In the kitchen, Honey has left the radio on and Sweet-N-Low is listening to the weather. Hurricane Elizabeth is still strengthening. Winds up to 145 miles an hour now. Category 4.
A killer storm.
The eye is three hundred miles south of us, and she’s cutting a path due north. Straight toward the mouth of the Mississippi River.
La Cachette is going to take a direct hit. No one here is safe. Not in the hiding place.
Truth is, none of us ever have been.
It’s dark and slippery. And the blinding rain
makes it hard to see. A few times, he almost
loses his footing, and I think maybe we’ll both go down. If we do, would I have the strength
to get back up and run?
24
When morning comes, Honey gets the boat ready, and the two of us make a dozen trips between the house and the dock, loading up things she can’t stand to leave behind.
Each time I step outside, I’m trying not to look at those big black barrels.
Especially the one in the middle.
Instead, I focus on that latest flash of Elora, and I try to work out if those are Zale’s arms carrying her though the storm. I wish I could see his face. Or even feel that tingle.
So I’d know.
For sure.
Because I still don’t want it to be true.
“Have you seen Evie this morning?” Honey stops me on a trip back inside, and I shake my head.
“Why?”
“Bernadette says they’ve been looking for her for a while.” Honey frowns. “Can’t imagine where she’s got off to, today of all days.” She shakes her head and tells me not to worry. “I’m sure she’ll turn up.”
But I can feel it. Something’s not right.
The National Hurricane Center says we’re less than thirty-six hours from landfall. As of this morning, all of coastal Louisiana is under a mandatory evacuation order, so the rest of the morning is one long goodbye.
Sera.
Sander.
Mackey.
We stand on the dock and cling to each other. Fret about Evie. Cry. Start to leave. Then stop and do it all over again.
Sera pulls me close to whisper in my ear. “Get the hell away from here and be happy, Grey. That’s what Elora wanted for you. That’s how you do right by her. You understand?”
I don’t have the words to answer.
Sander kisses my cheek, and for a second, I think he’s going to say something. But he doesn’t. At least not with words.
I look around our little group, and I feel the loss of them so deep already. Evie should be here. And Hart. Case.
And Elora.
Ember and Orli.
We should all be here for this goodbye. Together. All the Summer Children.
I don’t let myself think about Zale. Or Aeron.
“I love you guys,” I say.
We hug some more. Cry again. Make big promises. Swear to keep in touch. Always. No matter what.
“Good luck with track next year,” Mackey tells me.
“You too,” I say.
“My school’s gonna be underwater for a while.” He tries to laugh. But he can’t pull it off. None of us can. “Guess I’ll have to join the swim team.”
We all just stand there for a few seconds. I’m holding Sander’s hand. Nobody wants to be the first to go.
But Mackey’s brother is telling him to hurry up, and Delphine is shouting at Sera and Sander in Creole.
So it’s time.
“Forget about La Cachette,” Sera whispers as she gives me one last hug. “Laise tout ça pour les morts.”
Leave all that for the dead.
Then I go back inside for another load of stuff, just so I don’t have to watch them leave.
When I come back out, Honey is standing on the dock with Bernadette and Victor. And for once in his life, Vic doesn’t sound drunk. Just pissed off. “Goddammit,” he says. “I’ve looked everywhere for that stupid little bitch.”
Honey gives him a hard look and slips her arm around Evie’s crying mama. “She’ll turn up, Bernadette. She can’t have gone far.”
Victor throws an old duffel bag into their beat-up flatboat. “Yeah. Well, I ain’t got no more time to wait. Y’all see that girl, you tell her we went on up to Monroe.” He turns to his sister. “Get in the boat, Bernie. Evangeline can take care of her own damn self.” Nobody moves, and Vic hisses again. “I said, get in the goddamn boat, Bernie.”
“Bernadette,” Honey starts, but Evie’s mama just shakes her head and gets into the boat with her brother.
