Another Kind of Hurricane

by Tamara Ellis Smith

  The truck was quiet after that. Zavion studied Mount Mansfield. It did look like the face of a man. The long face of a man staring up into the sky. Zavion traced the trail lines on the map from the base to the different summit points, traced the veins of the man’s face. To the chin. To the nose. To the forehead. Up the winding line of one, then back down and up the line of another.

  The truck mimicked his hand as it, too, wound up and down the dirt road, taking them into a new country.

  chapter 70

  HENRY

  Henry made Jake drop him off at the bottom of the driveway, and Brae bounded toward him before he had gotten all the way up. Brae knocked him to the ground, his long body wiggling over Henry’s.

  “Hi, boy,” said Henry. He buried his face in Brae’s thick fur, breathed in the dog and dirt and pine that he had missed so much.

  Mom was in the garden. She ran to Henry and gathered him into her arms.

  “Oh, Henry—” she said. “I missed you—”

  Henry collapsed onto Mom’s shoulder. Brae ran in circles around them. Henry rested his chin on Mom’s shoulder and squinted up at Mount Mansfield.

  I’m back, he mouthed at the hulking mountain.

  Mom squeezed him hard. “What an adventure you must have had….” She trailed off. She pulled him upright and stared into his eyes. “Are you okay? What’s wrong? Do you want to tell me about what happened?”

  He did. He really did. But he couldn’t remember any of it. Standing under the mountain, its long peaks golden with fall leaves, blindingly bright against the clear blue sky, its base brown and solid and never-ending, its rocks and dirt and the roots of its trees tumbling down and out, extending all the way to Mom’s garden, made Henry’s head feel empty. He looked down at his hand. Osprey’s leash was wrapped around his wrist, like a reminder, like a string tied on a finger.

  “Why don’t you come help me weed?” Mom said. “Some Vermont dirt should make you feel better.” She walked toward the garden. “And you can tell me about your trip when you’re ready.”

  Brae took off, running in circles around the house, stopping to sniff a few trees and rocks, and then settled at Mom’s side. He licked her bare feet, between her toes. Then he shot a glance at Henry and barked.

  “Okay, I’m coming,” said Henry.

  Mom pulled a wilted flower out of the ground. “These poor marigolds,” she said. “They look awful.”

  Henry knelt down. She was right. The whole garden was a mess. Weeds and grass sprouted up between the flowers everywhere.

  “I’ve all but abandoned them this fall, haven’t I?” said Mom. She tucked her nightgown into her sweatpants. She yanked on a weed. Brae pawed at the ground, like he was urging Henry to help, so Henry yanked on the weeds too. “Oh, Henry—” Mom stopped weeding. “Watch this.” She pulled a piece of paper towel out of her pocket. Then she pulled a marigold from the garden and wrapped it in the paper towel, like a present. She put it on the ground next to Brae.

  No! No, no, no, no, no—

  Mom squeezed one hand into a fist.

  No! That wasn’t how Henry did the trick!

  Mom held her fist out toward Brae and slowly uncurled her fingers until her hand was flat.

  Noooooooooooooooo!

  Henry felt himself ignite.

  Brae opened the present with his paws and nose. When he was finished, the marigold lay on the ground, not a leaf or a petal destroyed.

  The flames in Henry’s belly were so high they licked the back of his throat. They rose from his throat and up into his nose and eyes.

  “Henry—” He heard Mom’s voice through the roar inside him, but he couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t stop the heat and he couldn’t stop the memory—

  —

  “Hey, you wanna see what I’m teaching Brae?” said Henry.

  “Another trick?” said Wayne.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “This dog could join the circus.” Wayne sat up on his sleeping bag. “Okay, let’s see it.”

  Henry tore a piece of cheese from the remaining chunk and grabbed a bandanna from the top pocket of his backpack. He wrapped the cheese inside the bandanna. Brae sniffed at it.

  “You’re teaching him to eat fabric? That can’t be good for his guts.”

  “No.” Henry shoved Wayne. “Watch, all right?” He stood up. “Sit,” he said. Brae sat. “Good boy.” He glanced at Wayne. “Good boy to you too.”

