Daniel laughed at her as he changed into sleep pants and a clean t-shirt. He placed the flashlight on his side table, turned off the light, and rolled over to gaze out the darkened window. Outside, shadows shivered. Trees waved their arms like ghouls, and leaves threw themselves flat against the glass, peeked inside for a moment, then raced off to some hurried elsewhere.
11
Daniel woke to a flashlight shining in his face. At first, he thought it was the cops. He was back at the party. Had he passed out drunk? He was dreaming of being naked at a party with his entire class there, even his parents. Everyone was laughing. Was he being arrested for being naked in public?
“Daniel, I need you to get up.”
“Huh?”
He sat up and rubbed his face. He was home. Why was he getting up? Wasn’t it a weekend? Was it Monday already?
“Daniel, honey, get some clothes on and come downstairs.”
Daniel saw flashlights dance through the hallway outside. He could hear Carlton and Zola conversing. He reached over and twisted the knob on his lamp. It clicked and spun, doing nothing.
“The power’s out,” his mom said. She pressed a flashlight into his palm before he could begin to think of groping for it. “Put on some pants and some socks and shoes. And bring a pillow.”
With that, his silhouette of a mom took her cone of light out of the room. Daniel could hear her rummaging in the upstairs bathroom while he tugged on a pair of jeans. He grabbed socks, slid them on, his head still groggy as he reached for his shoes.
“What time is it?” he asked.
“It’s two o’clock.”
“Only two?” He’d only been in bed for a couple of hours. He slid a shoe on. Whistling sounds coincided with vibrations throughout the house. He could hear air forcing its way through the tiny gaps around his window. Studs in the walls creaked as the upper floor seemed to move a little. Daniel grabbed his flashlight and raced out of the room, then remembered his pillow. He went back, grabbed it and his comforter, and ran downstairs, trailing the blanket behind.
“Zola?” He waved his light over the living room, but nobody was there. Pillows and a blanket were scrunched up on the sofa, the remote lying on top. It was where his mom and Carlton had played sentry while they slept.
“In the bathroom!”
Daniel walked through to the kitchen and shined his light down the hallway. The bathroom door was open.
“Are you using it?”
“Don’t be gross! Carlton’s in here.”
Daniel went down the hallway, confused. A lambent glow spilled out of the bathroom. He peeked inside and saw candles on the counter. His sister was scrunched up on the tile, between the tub and the wall, a pillow behind her head. She looked upset at having been awakened.
“Are we supposed to all fit in here?” He stepped over Carlton legs and sat down beside his sister. She reached for his comforter and spread it out over her knees.
“This is so stupid,” she said.
“It’s in the center of the house,” Carlton explained. “No windows, and the walls are close together. It’s this or sitting in the pantry and hoping the canned goods don’t jump off the shelves.”
“Why couldn’t we just sleep through the whole thing?” Daniel asked. He flicked off his flashlight to save the battery as their mom squeezed into the bathroom. She unloaded an armful of their toiletries by the sink, then sank down with her back to the cabinet door.
“Everyone okay?” she asked.
“Fine,” Carlton said. He squeezed her knee. “How’re you?”
“I’m not needing this right now,” their mother said. She tucked her hair back behind her ear, then pressed both hands against her face. “I’m so behind at work. I did not need this right now.”
“So Hunter gets to spend the night at Chen’s?”
Carlton threw Daniel a look. “Her parents are there. The officer who brought you two home said it was best not to be on the road if it could be helped.”
“How long before they fix the cell phones?” Zola asked.
“Please stop with that,” their mom said. Her voice sounded strained.
Daniel frowned at Zola, who pouted and looked near to crying. She flopped over on her side and curled up in a tight ball, knees to her chin, her phone clutched in both hands.
“How long do we need to stay like this?” Daniel asked Carlton.
“Just ’till it blows over,” he said. “It could be hours, so if you can sleep, you should.”
Daniel leaned back against the side of the tub and hugged his knees. He rested his chin on his kneecap and watched the candles throw shadows everywhere. Upstairs, the house creaked and popped as it moved around on unsteady joints. The wind was whistling louder and higher. Daniel thought about his father, who had built the house many years ago. He wondered if he’d fucked that up like everything else. The thought made him suddenly fearful about the sturdiness of their shelter. Still, Daniel had heard heavy storms assault the house before. It had always survived. As Zola kicked his feet to the side, making more room for herself, he thought about how ridiculous it was for the four of them to be crammed into a single bathroom. He was thinking this as he drifted off to sleep—
••••
There was a period before every hurricane where the only things stirring in the air were excitement and anticipation. Daniel had grown up with a series of near misses. He had watched news crews roll through town, had spent entire days in front of the weather channel as track lines were plotted and re-plotted. He had gone to the beach to watch the surfers in their wetsuits paddle out through rushing walls of foam. He remembered standing up on one of the many boardwalks that crossed over the grassy dunes to the hard pack of Beaufort’s beaches beyond. The waves were crashing all the way up to the dunes, slicking the sea grasses down like hair on a wet scalp. Daniel had stood at the end of the raised wooden platform and held onto the rail as the angry ocean leapt up, over and over, to crash across his thighs and knees, threatening to sweep him off into the street.
Another time, with the sea not so enraged, he and Roby had tried to swim out through the storm-angry breakers. Even without surfboards in their hands, neither of them had been strong enough to dive down and swim through the powerful currents engendered by the curling waves and walls of foam. There had been a moment during that exhausting swim when the fun and excitement had taken a bad turn. The raw power of the ocean around him, the roar of the foaming and spitting sea, the endless reserves of strength nature seemed to possess as it sent one riled wave after the other, never letting up—Daniel remembered the fun turning to panic.
Swimming out of the ocean, calling for Roby, letting him know that he was giving up, he had felt the largeness of the universe around him. He knew, then, what it was to be a speck floating in the infinite. There was no crying “mercy.” It wasn’t Hunter, who could be pleaded with. He couldn’t change his mind, couldn’t beg the ocean to stop, to let up on the roaring foam. As he swam back to where his feet could touch, straining on tiptoes to push toward the beach, the piles of white froth on the surface of the water had gone into his nose and mouth. The ocean was a rabid dog. But as he pressed further, and the walls of crashing wave stopped spilling over his head, then crashing at his back, then pushing against his knees, then lapping his running, high-stepping, shivering ankles, Daniel saw it as something worse than an enraged mutt. It was, instead, a destructive and unfeeling thing. It threatened without
Roby’s eyes had been wide and dripping with fear as he joined Daniel high up the dune. They had laughed with nerves and shivered in the strong, chilling wind. The ocean, meanwhile, kept thundering. It was a dozing giant, a disinterested beast that could kill with a sneeze, rattle with its exhalations, strike one down with its barest of shivers. And that, the soulless impersonal giant Daniel saw that day, scared him more than the anthropomorphized monster he used to liken to an angry Earth. He was an ant underfoot. A fly flattened by a mindless windshield. A grain of sand plummeting from a shrugged shoulder and spiraling to its doom—
