by Watt Key
“You need some help with that?” I asked.
“I got it,” he said. “You better tend to your houseboat.”
“I know. Good luck.”
“You, too, Cort. Be safe.”
I started back to the houseboat and saw Dad standing on the back porch sipping coffee and studying the river. As I drew close he lowered his cup and looked over at me.
“Looks like we’re about to get wet,” he said.
“At least they got all the boats out,” I said.
“We still got one more. Why don’t you run the jon around to the ramp and I’ll back the truck down.”
I untied the jon and motored to the launch ramp. The rain had turned to a steady drizzle by then. I pulled my cap low over my eyes and waited for Dad. After a few minutes he arrived with the boat trailer. I motored the jon onto the runners and sat in it while he pulled it up the hill. He parked it behind the Stovalls’ house beside Mr. Stovall’s old center-console. I jumped out and unhooked the trailer, and he drove back down to the houseboat.
Liza appeared at the back door as I was pulling the drain plug. She wore her hunting boots and a rain jacket with the hood pulled over her head.
“You think a tree’s gonna fall on them?” she asked.
“I hope not. Your mom’s got to put her car in the garage, so there won’t be room for ’em in there.”
“Guess it doesn’t matter about Dad’s,” she said, looking at her father’s old boat.
“That thing still runs good. We used it a month ago.”
She studied it doubtfully.
“Those Evinrude seventies are tough,” I said.
“Francie’s watching cartoons,” she said. “What do you want me to do?”
“I think we’re gonna start bringing our stuff up here. Dad’s probably down there right now looking at it all.”
“Don’t you want a raincoat?”
I wore cutoff jeans, tennis shoes, an old T-shirt, and a baseball cap pulled low over my eyes. As much as I had to do, I’d get wet no matter what I wore.
“I’m fine,” I said.
For the rest of the morning Dad hauled our fishing equipment, traps, and clothes out of the houseboat and set them on the deck. Liza and I loaded the back of the pickup in the drizzling rain, using a tarp to cover everything and keep it from getting too wet. When the truck bed was full she climbed into the passenger seat and Dad sat on the tailgate. I drove us up to the Stovalls’ garage, where the three of us stacked it all inside against the wall.
Mrs. Stovall returned just before noon and told us to come inside for sandwiches. By then the wind was coming in steady gusts over the water oaks and we heard hickory nuts rapping on the tin roof of the bait shop. We had nearly everything in the garage except for our two rifles, which Dad hung on the gun rack in the truck.
“What about the houseboat, Dad?”
“I’m still thinkin’ about it,” he said. “At least we got just about everything important off it. Still need to get the stuff out of the refrigerator and pack it on ice. Once we lose power it’ll all spoil.”
Mrs. Stovall brought towels out to the garage, and we dried our heads and faces and took off our wet shoes. When we walked into the kitchen she was making ham and cheese sandwiches for us.
“The stores are out of just about everything,” she said. “I had to go all the way to the Dollar General in Bay Minette.”
“I still gotta get ice and some gas for that generator,” Dad said.
“I already got gas,” she said. “It’s in the back of my car. I had to wait in line for an hour.”
“Glad you thought of that,” he said. “Cort’ll get those cans out, and we’ll make sure the generator works. Hopefully, they’ll still have some ice somewhere.”
After a quick lunch it was time to go back to work.
“What’s next?” Liza asked.
“Why don’t you see what flashlights and batteries you can find, sweetheart,” Dad said. “Get those propane lanterns out of the garage and put some new mantles on ’em. You know how to do that?”
“I know how.”
“I can help you,” I said.
“Fill ’em with fuel,” Dad said. “Linda, fill up your bathtubs and washing machine with water so we can use it when the pump quits. I’ve got to get started on the houseboat. It’s gettin’ mean out there.”
12
After I helped Liza tie mantles onto the propane lanterns I walked down to the houseboat to see what Dad was doing. The river was already rising steadily under the rain, but there was still no current. The wind gusted across the flat muddy surface like sweeps from a giant broom, and the houseboat creaked and twisted. Catfish stood on the porch watching me.