  “Shut up.” Wayne swiped at Henry’s leg.

  “Okay, okay, I gotta concentrate,” said Henry.

  —

  “Henry?” Mom’s voice came back into focus.

  Henry dug in the dirt with his fingers. He wanted to dig a hole so deep he could lay his burning body in it and smother the flames. He dug some more and hit a rock. Brae whimpered behind him. Henry had to get away.

  He grabbed the rock and scrambled to his feet.

  “Wayne!” he yelled, running toward the house.

  Brae whimpered again.

  chapter 71

  ZAVION

  It was time for Jake to go to bed. “We have a big hike to do later, right?” he said. “And the beginning of a painting project? Then I gotta get some sleep.”

  Jake began to leave, but then turned back to Zavion.

  “This is yours, I think,” he said.

  He opened his hand. The marble sat in his palm. Zavion took it.

  And with that, Jake disappeared into his room for a midmorning nap. Annie led Zavion down the hall, past a closed door, to what looked like an office.

  “I hope this will do,” said Annie.

  “Thank you,” said Zavion. He stood in the middle of the room, taking it all in.

  Annie opened the window just a crack. The cold air pushed its way into the room like a dog at the door.

  “It smells—exactly like I thought Vermont would smell,” said Zavion, breathing deeply. He coughed.

  “Cold in your lungs, right?” said Annie. “There’s nothing purer. Sweeps your body clean.”

  Zavion thought about the smell of bread baking. He already missed Ms. Cyn. He wrapped his scarf tighter around his neck.

  “This is beautiful.” Annie tucked in the end of the scarf. “It’s good to meet you, Zavion. Real good,” she said.

  chapter 72

  HENRY

  “Stupid, stupid rock!”

  Henry hurled the rock he had grabbed from the garden at the kitchen wall. A glass on the counter got caught in its path and crashed to the floor. Brae jumped at the sound and knocked into Henry’s legs. Henry smashed his hip into the edge of the table.

  “Stupid, stupid dog!”

  Brae dropped his head and tail and slunk to the corner of the kitchen. He lay down. Henry felt a cold draft as Mom opened the door. Wind whipped the sky like cream. Henry glanced at Brae, who tucked his tail under his chin, trying to get his huge, lanky body as small as possible. Henry sank to the floor and put his head on his knees. He tried to breathe deeply, but the air vibrated in his chest and felt ragged like a broken fan.

  He had let his best friend down. Henry took another broken breath. He thought he had left this in New Orleans, but he was never going to be able to let it go.

  “Look at you two. You’re both shaking,” said Mom.

  “I am not,” said Henry.

  “Well, Brae’s shaking,” said Mom. She got on her knees to pet him.

  “No, he’s not either,” said Henry.

  “He is.” She buried her face in his neck and began to hum. And all of a sudden, Henry wanted her to come over and hum to him. Without lifting her head from Brae’s fur, Mom said, “You want some hot chocolate?”

  “Dogs are allergic to chocolate,” Henry said. “Are you trying to kill him?” It just slipped out, the words all jagged from the blades of his broken fan breath.

  Mom stood up and put her hands over her eyes. “I missed you so much, Henry,” she said without looking at him. She clasped her hands in front of her face. “I wasn’t talking to B
rae, I was talking to you. You want some hot chocolate? And maybe some eggs?”

  Outside, the wind continued to blow hard. It blew in small sideways bursts so it hit the windowpanes. Bang, bang, bang. Bang, bang, bang. Loud, little fists rapping on the glass. Let me in, let me in, let me in. Henry buried his head deeper into his knees. He didn’t want to hear the wind.

  “Henry—” Mom sat next to Henry. He felt her hand on the top of his head.

  “I thought you were going to make eggs,” he said to the floor.

  “It isn’t your fault.”

  He took a deep breath. “What isn’t?”

  “Look at me,” she said. Henry lifted his head. Mom pushed on his chin so he was staring at her. “It isn’t your fault Wayne died.” She had tears in her eyes.

