The Hurricane

Daniel kissed her hand again. He knew if he wanted to, that he could bend forward and kiss her lips, her cheek, her nose, her forehead. The smile on her face said it was all possible. He was now a superhero elite. Nothing could stop him. His chest was cinderblocks full of glowing steel.

“I’ll come see you tomorrow?” he asked.

“And the day after,” Anna said.

Daniel smiled. As he ran down the steps, trying not to pass out and go tumbling head over heels, he found himself looking forward to a tomorrow for the first time in forever.

26

Daniel spent the night rolling around amid a tangle of blankets on Hunter’s floor, his mind spinning as it dreamed of impossible things like being in love and moving massive trees off houses. The morning came with a clattering of chirping birds, their having returned from wherever the storm had blown them or wherever they had hidden away. Their songs roused Daniel from his first bit of good sleep; he woke and felt the summer’s morning chill breezing through the window.

Daniel untangled himself, stood, stretched and looked out the window at the glowing and splintered forest beyond the back yard. Hunter lay on his back, his mouth wide open, the snuffles of contented sleep rattling in his throat.

“Lucky bastard,” Daniel whispered. He walked quietly out the room and snuck into his own. His sister was lying on a bed made up of a sleeping bag and comforter, a single sheet draped over her from toes to shoulders. She turned her head away from the window and smiled at Daniel as he tip-toed toward his dresser. “Forgot to set out clothes,” he whispered.

She nodded and turned to gaze at the brightening sky. Daniel snuck a shirt and another pair of shorts out of his dresser, wondering when he was going to be able to wash what he’d worn the last few days. He stole a glance at his bed on the way out, which was mounded around his brother’s girlfriend. One thing he and Hunter had agreed on while getting ready for bed the night before: their sleeping arrangements had been better off before they’d set out to “rescue” him.

Outside, Daniel felt the pleasing air of a Beaufort late-summer morning. There was a chill that the clear sky cautioned one to enjoy, for it would soon be burned off. The birds and squirrels were back to their foraging and mating games, giving the mortally wounded trees a film of life and activity. The waxy green of the leaves lucky enough to survive the storm glittered as the barest of breezes trembled through them. Everything seemed vibrant and sparkling and new. The day was awesome with possibility.

He carried a jug of water, two cups, and the last of the Pop-Tarts out toward the tool shed, finding that the spectacle of the day, or perhaps the kiss from the night before, had swept away a layer or two of resentment toward his father. The tool shed felt less and less apt a place for him. It had begun to seem cruel.

The front door of the shed was propped open to let in the nice air. His father was sitting on a bucket, tugging on his shoes. He looked up and smiled at Daniel, a few days growth on his face giving him a rugged appearance.

“Morning,” he said.

“Morning, Dad.” Daniel sniffed at the smell of gasoline. “You wanna eat out here?” Daniel looked to the yard. “There’s plenty of logs to sit on.”

His father laughed. “Sure. Same grub as yesterday?”

Daniel looked at the supplies in his hands. It looked like prison food. His dad stood and slapped him on the back. “I love Pop-Tarts,” he said. “Boat food.” He waved toward one of the bigger trees laying on its side in the yard.

“You been seeing this Anna girl for long?” his dad asked, sitting down. He looked up at Daniel as they both peeled back the metal foil and chewed on the cold and dry pastries. Daniel grabbed the cup from between his knees and took a sip.

“I met her the day after the storm,” he said.

His father laughed. “I thought the thing between you two still had the shine on it.”

Daniel felt a surge of anger at the mocking tone, dispelled at once by his father’s pronouncement: “She seems like a great girl.”

Daniel nodded and took another bite to keep his mouth busy with other things. He didn’t feel like his dad had earned the right to know about his personal life.

“How in the world are we gonna get rid of that thing.” He jabbed his Pop-Tart at the green plume of leaves sticking up over the roof. The tree seemed bigger than the house.

“A piece at a time,” his father said. “That’s how most things get done, good or bad. A piece at a time.”

He took a long pull from his cup of water.

“I wish I could take some things back,” his father said quietly. He looked off into the woods, and Daniel could feel his own eyes coat with tears. He lost himself in his second pastry.

“When I built this house, a part of me knew I could do it. I’d done just about every piece of building a house at some point or another, even though I never stayed on a job long enough to see it from beginning to end. I didn’t really have that—what would you call it? Like an unbroken chain of events—”

“A continuum,” Daniel said.

“Yeah. I just had all these jobs I drank myself on and off of, going where the money was then splitting once I had a fistful.”

Daniel’s father turned to him, his eyes under a blanket of water. “I had a problem before I met your mother,” he admitted. “I kept it from her. Kept it from my parents when I was at school. Kept it from my teachers. Hell, I didn’t even know it was a problem for the longest time. I knew other kids along the same lines, drinking all the time. The people I worked with on job sites seemed to be no different. You never know, when you’re so used to hiding things, just how much everyone else is hiding as well. Your demons become their demons.”

He stopped to take a bite. Daniel listened to the birds sing.

“When I met your mom, I wanted to build her the world. You should’ve seen how pretty she was.” He shook his head and smiled. “So I talked myself and my future up, and I even believed some of it. That’s what you do when you fall in love, or what most people do. They put this impossibly perfect thing up there for the other person to destroy, or figure out for a lie—”

“That’s not how it has to be,” Daniel said, even though he knew he had no idea about such things.

“I wish it wasn’t,” his father said. “With your kids, it’s even harder. You guys looked up to me so much, right from the start. It was confusing. I already knew what a shit I was then, but you guys thought I knew everything —”

Daniel felt his body stiffen as his father lost it. His dad sobbed, his Pop-Tart in the dirt, his hands over his face. “And the bad gets built one piece at a time, too,” he sputtered. “You don’t know how it gets there, this thing you become, but looking back, it’s like you drew it out with a pencil—”

“Dad—” Daniel whispered.

His father wiped his hands on his thighs and stared down at the dirt between his feet. Daniel saw tears plummet into the leaves and disappear in the dew.

“I never meant to be a bad father—”

“But you were,” Daniel said.

“I know.” His head bobbed. “I wish I could tell you what it’s like to be old and full of regret. How you want to turn back the clock, how you pray for it every night, for one more giant chance to redo everything in your life. But even then, even knowing how those mistakes feel, you keep right on making them. You build and build on this awful foundation, you know? It’s like you know there’s a better way, but you can’t start over. You want to do things different, but you keep right on like before. That’s the curse of it all, Son. You learn what you’re doing is wrong and bad, and you watch yourself spin in circles. You feel lost in the woods, but your footsteps are right there in front of you.”

He sniffed and wiped his nose.