“Hey!” Dad called out.
I turned to see him standing uphill next to a big water oak.
“Go get those ropes out of the bow. We’re gonna tie off to these trees up here.”
We spent most of the afternoon slipping in the mud and ducking into the wind and rain, using the heavy one-inch ropes to tie the bow and stern to two water oaks about twenty feet up the riverbank. Then we adjusted the spuds, ten-foot lengths of three-inch galvanized pipe running through iron collars at the four corners of the boat. They hung like skinny legs into the mud to stabilize the platform. We clamped them off at three feet to allow the boat to swing in closer to the bank.
When Dad was satisfied we’d done all we could do with the houseboat, I helped him load our small electric generator into the back of the truck. It wasn’t as big as the Stovalls’, and wouldn’t power much, but we could use it for backup. We hauled it uphill, lugged it into the garage, and set it behind Mrs. Stovall’s car.
“Go shut off the water to the bait shop,” he told me. “If those pipes break, we don’t want water spewin’ everywhere. And go around the back of the shed and flip those breakers to shut down the power at the stalls so we don’t have broken power lines lyin’ hot.”
I nodded that I understood. Then Liza appeared at the garage door in her raincoat, looking bored.
“Need some more help?” she asked.
Dad started toward the truck. “Find all the extension cords you can and put ’em out here by the generator,” he said.
“Okay,” she said.
Dad slammed his door against the rain and scratched out in the gravel.
I started into the storm again. “I gotta go back down there,” I said over my shoulder. “We’re almost done.”
“Get Catfish,” she called to me.
I waved to her that I’d heard.
What little daylight we had left was fading. I shut off the water and the electricity, then went back down to the houseboat to help Dad load the food from the refrigerator and whatever else was left. We made our final haul uphill, unloaded it, and returned once more to make a last pass through the boat. Dad stood in the middle of the kitchen floor, studying the empty space. After a moment he flipped a switch to turn on the battery-powered porch lights.
“I guess that’s all we can do,” he said. “We’ll leave these AC lights on so we can watch it. I’ll unplug the shore power and drag the line uphill a little ways.”
It looked strange with just about everything out except the furniture and appliances. I saw Catfish relaxing on the sofa, muddy and wet and unconcerned.
“Get him up to the house,” Dad said. “I’m gonna go see if I can find some ice somewhere.”
“You don’t think everything’s closed by now?”
He looked out the window and eyed the river through the rain like it might have an answer. After a second he turned and started for the door. “I don’t know,” he said. “We’ll see.”
I watched Dad walk away and looked down at Catfish. “Come on, boy,” I said. “Time to get out of here.”
He acted as though he didn’t hear me, but I saw his ear twitch.
I glanced about until I saw a rope hanging on the wall. I got it and tied one end to his collar and made a loop for my wrist on the other end.
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“You’re not gonna like this,” I said. “But you can’t stay here tonight.”
I tugged the rope and he looked at me stubbornly. This houseboat was his home as much as mine, and he hadn’t slept anywhere else in years.
“It’s for your own good,” I said. “Come on.”
I tugged the leash again, and he dropped off the sofa and came to me. I pulled him onto the deck and closed the door.
13
Liza was actually the first one who ever saw Catfish. She was up in a mulberry tree alongside the riverbank when he came trotting through the woods. I was below picking up berries as she shook them off the tree limbs.
“Dog coming, Cort,” she said, like it was nothing unusual.
I turned and saw the dirty yellow mutt stop and study me.
“No collar,” I said. “You see his tail wagging?”
“Can’t see from here. Go try to pet him.”
“Heck, no! He might have rabies or something.”
“Well, then, let him pass.”
There was something about the way the dog was looking at me that kept me considering it all. He was muddy and had briars tangled in his coat, but there was nothing threatening about him. He reminded me of a mischievous kid coming back from playing in a mud puddle.
“You think I should pet him?” I asked.
“I’m coming down.”
