Another Kind of Hurricane (26 page)

“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 Brae, 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.

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.”

“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.”