  Henry tried to keep his head still, but his own eyes twitched and his neck felt like it was on a spring, ready to snap back from Mom. He swallowed back his tears. “Mom—” he said.

  He was afraid to tell her. But he needed to.

  “Yes?” she said.

  “I was winning the race. I never won a race against Wayne. I ran past him. I ran way ahead of him.” The words came out of Henry fast.

  “Henry.” Mom held the sides of his face with both of her hands, like she knew he was about to snap.

  “I wasn’t holding the marble—Wayne was—I messed up the balance—Wayne should have won—” Now Henry took a loud, gulping breath. “I shouldn’t have run ahead of him.”

  “Oh, Henry.” Mom brought her hands around Henry’s cheeks, so that they were like blinders. Henry couldn’t see anything except her face. She stared straight at him. “I don’t know why Wayne died that day on the mountain. I don’t. But I do know—with every bone in my body, Henry—that you didn’t cause him to die. It didn’t happen because you ran ahead. It didn’t happen because of you at all. It isn’t your fault.”

  He had wanted this, hadn’t he? For Mom to come over and be with him like this? To say this? But Henry couldn’t do it. He couldn’t look her in the eyes for this long. He couldn’t stay here. Stay still.

  He snapped his head back and slipped out of Mom’s hands. He scrambled to his feet. “I have to go,” he mumbled. “I have to get out of here—”

  “You can’t keep running away—” Mom reached out to Henry as she got to her feet.

  But Henry barreled out the kitchen door. Brae followed him. The wind pounded on his back as he ran. You can’t keep running away. You can’t keep running away. You can’t keep running away. Henry still didn’t want to hear the wind.

  Or Mom.

  chapter 73

  ZAVION

  Papa was on the phone when Zavion woke up. His voice got louder and softer and then louder again. He must have been pacing back and forth in the hall. It took Zavion a moment to remember where he was.

  Vermont. Jake’s house. Mount Mansfield.

  And he had slept.

  For the first time since the hurricane, he had really slept.

  Zavion got out of bed. He opened the office door. Papa was making another trek down the hall.

  “Skeet,” he was saying, “damn, you work fast.”

  What was Papa talking about?

  “No, are you kidding me? I’m there. Count me in.”

  “Papa,” said Zavion.

  “You said it! Hallelujah is right—” Papa kissed Zavion on the top of his head. “Morning, Zav,” he said.

  “What are you talking about?”

  Papa put his hand over the phone. “Skeet says hi. He’s running a business idea by me. A house painting company. A crew of artists helping to restore some houses at home.” He practically hopped back down the hall. “Brilliant idea, Skeet. Oh, my bones are aching to be back in New Orleans.”

  Zavion tried to wrap his head around this new information. A job painting houses. In New Orleans. He walked into the kitchen. It was so warm and bright. He wanted to bake some bread. Maybe he would do that later. Annie sat at the table with a woman.

  “Soy una madre,” said the woman.

  “Soy una madre,” repeated Annie.

  “Bien!” The woman put her hand on Annie’s arm. “I am a mother. You said it just right.”

  Zavion walked outside just as Henry was running up the driveway. Henry sprinted to the house and slumped onto the porch, breathing hard.

  In and out, up and down, went his breath.

  Papa walked to the open window, the phone still in his hand. He yelled out, “Skeet says hi, Henry. Wants to know the name of an insect that can live for a few weeks with its head cut off. Nine letters.” He paused. “He says you’re the animal expert.” And then he was gone again.

  A dog bounded up to them.

  “Wow!” said Zavion. “What is that?” The dog’s nose reached for his hand. It felt cool and dry. The dog pushed his hand up and then kept walking so Zavion felt his head, his neck, and the length of his long body. Then he sat on Zavion’s foot, his tail making a slapping noise against Zavion’s jeans.

  “Huh?” Henry seemed lost.

  “Who is that?”

  “Brae.”

  “Your dog?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Brae ran to chase a swallow that swooped low in front of them.

  “Are you okay?” said Zavion.

