He shrugged. “We’ll have to run by there and see.”
“There is
Carlton rested his saw on the tree in front of him and went to her side. “There wouldn’t have been a good week for this,” he said. “When are you not busy at work?” He put an arm across her shoulders, and Daniel and Zola looked to each other in the uncomfortable silence. Chainsaws buzzed in the distance, but it was getting so Daniel hardly noticed them. They were the new sounds to replace the chirping birds, who still had not returned from wherever they had gone. Daniel was waiting for them and Hunter to return. He was waiting for some reason or excuse to visit Anna down the street, even though the idea of just walking to her house filled him with nervous jitters. He was waiting on these things—but it was a surprise visitor who came to him first. The visitor arrived that afternoon as the sun was beginning to set and dinner was being scraped off dishes and into the yard.
It was then that Daniel’s father came home.
18
The unexpected arrival of their dad brought the same bittersweet sting and salve that his departure had wrought. The excitement came from the sight of a power company truck, one of the bucket machines with large tires and metal tool cabinets everywhere. Its brakes squealed to a stop in the cul-de-sac; Zola turned to the window, saw it first, and let out a squeal of excitement.
“We’re gonna get power back!” she said.
She left the dishes to dry on a towel spread across the dining room table and ran toward the front door. A chair squeaked on the wood floor as Carlton got up to follow her out. Daniel hurried after them, hoping to hear some news from the outside world besides the Charlestonian static from his Zune.
Zola was halfway down the driveway when she stopped cold. The passenger door had opened, disgorging a man familiar at any distance. She stood there, frozen in place, as he shrugged a green duffle up on his shoulder and walked toward them, smiling.
“Frank,” Carlton said, more out of stunned recognition than by way of greeting.
Their father nodded. “Carlton.”
“What are you doing here?” their mom asked. She moved briskly down the driveway, past Daniel who had taken a spot by his sister, his arm moving around Zola’s back. The driver got out of the truck and slammed the door, then rummaged in one of the tool boxes.
“I had no place else to go,” their father said, lifting his hands. The smile on his lips dimmed, then faded altogether. “I lost the boat,” he said quietly.
Their mom raised a hand to cut him off. She walked past him, toward the man from the power company, who rounded the truck with a chainsaw in his hand. Everyone else stood on the driveway, casting uncomfortable glances.
“How long before the power’s back?” Daniel heard his mom ask.
The man shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck. “Can’t say,” he said. “We’re just doing a survey right now.” He walked up the driveway and set the chainsaw down by their father’s feet. “I told Frank I’d drop him off since I was heading near here anyway.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “We came in on our service road by the lines. I think you guys are cut off, but somebody will probably be by in a day or two to let you know more.”
“In a
The man frowned. “Governor’s calling it a national disaster. They’ve got trucks and men heading this way from as far away as Florida, but coordinating it all is gonna be a nightmare. Columbia got hammered. Storm went right up twenty six. The entire interstate is closed down while they get it cleared of trees. Hell, it took us all day to work our way over here.”
“Is anyone going to bring food or water around? Are the stores open?”
The power man looked to their mother. “Most people who’d be working are too busy tending to their own mess.” He glanced toward their house and the massive tree resting across it. “Believe it or not, you guys are lucky. I wish I had better news, but I don’t want you guys to plan for the best and be disappointed.” He patted their father on the shoulder, nodded to the rest of them, then took a step away. “Somebody will be around in the next day or two,” he said again.
Daniel watched his mom run after the power man. “If you and Frank are friends, take him home with you.”
The man shook his head. Daniel heard him say something about inlaws, a full house, as much of a favor as he could repay, and then a door squealed on twisted hinges and slammed shut on the rest. The power truck roared to life and did a tight turn in the cul-de-sac. A guilty hand waved from the open driver-side window.
“I’m sorry to do this to you,” their father said as their mother stormed up the driveway. Daniel and Zola hadn’t moved. It was all playing out like a scene from a daytime drama.
“You’re in the toolshed,” their mother said. Daniel could tell at once that she actually meant it. She stopped by him, bent and retrieved the chainsaw, then stood back up. “The chainsaw can stay in the house.”
With that, she marched back toward the front door, past a frozen Carlton, the silence blooming as the distant buzz of chainsaws fell still and the Beaufort sun set over the first day of Hurricane Anna’s aftermath.
••••
Daniel slept fitfully that night. He thought of his father out in the toolshed, curled up in a sleeping bag, and his guts twisted with a mix of worry and anger. When he wasn’t dwelling on that, his thoughts turned to the girl down the street. Anna, who had smiled up at him as they’d partnered to build—to him at least—a near magical device for sipping juice out of sunshine. The back and forth—feeling infatuation one minute and rage the next—had him spinning in his bed, searching for comfort. Daniel was dying to run to either of them, to wake his dad or Anna up and have some sort of conversation—but to say what? A storm had blown through his life and somehow had left these two people behind like fallen oaks. Both had appeared out of nowhere, even though one seemed to have lived a few houses down for quite some time, and the other was probably just a short drive away for who knows how long.
Twice in the night, Daniel went to his window and looked out over the moonlit back yard—still jumbled with downed trees—and out toward the toolshed in the back. It was one of those prebuilt units, made to resemble a small house with two little windows in the front, a covered porch, and brightly colored trim. Daniel had helped clear a spot for his father inside, twitching his nose at the heavy smell of gasoline, checking the plywood floor for any sign of rat droppings, feeling sorry for him and hating him at the same time. He stood by the window both times that night and looked out at the barely discernible toolshed, then went back to his jumbled sheets and tried to find some solace in them.
In the morning, he woke to the sound of a chainsaw, buzzing like an alarm, but much closer than the others had been the day before. Daniel crawled out of bed and tugged on some bluejeans, despite the sticky heat in the powerless house. His legs had been scratched to hell by the yard work the day before, and it wasn’t like he could sweat any more than he already would. The jeans, at least, would offer some protection.
He pulled on a fresh t-shirt and padded downstairs. The front and back doors were propped open, along with all the windows, allowing a slight breeze to plow through the heat and humidity. The roar of a chainsaw chewing through wood rattled through the house. Daniel hurried out to the front stoop, expecting to find his father manning the machine over a thick log, buried up to his knees in sawdust. As he scurried down the steps, Carlton looked up from the limb he was cutting, his safety goggles fogged with an early sweat. He powered the chainsaw down, the chain clacking in complaint, and smiled up at Daniel.
“You want a turn?” Carlton lifted the chainsaw and held it out toward Daniel.
“I’m actually scared of those things,” Daniel said. He looked across the yard for any sign of Zola or his mom, but it looked like Carlton was the first one out to work on the storm debris.
“They’re completely safe if you use the right precautions.” He jerked his chin. “Come here and I’ll show you.”
