“This hose looks like it goes up a little.” Daniel ran his hand along the length of green hose, checking the angle.
Anna nodded. “As long as you don’t let any air in, it’ll keep siphoning off. The carpet did get a little wet from the house shaking so much when the wind blew. Water was sloshing everywhere, and we’d designed it to keep the pool full. Next time, I’d probably set the overflow hose a little lower.”
Daniel looked the contraption over. Along with the charging station outside, it was like Anna and her Father were a Rube Goldberg factory. “Do you get extra credit for any of this stuff?”
Anna laughed. “I wish. Unfortunately, it’s all standardized testing for memorized crap you could just look up if you needed to. My dad and I just do stuff like this for fun.”
Daniel felt himself beaming at the idea of doing such things for fun. “It’s pretty awesome,” he said. He turned to Anna, who was smiling at him and blushing. She tucked some hair behind her ear. “I think you’re pretty awesome,” he added.
Anna reached out and grabbed his hand. Daniel felt chill bumps rush up and down his arms and legs. His scalp tingled, and his temperature rose.
“If I find out you have a girlfriend—” Anna began, heading off somewhere Daniel hadn’t expected.
“I don’t,” he said quickly.
She took a step closer. “But if I find out you do, and this is some sorta post-hurricane game of yours, and the only reason you’re hanging out with me is because I’m within walking distance and your girlfriend is stuck somewhere without a car—”
“I swear,” Daniel said. He felt himself sweating from the surge of conflicting emotions, of arousal and fear.
“Because you see how creative I can get.” She waved a hand at the pool. “My revenge would be ingenious.”
“I’ve never really had a girlfriend in my li—”
Anna leaned forward and kissed him. It wasn’t like his kiss with Amanda Hicks, forceful and raw and probing. It was soft and tender. Her lips seemed to jolt electricity into his, and he could feel the blood rushing out of his head, leaving him dizzy. Daniel didn’t know what to do with his hands, but he wanted to do something special. He placed them on either of Anna’s cheeks and held them there. Their lips remained pressed together, trembling.
When she pulled away, Daniel felt like crying for the loss, or maybe for the pure joy of it having happened. He was grinning like a fool, could feel his cheeks cramping. Anna smiled at him, her eyes fluttering, a look of pure contentment on her face.
“That was amazing,” he whispered. He felt like such a fool for saying it. Like such a fool for starting his senior year and being so inexperienced with sex that a simple kiss could make him feel like he could fly. But he knew in that instant, as Anna nodded, silently agreeing with his assessment, that he was a lucky fool. For he had found a fellow reject, a girl too comfortable in her own skin to dress up and play like the others. He grabbed her hand and held it to his lips and kissed her fingers and fought the urge to say crazy things.
“Your dad is probably waiting on you,” Anna said with a smile.
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 lo
ng 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.
“I can’t apologize for what I’ve put you kids through. There’s no way I can make it up to your mom, and I’m not trying. When I leave the next time, as soon as I can, it’ll be some short and foreign life I go off to try and live.” His father looked at him, and Daniel realized he was crying as well. “I want you to know that you never have to forgive me, ’cause I’ll never forgive myself.”
“Dad—”
Daniel didn’t know what to say.
“I just hope you’ll do everything different than I did. You’ve got this chance ahead of you that I’d kill for. I’m so jealous and proud of you for that.”
“Dad. I’m sorry for some of the things I said to you back then.”
“I deserved worse.”
“I’m still sorry. I wish I hadn’t. I used to blame myself—”
“Oh God, Son.” His father shook his head; his shoulders shook with sobs. “Son, please don’t ever—”
“I don’t anymore—”
“God, Son, don’t ever blame yourself. I was a mess before I made you.” He swiped the tears from his cheeks and wiped his nose. Daniel stood. He reached over and put his hand on his dad’s shoulder, the most and least he could think to do, and his father’s weathered hand came up to rest on it, holding it there. And his father cried even harder. His bent body was wracked by sobs, tears falling through the fingers of his other hand, which he kept over his face as if to hide from his son, or from the world. He cried and squeezed Daniel’s fingers, pinning them to himself, and Daniel could tell what the simple gesture meant.
It made him wish he could offer or mean even more.
27
“Step through this loop first.”
An hour later, faces dry, Daniel’s father held a curl of webbing open at his feet. Daniel stepped through, shifted his weight to that foot, then did the same with the other.