  Henry just shrugged his shoulders.

  “I need to go up Mount Mansfield.”

  “I know.” Henry seemed distracted.

  “No, I need to go up now.”

  “Isn’t Jake going to take you?”

  “Please, Henry—” Zavion glanced back at the house. He knew he should wait for Jake, that it was the right thing to do, but he didn’t feel like he could wait for one more minute.

  Henry stood up. “I can’t go,” he said.

  “But you said you would take me. You said you wanted to.”

  “I can’t.” Henry turned his back on Zavion. “Wayne died up there,” he whispered.

  Zavion put his hand in his jeans pocket when he heard those words. He grabbed the marble. He wasn’t sure Henry had meant for him to hear what he’d said, so he was silent. He squeezed the marble tight.

  He remembered Luna.

  The sound of her bangles in his ear.

  He remembered Mama.

  You were you.

  You are still you.

  I love you all the same.

  It was time for Zavion to make his own decision.

  “I know you can’t take me, but can you show me the way?” he said. “I have to go up that mountain now.”

  Henry was silent for a moment. Then he turned around. “I’ll take you to the place where the trail splits,” he said. “I’ll show you the way to go from there.”

  chapter 74

  HENRY

  “Watch out!” a voice yelled.

  A flash of silver barreled down the trail like a rabbit. Behind it, someone was running so fast that he couldn’t stop himself. He tripped over Brae, who galloped up to greet him, and fell into Henry. Henry fell into Zavion. They all lay sprawled on the ground, stunned for a moment.

  Henry spoke first. “Hey, Nopie.” Brae nudged Henry with his nose and licked the ground under him.

  “I dropped the can of tuna and then it was rolling down the trail.” Nopie picked up the can and began to scoop tuna back into it.

  “Oh, gross!” said Henry. Brae licked Henry’s jacket. “Aw, you smell like fish, Brae! Get off me!” He struggled to stand up.

  Nopie extended his hand to Zavion with a can still in it.

  “He doesn’t want that,” said Henry, grunting as he got on his feet.

  “I forgot I had it,” said Nopie, setting it down. Brae’s nose was in it in a flash. “Hi, I’m Nopie,” he said.

  “I’m Zavion.”

  “What are you doing up here?” said Henry.

  “Looking for Tiger,” said Nopie. “I thought he might come to me if I brought some tuna.”

  “And—”

  “No sign of him yet. But I think he’s
up here. I talked to the rest of the neighbors on that one side of the road. Two of them saw Tiger. He was heading up the mountain. I’m sure of it.”

  The wind was getting fierce. Henry shivered and pulled the sleeves of his jacket down over his hands. “So why are you going back down the mountain?” he said.

  “I ran up to the top. Left some tuna there. I’m working my way back down.”

  “You don’t think some other animal—or, like, twelve of them—are going to eat that?” Nopie looked deflated. Henry felt bad. “You really think Tiger’s looking for Wayne?”

  “I know it.” Nopie pulled his sweater up above his chin and breathed into it. “And I know he’ll come back.”

  chapter 75

  ZAVION

  Zavion felt like he was in a different world, climbing up the mountain.

  Everywhere Zavion turned, there was a plant he had never seen before. A tree he had never seen before. He thought about the few trees lining the streets back at home that had fallen. He remembered the oak tree that split just outside his house. He remembered his house. The church, the street sign, the swing set at the park. All of it blown over and cracked apart. He wondered if anything would be able to grow there now.

  Here—where trees had fallen and were dead—was the bright green color of something new growing out from underneath.

  chapter 76

  HENRY

  Henry stopped at the fork in the trail. This was as far as he would go. He pointed. “That way,” he said. “That way will take you to the top.”

  “Henry—”

  “Nah, I gotta go.” Henry turned around. The wind was at his back now. It pushed him forward, it was so strong. Brae trotted in front of him. He sat and cocked his head to the side, confused. “What do you want to do, buddy?” said Henry. Part of him wanted Brae to come with him. Part of him, to his surprise, wanted Brae to stay with Zavion. He began to walk back down the trail.