light of day for two years.

Mom, too, sped around, though she was focused on cleaning and tidying up.

I was the one who couch-flopped.

“I still can't believe it,” Dad said to me, bewildered, as he passed through the room. I thought he was talking about the plans to flood Aberdeen, but he wasn't. “Some of these folks didn't even stop home first. They came straight over and knocked on our front door.”

Finally he sat down. He lifted his leg onto the coffee table, stiff as a long wooden board, and, wincing slightly, rolled his foot in a circle. “It's crazy. You read about these things happening to other places in the country. You just never imagine it coming to your doorstep.”

Mom slid on her rain jacket. It still looked wet. “Jim, you sure you can't rest for even an hour? You barely slept last night.” She glanced around the room and then spotted her laptop bag propped up on our fireplace mantel.

“Can't,” Dad said, and switched to a different stretch, twisting his torso to the left and to the right. “Charlie and Sy are going to meet me at Bess's house to get that plywood up.” He picked up the notebook. “We've got a list a mile long.”

Though it was great to see Dad so animated, I had the same worries Mom did. That it was too much too soon. “Dad, you should make those other guys your employees. Order them around.” It sounded like a good idea to me, but Dad just frowned.

Mom set a hand on his shoulder. “Why don't you rest for an hour or two while I check on some of my patients and Annie. Then I can drop you off somewhere with your tools and—”

He looked at me. “Maybe Keeley—”

“I don't want her driving in these conditions with just a learner's permit. The roads sound like they're awful.”

Dad shrugged. “Well, Charlie and Sy are already picking up some guys themselves, so . . . I guess I'll have to drive myself.” I bet Mom and I looked equally stunned, because Dad started defending himself. “I mean, I do still have my license. I just don't
like
to drive. It hurts my leg. But I can do it if I absolutely have to.” Dad reached out his hand. “Do you still have my key?”

I went to fish it out from my coat pocket, making eyes with Mom along the way, in case she was going to tell me not to. She didn't.

Dad got up and kissed her on the cheek. “I promise I won't go at it too hard. And I have my phone on me, if either of you need to get in touch.”

Mom and I watched him disappear out the back door.

“This is crazy,” I said.

“I know.”

“I mean the flooding stuff, but also Dad.”

“I know,” Mom said again, this time her face blooming into a big smile. “But this is who he's always been, Keeley. He just forgot it for a while.”

“I still don't get how he knew this was going to happen to Aberdeen.”

Mom was still watching him through the back window. “He didn't. It was just a hunch.” Finally she turned to me. “Apparently, he'd read an article about how some developer was considering a new high-rise on the water down in Waterford City, but the environmental studies said it would be too unstable and Governor Ward was very disappointed.” She shook her head. “Maybe a month after that, one of the neighbors asked Dad if he knew anything about a group of engineers taking measurements down by the old mill.”

“Oh. Wow.”

“So at the next town meeting, Dad asked about it. The mayor gave him some line about a company being interested in buying the building, which didn't pass Dad's sniff test, especially when Mayor Aversano refused to say
which
company. After that Block Island story came out, I think Dad started putting two and two together. Of course, I told him he sounded paranoid.”

I knew exactly what Mom was feeling because I felt it too. Like a jerk. Dad's interest in local politics were eye-roll fodder. I would have teased him about it more, probably, if not for the fact that it gave my dad a purpose. He couldn't take care of us, his family, but he could care for Aberdeen.

I ran outside. Dad was packing tools into the bed of his truck. He was breathing pretty hard. “I could kick my own ass for not taking that physical therapy more seriously.”

“Just please take care of yourself, okay? I don't think Mom could survive being your nurse again.”

“Yeah,” he said with a chuckle. “I think you're right.”

“And you're sure you're okay to drive? You want to flip through my driver's ed manual as a refresher?”

“Just don't make fun of me if I stall out. I'm rusty.”

“You know I can't make that kind of promise.”