“We gotta get on up to Kinter,” she mumbles. “Get the truck and head up to Monroe. Like Vic says.” Victor gets the motor going, and black smoke billows across the dock. “Storm’s comin’ in.” There’s no expression on Bernadette’s face. She’s gone all blank. I’m sorry. She mouths the words to the crowd as their boat pulls away. But I don’t know who she means them for.
Honey shakes her head and pats my shoulder before she gets back to work. Evie’s bound to show up any minute, she says. There are men out looking for her right now. And then somebody will take her up to Kinter with them. Get her on the shelter bus to Monroe. See that she’s taken care of.
But I know time is running out.
I catch sight of Hart sitting on the steps of the Mystic Rose, and I know he purposefully skipped out on the painful goodbye with the others.
I walk over and sit down beside him.
“He took her,” Hart tells me. “Evie.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I say. “You don’t know that.”
But all morning, I’ve had this horrible feeling. It isn’t like Evie to go off alone.
“Me and Leo, we’ve been out lookin’ for ’er for hours. Since sunup.” Hart stares down at his boots and runs a hand over his face. “She’s gone, Greycie. Vanished.”
Honey yells at me from the dock. She wants me to take one last walk through the house.
Hart follows me inside as I move from room to room. “I told Mama and Leo I’m not goin’ today,” he says. And I stop to stare at him. I didn’t believe him when he said it last night. I figured he was out of his head. Or talkin’ big. “I told ’em I wouldn’t leave here without Evie. That I’d stay and track her down. There’s a chance she’s still alive. At least right now.”
His voice echoes in the emptiness.
“Leo says their company has a big supply boat still out in the gulf. It’s tryin’ to get in, though, so it can beat the storm up to New Orleans. It’ll be comin’ up this way tomorrow mornin’, just ahead of landfall.”
“No way.” I shake my head. “That’s cutting it too close.”
“Leo already radioed the captain, and they’re gonna make a quick stop here. To pick up Evie. They’ll get her someplace safe. If I can find her.”
The radio is still broadcasting weather updates from the kitchen. A reporter tells us that Elizabeth is a Category 5 hurricane now. And she’s only 225 miles from the mouth of the Mississippi.
“What about you?” I ask him.
Hart shakes his head. “I told you I’m not going.”
“Don’t be stupid, you have to—”
Hart shuts me down. “I’m not leaving here.”
“Sugar Bee!” Honey is yelling at me from the front porch. “We gotta get on the way.”
“I’m staying with you,” I tell him, and he shakes his head.
“The hell you are.”
“Just until tomorrow morning. To help look for Evie. Then I’ll get on that boat. I promise.”
And I’ll make sure he’s on it, too.
No way I’m leaving him behind.
Hart opens his mouth to tell me no again, but Honey charges in holding Sweet-N-Low. “We have to go, Sugar Bee. The wind
’s really picking up.”
“I’m not going,” I tell her. “Not right now.” She stares at me, confused. “I’m staying behind with Hart. To find Evie.” Hart’s opens his mouth, but I grab his hand and squeeze hard. “We’ve already lost Elora. I’m not losing Evie, too.”
And there is no way I’m letting Hart stay here to die.
“Evie will be fine,” Honey argues. “There are people looking for her right now. They’ll find her. She’ll be okay.”
“Evie isn’t somebody else’s responsibility,” I say. “She’s my responsibility. And Hart’s.”
Hart stares at me with those hazel eyes, and for the first time in a long while, they look like the eyes I’ve known my whole life.
“Grey’s right,” he says. “Evie’s one of us, Miss Roselyn. We oughtta be the ones lookin’ for ’er.”
“Grey,” Honey starts. “I’ve got people already loaded in my boat. Waiting. They’re counting on me to get them up to Kinter and—” I don’t let her finish.
“My mother killed herself because she couldn’t live with the guilt of what she did.”
Honey’s face crumples. She looks like she’s at least a hundred years old. “She didn’t know about the little boy, Grey. I told you that.”
