by Lexi Whitlow
Jeb
This isn’t the easiest work a person with good intentions can undertake, but it’s the right thing to do. It’s tough walking up on the porch of a black family who shares the Ballentine surname, telling them that their house is liable to flood, and you’re here to take them to the place that they hate worse than any other place in the world, because it’s the only safe place on the island.
Old women look at me like I’m there to play the role of ‘bossman’, like my grandfather did in the 1960’s. Little kids, wide-eyed and scared, look at me like I’m there to steal them. They cling to their Mama’s knees, crying.
“We’ve got water, lanterns, flashlights. Enough food to last a week, and the house is solid, twenty feet above the tide line. Ya’ll need to come with us now, ‘cause we may not be able to get back once the water starts rising.”
I repeat the speech twenty times over, at twenty different shacks perched on the tide’s edge. Stu helps me gather bags of clothes and baby diapers, piling them and the people into our trucks for the short, waterlogged trip back to ‘the big house’. Mama is there to welcome everybody in, putting families up in bedrooms and parlors furnished with beds, chairs, and carpets.
By noon we’ve managed to convince thirty families to take refuge at Blanc-Blue. It’s a diverse collection of Maiden Island folk piled into one, great big house facing the water and the coming storm. Mama passes out flashlights, lanterns, and jugs of water, making sure the children are comfortable. Once I’m satisfied that we’ve done all we can, I’ve only got one thing left to do before this storm hits.
Most of the people who board their horses on the farm have come and taken them inland, but a few still remain stalled in the barn.
There’s nothing worse than being trapped in a closed building when the water’s rising.
I pull the hood of my rain slicker over my head, heading down the back steps of Blanc-Bleu toward the stables to see to the horses. Halfway across the yard I hear a car’s engine and splashing in the pooling water on the lane. Overhead, thunderclaps rattle and lightning strikes.
Who the fuck is out in this weather?
I turn toward the lane, seeing a familiar rental car. Joe is the last person I ever expected to see in this freaking deluge. Is he crazy?
I come to the car as Joe piles out of it, lacking any rain gear, getting drenched.
“Dude, this is some shit!” he says. “I never seen anything like this.”
“What are you doing here?” I ask, over the roar of rain and thunder.
“My hotel kicked me out,” he says. “I tried to find another one, but they’re all closed up. I figured maybe you could put me up in one of those cottages like where Maddie is staying. Just until the storm passes.”
What a clueless, ignorant fuck.
I point toward Blanc-Bleu. “Go there,” I say. “Sit on the porch until I get back. That’s the only safe place on this island from now until this thing passes over. Stay there. Don’t move. Just wait for me.”
“Alright,” he says, shedding water like a drenched dog. “I’m cool.”
What a fucking moron.
The stables are dry, but the five horses inside are agitated, kicking at their stall doors. They feel the pressure dropping and they know what it means. I open the barn doors wide, having already opened the gates outside so they can escape to high ground. As I haul each stall door to the side, the horse inside celebrates, calling out a thank you for his or her release. These animals know what to do to save themselves, they just need me to free them, so they can do it.
“Where will they go!?”
I swing around. Justin, wearing an oversized, yellow rainslicker, stands just inside the open barn door, his expression wracked with worry.
“High ground,” I reply. “And you don’t need to be out in this weather. The horses will be fine. We’ll round them up after the storm is gone.”
“But what if they get lost?” he asks.
“It’s an island,” I remind Justin. “They can’t go but so far. Go back home,” I say. “The storm is coming fast and I still have more work to do.”
“What can I do to help?”
“Not a damn thing,” I tell him. “Almost everything is done.”
All I need to do now is figure out what to do with his drunk, useless father. It’s hard to believe Justin and Joe share the same DNA. Justin is such a great kid and Joe is a clueless bottom feeding parasite.
“There are a lot of people at Blanc-Bleu,” Justin says. “I can see the flashlights. How many people are there? Why are they there?”