I knew Liza would pet a stray dog without thinking twice. And then it would be hers. Suddenly I wanted my own dog more than anything in the world.
“No!” I called up to her. “I’m walking over there.”
From then on Catfish followed me everywhere. He was my first friend in the mornings and my last friend in the evenings. He was also the one I talked to about Mom and Dad. I didn’t realize things between them were as bad as they were until after Mr. Stovall died. By then the subject of parent problems wasn’t anything I felt comfortable talking to Liza about. Catfish was the only one I told everything to. Even if he was just a dog, he made me feel a little less alone in the world.
* * *
I remembered Dad telling me to leave the garage door open to ventilate the generator. Besides, once we lost power we might not be able to raise the door. I tied Catfish to the bumper of Mrs. Stovall’s car and put out a blanket for him to sleep on. He whined plaintively and refused to lie down. He wanted to be back on the houseboat.
“You’ll be all right,” I told him.
I dropped my wet clothes on the floor of the garage, toweled off, and got an old pair of khaki shorts and a shirt out of one of the garbage bags. After changing I remembered that we hadn’t tested the generator. I got the gas cans out of Mrs. Stovall’s car, filled the fuel tank, checked the oil, and yanked the starter cord. It fired on the first pull. I shut it down and backed away. Then I heard someone in the doorway and turned to see Francie.
“You finished, Cort?” she asked me.
I took a deep breath. “Yeah, Francie,” I said. “I think so.”
“Come play Candy Land,” she said.
“I’ll be there in a minute,” I said.
She turned and went back into the house.
“Cort’s finished!” I heard her announce.
I stood there for a moment, staring into the weather. Now it was too dark to see the river, but I could just make out the lights of the houseboat, dull and yellow through the rain. Something didn’t look right. The lights weren’t level. The houseboat seemed to be leaning. I figured one of the ropes was too short and holding the corner down. If that was the case, the boat would eventually flood, get heavy, and tear loose.
I dug the portable radio out of a dry bag and keyed it.
“Dad?” I said.
I waited for a moment, but there was no answer. I shook my head and clipped the radio to my belt. I went inside to find Liza and Francie starting a game of Candy Land on the living room floor. Mrs. Stovall was in the laundry room folding clothes and letting the washer fill for backup water. Pine limbs scraped the windowpanes, and pine cones and branches thumped the roof.
“You think we’re ready?” Liza asked me.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Dad’s gone to get ice for the cooler, but something’s not right about the houseboat.”
“He should be back soon.”
I frowned doubtfully. Surely he isn’t at Mom’s now, I thought. Not now. Not with all this going on.
14
As the outside edges of Hurricane Igor tore into the Gulf Coast, the four of us sat around the Stovalls’ kitchen table, listening to the giant storm spitting rain and tossing the trees.
“He should have been back a long time ago,” I said.
“Try to call him again.”
I shook my head. “He’s not answering.”
“Maybe he got blown away,” Francie said.
Mrs. Stovall got up from the table. “Francie,” she said. “It’s bedtime.”
“But what if he got blown way up into a tree?”
“He didn’t get blown away. Now, go back to your room and I’ll be there in a minute to tuck you in.”
Francie disappeared down the hall, dragging Elmo.
“Maybe everybody’s out of ice,” Liza said.
“He’s up at Mom’s … You know that.”
“Maybe it’s best if she has someone with her,” Mrs. Stovall said.
“I think the houseboat’s already hung up, and I can’t move it by myself.”
Mrs. Stovall walked over to the television and watched the weather report for a moment.
“It looks like we’ve still got a couple of hours before it gets really bad,” she said. “This is just the edge of it.”
“He should be here with us,” I said.
Mrs. Stovall took a deep breath and let it out. “Let me get Francie to bed,” she said. “Then I’ll go get him. It shouldn’t take me more than fifteen minutes. And your mom can come back over here if she wants.”
I didn’t care about avoiding Mom anymore. Now Dad was endangering the Stovalls, and for the first time my frustration turned to anger.