“I know,” I tell her. “But it was that regret that killed her. And if I leave here without finding Evie, the same thing could happen to me.”
“There’s a big supply boat comin’ in tomorrow mornin’. Just ahead of the storm,” Hart says. “Carrying evacuees from the offshore oil rigs. Headin’ up to New Orleans. And I promise you, Miss Roselyn, Grey will be on that boat. I give you my word. Leo’s already got it all worked out.”
Honey looks back and forth between Hart and me as Sweet-N-Low starts to whine in her arms.
“You can meet her up in New Orleans, tomorrow afternoon,” Hart tells her. “And the two of you can still get out before the worst of it hits.”
“Weather will be bad by then,” Honey says. “Roads will be clogged.”
“We’ll make it,” I say.
Honey knows she’s fighting a losing battle. “You two make sure you’re on that boat. You understand? Come hell or high water.”
“We’ll be on the boat,” I promise. “All three of us.” And I squeeze Hart’s hand again.
Honey sighs. “I’ll meet you at the Cost Guard station in New Orleans. Tomorrow afternoon. And we’ll hightail it up to Shreveport. Hart, you tell your mama we’ll take you up with us. Evie, too.”
“Sure,” Hart says. “Okay.”
We walk Honey outside, and Hart takes Sweet-N-Low and gets him settled in the boat. Then he gives him a good scratch behind the ears. “Good luck, old boy,” he says.
“Look at me, Grey.” Honey lays her hands on each side of my face. “After your mama died, I wanted to protect you. So I hid things. And that was wrong. I’ll tell you anything else you want to know, whenever you’re ready. No more secrets. Not between you and me. Not ever. I promise.”
“You can tell me tomorrow,” I say. “On the drive up to Shreveport.”
“Tomorrow.” She nods. “I’ll tell you tomorrow.”
Honey hugs me tight, and I tell her I love her. Then Hart helps her into the boat, and she and Sweet-N-Low start off toward Kinter with a load of grateful passengers. I stare after them until they take the cut into the bayou.
“Come on,” Hart says when we can’t see them anymore. “No sense wastin’ time. Let’s you and me head out to Keller’s Island. See what we can find.”
I trade my flip-flops for mud boots before I follow him down the wooden steps to where he’s parked the four-wheeler out behind Honey’s shed.
I climb up behind Hart and try to swallow the bad taste in my mouth. But it doesn’t go away. When we splash through Li’l Pass, I glance back over my shoulder. I’m looking for the reassuring white gleam of the boardwalk, but all I see is swamp. And, to the south, those wispy storm clouds twisting at the edges. The outer bands of the storm.
It’s a long, miserable ride out to Keller’s Island, and it seems like hours before the thick trees finally rise up to greet us. Hart stops the noisy four-wheeler a half mile or so back, then he grabs his rifle off the gun mount and we slog the rest of the way on foot. By the time we reach the ring of cypress trees that marks the edge of the island, I’m soaking wet and covered head to toe in mud.
We push our way through tangles of honeysuckle and wild blackberries, and Hart moves in front of me as we get closer to the clearing. He takes the rifle off his back and lifts it to his shoulder. Ready for whatever.
Ready for Zale.
We barely breathe as we inch our way toward the cabin. Toward Zale’s campsite. I’ve been so focused on helping Honey get things ready for the storm. Plus worrying about Evie. I haven’t dared to let myself think about Zale. But now those blue eyes take up all the space in my mind.
“Maybe you’re wrong,” I whisper. “Maybe whatever’s happened to Evie doesn’t have anything to do with Zale.” Hart doesn’t respond. “Maybe whatever happened to Elora didn’t have anything to do with him, either.”
Hart stops and turns on me. “You’re in love with him.”
I’m not prepared for his words. Or for the look on his face.
“That’s nuts,” I say. “I don’t even know him.”
Not really.
Hart shakes his head. And I remember who I’m talking to.