“Right. Of course.”

It took him a minute to figure out how to position his leg inside the truck cab. He stalled out twice in the driveway, and both times, I applauded and wolf-whistled. By the time he turned onto our road, he had it down. He pulled away extra fast, tires squealing, and gave me a thumbs-up.

Monday, May 16

Increasing clouds in the afternoon, light winds from the north, 50°F

I turned on the shower. While waiting for the water to get hot, I clicked on the TV in my parents' bedroom, thinking I'd watch for a second or two, see if we made the news.

It was weirdly comforting that the regular channels were showing normal programming—game shows and soap operas and reruns. If things were super-dangerous, if Aberdeen was really going under, wouldn't there be those emergency broadcast alerts blaring nonstop?

When I got to the twenty-four-hour news channels, I saw Aberdeen everywhere.

Mom sat down next to me on her bed. She didn't even complain about the water I was wasting.

We flipped through channel after channel. I don't know what we were hoping to hear, exactly, but we didn't linger on any one broadcast. The news flashed in snippets of talking heads, graphics, helicopter shots of waterlogged streets. The dramatic footage felt so foreign, even though I heard those helicopters in the distance.

It was too soon to know the full extent of the damage done, exactly how many homes were ruined, the number of cars swept away, injuries and accidents. For now, the focus was on the plans for the future. Evacuate the residents of Aberdeen and turn our town into a reservoir capable of holding and controlling ninety billion gallons. The government would purchase all 4,480 acres of our town to make a man-made fortress to prevent such a tragedy from ever happening again.

It was hard to make sense of what I was seeing. Honestly, I didn't even want to.

Mom took the remote from me when we landed on a clip of Governor Ward. He was in a suit, standing outside the gym doors of our school, cameras and microphones surrounding him. On his left, mindlessly nodding like a bobblehead, stood Mayor Aversano. And on his right, Sheriff Hamrick.

“This must have happened right after that presentation,” Mom said, raising the volume.

“We are lucky that the events of the last forty-eight hours did not result in any fatalities. And it appears the imminent danger has passed. But because certain environmental issues are only now coming to light, we have no other choice but to take dramatic action. It's not safe for residents to stay here long-term, and it's not safe for those living downstream in Waterford City, either. And while the residents of Aberdeen will surely mourn the loss of their town, these proud working people who helped transform this valley so many years ago can take heart in the fact that their sacrifice will save future lives. This is quite the little town, believe me, and I have promised everyone here that we will not soon let anyone forget it.”

I got a text from Morgan.

We finally got the okay to head home. On our way now.

I jumped up. “Mom! They're on their way home!” I didn't even need to say who.

I wrote back,
Be there ASAP.

•  •  •

Mom and I drove through town in stunned silence. I'm not sure what she was feeling, but to me, there'd been something about seeing Aberdeen on television that made the whole thing feel less than real. But there was no denying the destruction when it was right on the other side of the windshield. There were heaved sidewalks, uprooted trees. The front doors of houses were pitched wide open, with people pushing mud out with snow shovels. Broken furniture was piled up, possessions set out to dry on the lawns. Cars had floated out of their garages and settled into the streets. Trash was everywhere.

But it was by no means a ghost town. Everyone was buzzing with activity. Police cars, vans from the electric and gas and telephone companies flashing emergency lights. Neighbors met out on their lawns and stared in awe. They comforted each other, or joked with each other, or told each other it would be okay.

I felt crappy to have a wonderful little thing to hold on to but I gripped it tightly anyway. Because despite everything going on around me, I still felt tingles from when Jesse had run his hands through my hair that morning.

“Oh no,” Mom said. The car stopped fast, pulling me tight against my seat belt.

Morgan and Mrs. Dorsey were standing on the curb in yesterday's clothes, both staring at the huge elm tree that had smashed into their garage. The trunk had taken out the corner and broken through the shingled roof; the limbs and leaves completely blocked the garage door.