“You shouldn’t have to do that,” I said.
“If I’m goin’, I need to go now before it gets much worse,” she said.
I rethought it all, trying to make sure I wasn’t being overly concerned. But there was definitely something wrong with the boat. And if we lost it, we’d be in big trouble.
“Okay,” I said. “You better go.”
Mrs. Stovall went to tuck Francie in bed. She returned a few minutes later, got her rain jacket and a flashlight, and headed for the door.
“Watch out for Catfish,” I said. “He’s tied behind your car.”
“I’ll move him,” she said.
“Be careful, Mom,” Liza said.
I had a bad feeling about Mrs. Stovall leaving, but I had an even worse feeling about going through the storm without Dad.
* * *
After Mrs. Stovall was gone, Liza and I watched the news on television. The eye of the storm was only a few hours from landfall, and the weatherman was making his report from a beach somewhere in the midst of it. He ducked into his microphone, his rain suit flapping in the gale-force winds, tremendous dirty waves smashing into a seawall behind him.
An hour passed before the phone rang again. Liza answered it. “Okay,” she said. “We’ll stay inside. No, she’s still asleep. Okay. I love you, too. We will.”
She held the phone out to me. “Your dad wants to talk to you.”
“Hey,” I said into the phone.
“Y’all doin’ all right?”
“Right now we are.”
“Listen, the creek’s already up over the bridge. We can’t get back there. Looks like you’re in charge.”
“Why didn’t you answer your radio?”
“Battery’s dead. You can call us here.”
“At Mom’s?”
“Yeah.”
I took a deep breath. “Dad, I’m worried about the houseboat. It’s not floating right, and the rive
r’s still rising.”
“We’ve done all we can do about that,” he said.
“I feel like I should cut one of the lines and pull the spuds.”
“Just stay away from it. It’s too dangerous to cut the lines if they’re strained like that.”
“I don’t know how to wire the generator into the electrical panel.”
“Don’t worry about that. If you lose power, just plug some lights and the deep freeze into an extension cord. Keep the refrigerator door shut as much as you can, and it’ll stay cool for a while.”
More questions spun in my head as Dad hung silently on the other end of the line. It seemed none of this was a big deal at all to him. Then I realized I would never be able to ask him all I needed to know. And the phones were probably going to go dead. Anger suddenly flooded over me and I couldn’t hold it back.
“Dad, I just want you back here! Why aren’t you here?”
“I meant to be, son. I just got behind. Your mother’s by herself and—”
“She’s a grown-up, Dad! We’re kids! What if something happens to the houseboat? What are we gonna do then?”
“Calm down, son. You can do this. You got a better head on your shoulders than your old man. You just need to use it and keep everybody safe.”
I stared at the floor, breathing out my anger, trying to calm myself.
“Cort?”
“What?” I snapped.
“Don’t worry about it. You’ll be fine.”
“I don’t know how.”
“Just stay inside and use your head.”
I rubbed my face and sighed. “There’s no way you can make it back?”
“We’ll get over there tomorrow as soon as we can.”
“Okay,” I said.
“Call me if you need me,” Dad said.
“Charge your radio,” I said, “before the power goes out.”
“All right,” he said. “I will.”
I hung up the phone and stood there staring at it.
“Mom’s worried,” Liza said.
“Yeah, me too … But we’ll just stay inside. Go check on Francie. Don’t tell her about your mom being gone.”
Liza disappeared down the hall and I turned to the television again. The hurricane was already using its eastern-flank winds to blow the Gulf water directly into Mobile Bay and up into the rivers and swamps. The weatherman said we were on the eastern side of the eye wall and would receive the worst of it. The water would continue to rise, and the wind and rain would increase. Once the eye passed, the wind would shift and start blowing from the west. Then Igor would turn and move northeast, crossing the head of the Mobile-Tensaw Delta. It would continue to dump rain into the river systems, prolonging the floodwater to the south. Even after the storm passed upstate, the floodwater would last for days. And our parents weren’t going to be back any time soon.