“Now pull it up, just like a pair of shorts.”
“This’ll hold us if we fall?” Daniel shrugged the webbing up over his shorts, tugging down at the hem of them to keep them from getting bunched up.
“You could swing from this all day.”
Zola watched them from the front steps, sucking on a straw punched through a warm juice box. Every now and then, she tried making a call or sending a text. Now, when she put her phone aside with each network error, it was with a practiced calm, none of the frustrated desperation from last night. Her straw slurped at the bottom of the box.
“You’d better be real careful with my boys up there,” their mother said. She stood near one of the log piles, her arms crossed, a doubting look on her face. Daniel smiled at her to try and calm her nerves—and his. Carlton topped up the oil and gas on the chainsaw, then walked over and peered up the ladder leaning against the gutter. Hunter worked his homemade harness of knotted webbing on without their father’s help.
“Knot your line on the other line like this when we get up there.” He refreshed them on how to tie a bowline; the lessons taught on the houseboat years ago came flooding back, and the loss of the boat gnawed at Daniel. He untied and retied the knot several times while their father bent to secure a short piece of rope to the chainsaw. He stood, slung it over his shoulder, and went to the ladder first. The long, extended aluminum sides bent with his weight. He took the rungs slowly, getting both feet in place before reaching up with one hand to steady himself on a higher rung.
Once at the gutter, he lifted the chainsaw to a two-by-four he’d nailed in place across the shingles. He hoisted himself up and tied his webbing off to a loop of rope strung across the breadth of the house, from one side to the other. The loose bowline let him slide left and right and crawl higher up the roof, but should catch him if he slipped. Daniel watched, nerves tickling his stomach, as he waited for his dad to move out of the way. Then he went up the ladder after him.
The slope of the yard made the house feel more like three stories on that side, the unfinished basement letting out on the edge of the house around from where the tree hit. Daniel watched the bushes grow smaller as he went up. He reached the gutter and steadied himself while he tied the bowline. His dad watched while he made the twist, checking to make sure he did it in the right direction.
“Dear God, please be careful,” his mother said.
“Don’t take forever,” Hunter offered. Chen and Zola looked up from the limb they’d been dragging, shielding their eyes from the morning glare.
Daniel finished the knot and scrambled to the side, the edges of his sneakers clinging to the two-by-four. The ladder rattled as his brother started the climb up.
“Hold this in place,” his father said. Daniel turned and grasped another two-by-four held against the roof. His dad extracted a hammer from his tool belt, shoved a few nails between his lips, and pressed one against the wood. A few expert strikes from his hammer, and one end of the board was fixed in place. He slammed another home, then passed the hammer and final nail to Daniel.
Daniel took his time pounding the nail in. His brother made it to the top of the ladder and worked on his knot.
“Up we go,” their father said.
D
aniel took another look down at all the gawkers looking back up. Carlton had started up the ladder, bringing them some more tools. Hunter followed their dad onto the next two-by-four, brushing up against one of the massive limbs bent across the shingles. Climbing up the roof was like ascending a manmade intrusion into a natural canopy. The leaves and boughs were in a tangle across the house that had seemed manageable from the ground. Now that he was up within it, Daniel saw the incredible task ahead of them.
“Here,” Carlton said. He handed up the clippers and handsaw that had been kept busy over the last few days, chopping up anything small enough not to bother with the chainsaw. Daniel took the long-handled clippers and passed the saw to Hunter. The two of them moved to the first limb while their dad adjusted the loop of rope they were all attached to. Clipping the smaller limbs, they let the branches slide down toward the gutter, some of them getting caught up on the two-by-fours. They kicked these off, and Carlton helped remove them from the top of the ladder.
“You might want to get down and take the ladder with you,” their father said. “Go around to the other side and we’ll lower the first big one.”
Carlton nodded and descended the ladder. Daniel and Hunter worked to clean the limbs on the way up, forging a path past their father and over the large boughs leaning against the house. Daniel still didn’t see how the tree was going to be removed. He imagined a large crane would be necessary.
As they climbed, the limbs branching out overhead shaded them from the sun. Now they had truly ascended into a canopy. Daniel passed a fat limb that had snapped in half, the yellow and jagged interior revealing splinters the size of baseball bats. Their father climbed up beside them with a litheness that belied his age. He seemed to have become younger with the transition to a tilted, dangerous world, as if he had lived there much of his life.