I move toward him, putting my hand on his back, dropping to my knees to address him. “Justin, I don’t have time to explain it all. A big storm is coming. The people are there because they need a safe place to ride it out. Go back to the house. Maddie is gonna be worried about you. I’ll be there soon. I promise.”
“I saw my dad come up,” he says. “Is he staying there too?”
Jesus. Nothing gets past this kid.
“Yeah,” I say. “He’s staying there too. Temporarily. Just ‘til the storm is over.”
“Why?” Justin asks.
“He planned badly,” I say. “He didn’t have anywhere else to go, and I can’t turn him away in the middle of a storm. He’s too clueless to realize he’s in trouble.”
Justin nods, a small smile brightening his face. “Okay,” he says.
“Go home,” I say. “Get tucked in. I’ll be there soon.”
“I will,” Justin says. “Take care of the horses.”
“I will. I promise.”
I watch Justin head off into the yard, then return my attention to the horses. The last one follows the others out, finding the open gate at the end of the run. She pauses, looking back. She’s never been free before, never been allowed outside the fence.
“Go on,” I say. “Find a high spot. Stay safe. Follow the others.”
I wander the barn watching mice flee the rising ground-water. They head up into the rafters, seeking elevation. Tomorrow this place may be inundated, teeming with snakes and ‘gators. There’s no telling what might happen. I close the barn door behind me, latching it, then turn back toward Blanc-Bleu and the torrential rain.
I expect to find Joe under the cover of the rear porch, but the rocking chairs and porch swing are empty. Mama must have found him out here in the rain and brought him inside. Even she has a soft spot for clueless strays.
Dripping with water, I make my way inside the house, cutting a path between people camped on the floor. I find Mama in the front parlor, holding a baby who’s crying, trying to make her easy.
“Where’s Joe?” I ask.
“Huh?” she replies, bouncing the child on her shoulder.
“Joe,” I say. “He was on the porch. I told him to stay put. He’s not there.”
“I haven’t seen him,” she says. “I’ve been here for an hour. I haven’t seen anyone. Why is he here? I thought he was gone?”
Where is he?
I scour the house, going floor to floor. No one has seen him.
I go back outside. His car is gone. The motherfucker left in the middle of a hurricane. He must have been completely inebriated. Nobody does that. Not even the most suicidal mental case. The highway patrol has closed the bridges. Lowlying roads are impassible or will be very soon. There is nowhere to go. There is nowhere safe.
That son of a bitch is going to get himself killed.
Overhead the wind kicks up a notch, rising from a bluster to a profound blow. In another hour it’ll be a steady roar with hurricane force winds tearing tree limbs and pulling the shingles off roofs. After that the salt water will rise, sweeping away everything in its path.
Over the deafening racket of rain, wind, and thunder, Emma’s piercing shrieks rise above the fury. I hear her screaming before I make the front porch. My baby-girl’s first hurricane has her rattled. I peel off my raincoat, shaking it out, before coming inside. It’s a pointless effort. I’m drenched and dripping, leaving pu
ddles all over the floor.
Maddie’s walking Emma in circles, bouncing her on her hip, trying and failing to calm her.
“Emma. Emma baby,” I croon, reaching for her, taking her in arms, soothing her. “You’re okay. It’s just a big storm, but you’re okay. I’m here. Maddie’s here.”
She quiets a little, looking up at me. I think she quiets from the novelty more than anything I’m doing to actually make her feel better.
“She’s not the only one who’s rattled,” Maddie says. “This wind is crazy. The rain is coming down so hard.”
“You haven’t seen anything yet,” I tell her. “It’s just getting started. Mama’s at Blanc-Bleu and probably staying there. I think we probably ought to close up here and move over there too for the duration.”
Just then, the lights flicker, then go out, dropping us into shadows. Emma starts, then tunes up and begins crying again.
“Shit,” Maddie says, looking around for a flashlight. She finds it, flipping it on, cutting through the darkness. “Hey, where’s Justin? He said he was going to see what you were doing at the stables. Is he with Rose?”