“Lots of people fall in love with monsters,” he tells me. “Only they don’t realize it until it’s too late.” Hart’s dark curls are plastered to his forehead, and his shirt is soaked clean through with sweat. But he still looks cold. Like there’s some part of him that can’t quite get warm. “My mama did.” He’s standing there in front of me, words seeping out of open wounds. “Elora sure as hell did.”
“Hart—”
“I guess you did, too.”
He turns and heads farther in, and I can’t do anything except follow him and wonder if he’s right.
It’s all for nothing, though. Because there’s no trace of Evie at Keller’s Island. And there’s no trace of Zale, either. Even all his stuff is gone. We search every square inch of high ground.
Nothing.
Not even a left-behind can of beans or the remains of a campfire.
The only thing that proves Zale was ever there is a strange little grave at the base of a two-trunked cypress tree.
Someone has pulled away the thick vines and brambles to expose the dark earth underneath. And there’s a small wooden marker with a name carved into its surface.
aeron
The gouges in the wood are deep and angry. Rough.
Full of splinters.
“Why didn’t he kill me, if that’s what he wanted to do?” The question keeps running through my mind. All those times we were alone. Totally isolated. No one would have ever known what happened to me.
Just like Elora.
“I don’t know.” Hart is staring down at the grave, and some of the harshness has gone out of his voice. “Maybe he needed you.”
“Needed me for what?”
Hart looks up at me, then back down at Aeron’s resting place. “To help him find what he was looking for.”
I kneel down in the soft dirt and slip the little silver hummingbird out of my pocket. The one Zale found right here. In this spot. I grabbed it when Honey and I were loading up the boat. Now I press it into the soil at the base of the handmade marker, and when my fingers make contact with the ground, I feel a hint of that familiar tingle. It’s so faint. But it’s there.
I whisper that I’m sorry.
When I stand up, Hart is watching me. “You’re not the one who killed him, Greycie.” I nod, but my seams are starting to separate.
“Fuck,” Hart mutters. “Goddammit.” He reaches out and pulls me against his ches
t. He wraps me up in his arms, and I feel myself let go. Really let go. Suddenly I’m sobbing.
For Elora.
And Evie.
For Hart and me.
And for Zale.
For my mother.
And Dempsey Fontenot. Thirteen years rotting away in a black oil drum.
For Ember and Orli, lost so long ago I can barely remember them.
And Aeron. Who I never got to know at all.
Hart holds me, and he doesn’t try to stop me crying. He just keeps one hand on my back and one hand tangled in my hair while he lets the pain bubble up out of me and soak right into him, the way my tears are soaking into his shirt.
He stands there and absorbs it.
Feels it.
All of it.
Without flinching.
And when I’m finally out of tears, he looks down at me and says, “Don’t take on that weight, Shortcake. That guilt over what your mama did. All those years ago.” His voice is low in my ear, and the gruff sound of it fills up some of my cracked-open places. “If you do, you won’t survive it. Trust me.”
We head back to the four-wheeler and spend the rest of the afternoon searching the bayou for Evie. And Zale. But there’s no sign of either of them anywhere. And the longer we look, the darker Hart’s mood gets.
Just like the clouds to the south of us.
And I’m not a psychic empath like he is, but I know he feels like he’s failing Evie. Letting her down.
Same as he did Elora.
I know it for a fact, because that’s exactly what I’m feeling, too.
It’s almost nightfall when we finally head back to the Mystic Rose for some food and to gas up the four-wheeler.
The weather is changing fast now.
The pressure keeps dropping, and the air feels different.
Hart and I sit on the kitchen floor and listen to the radio while we try to eat peanut butter sandwiches washed down with a couple warm beers that Leo left behind.
The National Hurricane Center is calling Elizabeth a “potentially catastrophic” storm. They predict storm surge flooding all along the Gulf Coast. Another Katrina, they warn us. Expect large-scale destruction to property and significant loss of life.
Dark and Shallow Lies Page 24