* * *
My thoughts continued to tumble and flop like clothes in a dryer throughout dinner and even as the storm approached. It howled as darkness overtook us, growing in intensity with every passing hour. Rain and wind lashed the house, making it creak and shake. My aunt and I sat in the living room, neither one of us wanting to be alone. Just when I thought the storm couldn’t get any worse, we’d be slammed by another gust, and rain would pound so hard it sounded like firecrackers. The power, as predicted, went out and the living room went pitch black. We bundled up, knowing we had to get the generator started. As soon as Aunt Linda turned the knob, the door practically flew inward; the rain stung my face as we hurried down the steps, both of us gripping the railing so we wouldn’t blow away.
Beneath the house, the wind kept me unsteady on my feet, but at least we were out of the downpour. I watched my aunt struggle to get the generator started; I took over and was finally able to get it going on the third attempt. We fought our way back into the house, where Aunt Linda lit a bunch of candles and plugged in the refrigerator. The tiny flickers did little to illuminate the room.
I finally fell asleep on the sofa sometime after midnight. The storm continued to rage until just after dawn. While it was still windy, the rain eventually diminished to a drizzle before finally stopping midmorning. Only then did we step outside to survey the damage.
A tree on the neighbor’s property had toppled over, limbs scattered everywhere, and patches of shingles had been ripped from the roof. The road out front was under more than a foot of water. Neighboring docks had twisted or been torn away completely, the debris nearly reaching the house. The air was frigid, the wind positively arctic.
Bryce and his father showed up an hour before noon. By then, the wind was a whisper of what it had been. Aunt Linda brought out a bag of leftover biscuits while I started toward Bryce. As I walked, I tried to convince myself that my feelings from the day before were akin to a dream upon waking. They weren’t real; they were nothing but flickers and sparks fated to vanish completely. But when I saw him reach for the ladder in the bed of the truck, I thought again about the way he’d paused before me and knew I was only kidding myself.
His smile was as ready as ever. He was wearing the sexy olive jacket again and a baseball hat along with his jeans and the tool belt. I kind of felt like I was floating but did my best to appear nonchalant, like it was just another day for us.
“What did you think about the storm?” he asked.
“That was crazy last night.” It sounded like my words were coming from somewhere else. “How does the rest of the town look?”
He set the ladder on the ground. “There are a lot of toppled trees and there’s no power anywhere. Utility crews will hopefully get here this afternoon, but who knows? One of the motels and a couple of other businesses flooded, and half of the downtown buildings have roof damage. I guess the big thing was that one of the boats broke free and washed onto the road near the hotel.”
Because he seemed like his normal, casual self, I felt myself relaxing. “Was my aunt’s shop damaged?”
“Not that I saw,” he said. “We took down the plywood, but obviously we weren’t able to go inside to check for leaks.”
“And your house?”
“Just some downed limbs in the yard. Gwen and my grandparents were okay, too. But if you’re planning to try for some pictures today, watch for downed power lines. Especially in flooded spots. They can kill.”
I hadn’t thought about that, and visions of getting electrocuted made me shiver. “I’m just going to hang with my aunt, maybe do a little studying. But I’d still like to see the damage and maybe take some pictures.”
“How about I come by later and drive you around? I can grab some more film.”
“Will you have time?”
“Taking the boards down goes a lot faster than putting them up, and my grandpa already took care of the boat.”
When I agreed, he hoisted the ladder and carried it toward the porch. From there, Bryce and his father reversed the process from the day before; the only difference was that they used a caulk gun to fill in the screw holes. While they worked, my aunt and I began cleaning the debris from the yard, piling it near the street. We were still working when Bryce and his father backed down the drive.
With the yard done, Aunt Linda and I returned to the house, blinking at the light streaming through the windows. My aunt immediately went to the kitchen and started making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
“Bryce said the shop seemed okay,” I commented.
“His dad said the same thing, but I need to head over there in a little while to make sure.”
“I forgot to ask, but does the shop have a generator?”
She nodded. “It comes on automatically when the power goes out. Or it’s supposed to, anyway. That’s another thing I want to check on. People will want biscuits and books tomorrow, since there won’t be much in the way of cooking or anything to do until the power’s restored. It’ll be swamped until then.”
I thought about volunteering to help, but because I hadn’t had my biscuit-making lesson with Bryce yet, I figured I’d just slow her down. “Bryce is going to come by later,” I said. “We’re going to see what happened in the storm.”
She put the sandwiches on plates and brought them to the table. “Be careful of downed power lines.”
It seemed clear that everyone knew about this potential hazard but me. “We will.”
“I’m sure you’ll enjoy spending time with him.”
“We’re probably just going to take photographs.”
I’m pretty sure Aunt Linda noticed my deflection, but she didn’t press. Instead, she smiled.
“Then you’ll probably become an excellent photographer one day.”
* * *
After lunch I studied, or tried to, anyway. I kept getting interrupted by the sight of the manila envelope, which seemed to insist that I peek at Bryce’s picture instead.
It was several hours before Bryce pulled up. As soon as I heard the truck idling in the driveway, I grabbed the camera and started down the steps, grinning at the sight of Daisy in the bed. She whined and wagged her tail as I approached, so I stopped to give her some love. Bryce, meanwhile, had hopped out and rounded the truck so he could open the door for me, and my heart did the crazy pitter-patter thing again. He offered an arm to help me up—he’d showered and I could see drops of water still dripping from his hair—and when he closed the door, a voice inside scolded me to get a grip.
We drove through town, chatting easily while stopping here and there to take photos. Near the hotel, where the boat was resting on its side in the middle of the road, I spent a lot of time trying to get just the right shot. In the end, I handed the camera to Bryce to let him try, and I found myself watching him walk away, noting again the fluid way he moved. I knew he was working out to get ready for West Point, but his natural grace and coordination made me think that he would have been good at any sport.
Then again, why should that surprise me? Bryce, as far as I could tell, seemed to be good at everything. He was the perfect son and older brother, smart and athletic, handsome and empathetic. Best of all, he made all of it seem effortless. Even his demeanor was like no one else’s I’d known, especially when compared to the boys at my school. A lot of them seemed nice enough when I talked with them one-on-one, but when they hung out with their friends, they’d preen and act cool and say idiotic things and I’d end up wondering who they really were.