What? “He’s not here?”
She shakes her head, a line instantly furrowing her brow. “No. He went to the stables, to you.”
I hand Emma back to Maddie and quickly search the house, calling Justin’s name. Maybe he came in when Maddie was distracted with the baby. For sure he’s here.
He’s not.
I go outside, to the front porch, shouting his name over the noise of the building storm. The only answer I get is the roar of wind and waves of rain in my face, mocking me.
“Jeb, where is he? Did you see him in the stables?”
“Yeah,” I say, pulling on my raincoat, reaching for my phone. “I saw him in the stables and I told him to go back to the house.”
Her expression draws from confusion to fear.
“Joe was here,” I tell her. “He came up in the storm, looking for some place to stay. And then he left. I didn’t see him go. I just saw his car was gone.”
Maddie’s fear escalates to terror.
Joe has him. And I have to find them.
“Call 911, tell them what’s happened,” I say calmly. “I’m gonna call Stu.”
Her call to 911 is frantic, but at this point I don’t think they can help, so it hardly matters. I get Stu, but the connection is bad. He understands me well enough, saying he’ll be here in five minutes.
I take Emma in my arms, wrapping her in my raincoat. “You’re going to the big house,” I say. “I’m going to find Justin.” I take her hand in mine, pulling her along. She’s petrified. She’s lost her voice. We hustle through the rain as fast as we can, splashing through deep pools of standing water. Emma’s shrieking and Maddie is trembling. I rush them inside, handing them off to Mama with an abbreviated explanation.
“Joe’s snatched Justin,” I say. “They’re out in the storm and I’m going to find them. Take care of Maddie and Emma. Keep your phone close.”
I kiss Maddie on the head, promising her I’ll find him. I kiss Emma, too.
Mama, who knows me better than any other person on this planet, understands. She sees the desperation in my face. She doesn’t ask questions or try to dissuade me. She takes Emma, calming her. All she says is, “Be safe.”
Chapter 25
Maddie
He’ll be eight-years-old next week. I already ordered his birthday cake and have invited half the kids in the neighborhood to his party. He’s never had a birthday party before. It was going to be a big surprise, with balloons and games.
I should have seen this coming. Joe said he wasn’t leaving without Justin. I taunted him. I may as well have dared him to do it. I should never have let Justin out of my sight.
He wasn’t scared of the storm. He’s not scared of anything anymore – except Joe. He’s still scared of Joe. I thought I wasn’t scared of Joe anymore, but now I know that’s not true. I’m horrified. Joe’s taken my son. He’s taken him out into this terrifying storm. Justin is lost in this lightening and thunder and screaming wind, and I’m helpless.
I couldn’t protect him before, and I can’t protect him now. I’ve failed him at every turn. Joe was right, I’m a terrible mother. I’ve never been able to protect my son. And now he’s lost, alone, with that monster.
If he doesn’t come back to me, I’d rather die than live with myself. I could never live, knowing how miserably I’ve failed him.
Chapter 26
Jeb
Head toward the bridge,” I say, “That’s bound to be the direction he went. They can’t get across, but maybe they stalled out in high water and we’ll find them.”
Stu’s white-knuckling it in the wind and rain, the wipers beating the windshield in rapid thumps, and it’s still almost impossible to see anything. We pick our way down Sam’s Point Road, dodging fallen tree limbs, downed power lines, and standing water. No one else is on the road. There’s no sign of Joe’s car stalled or pulled over.
Nearing the bridge, I see flashing blue lights ahead.
“Highway patrol’s blocking access to the bridge,” Stu says. “They’ve been here since early this morning.”
“Pull on up to him,” I say. “I want to ask him if he’s seen anybody.”
Stu rolls up close to the police cruiser, which is parked in the middle of the road a hundred feet from the entrance to the bridge. From here I see the river has crested her banks and is covering the road and part of the bridge. It’s brown water; fresh, not salt. This is trapped high tide water and rainfall runoff, but not storm surge – not yet.
The patrolman in the cruiser rolls down his window as we approach. I explain to him what’s happened, and what we’re doing, asking him if he’s seen any cars matching the description of Joe’s rental on the roads.
He hasn’t. He takes the information and radios it across the airways to every cop in three counties.
“We should do an Amber Alert,” the cop says. “Come get in the car and I’ll get the information.”
I shake my head, “Call my mother,” I give him her number, shouting through the rain. “She can give you the information. We’re going to keep looking. I don’t think they could have gotten off the island in this weather.”
We turn around, heading back north.
“You don’t think he hit the roadblock at the bridge and turned around, trying to get off Maiden’s the other way?” Stu asks, his tone betraying just how silly the question is.
“No one would do that,” I hear myself saying. No local would do that because the locals know that road runs out at the Atlantic Ocean. Joe’s sense of direction may be as bad as his judgement. “Try it,” I say.
The storm is getting worse with the skies darkening further, if that’s possible. The wind rocks the truck as we make our way back the way we came, through the mess this storm is making of the road. We pass the turn-off to Blanc-Bleu and keep going, moving slowly toward the River Bridge over to Coosaw Island. When we come around the curve to the bridge, my heart sinks.
The bridge is covered in water with waves breaking over it’s rails. The docks on either side of the bridge are hanging on by a thread, half-submerged.
Stu stops in the road, considering his options.
“We’re gonna need a boat,” I say.
He pulls out his phone, scrolling for a number in his contact list, then calling.
“Drake,” he says, surprised the call connected, “Yeah, it’s Stu. I’m out with Jeb Ballentine. His girlfriend’s son has been snatched by the boy’s father. We’re looking for them and think they may have come over your way. Have you seen any cars you didn’t recognize wandering around over there this afternoon?”
Stu blinks, then looks at me, nodding.
“Yeah, the boy is seven and probably scared to death,” he continues, listening on the other end. “I understand. Yeah. It looks pretty bad…. Yeah. We’re probably going to get on the water, crazy as that sounds.”
&n
bsp; He ends the call and then turns the truck around in a hurry.
“That was Drake Callahan,” Stud says. “He saw the car an hour or so ago, headed east past his house. He said it made an impression because the car crossed the bridge after it was already starting to get covered. He said there’s storm surge rising on the beach now.”
Fuck.
It feels like it takes forever to get to the other side of the island to my docks. On the way I manage to get a call through to Mama. I tell her what we’ve learned and what we’re doing.
“Tell Maddie I’m doing everything I can. And tell her I love her.”
“Tell her yourself,” Mama says, handing the phone to Maddie.
“Jeb?” she asks. Her voice sounds so small; fragile.
“We think we know where they are,” I say, feeling my throat tighten. “We’ve just got to get to them. I won’t come back without him.” She’s crying on the other end and the connection is terrible. “I love you, Maddie,” I say. “More than anything in the world. I promise you…”
The call drops before I can finish my sentence.
Stu turns, giving me a stern look. “You’re really going out on the water in this shit?”
I nod.
“You’re out of your mind,” he says. “That’s suicidal.”
I know. I don’t need to acknowledge it out loud.
“Well I’ll be damned if I’m letting you go alone.”
I’ve done some truly reckless shit in my life, but I’ve never done anything this profoundly stupid. Every bone in my body screams against putting a boat on the water in these conditions, but there’s no other way. Stu straps on a life jacket and I do the same. I can’t remember the last time I wore one of these things, but today it’s necessary.
“You don’t need to come with me,” I shout over the noise of the storm.
Stu ignores me, throwing off the lines. We waded through knee deep water to get here and I’m pretty sure his truck won’t be drivable if we make it back. The water is rising fast.
It’s impossible to see the channel markers. Familiar landmarks don’t look the same. The Coosaw River – a place I know like the back of my hand – is alien to me. My calm little river estuary has been churned into a raging ocean of billeting whitecaps and swirling eddies.
