“No.  Forget this ever happened.  I need to learn.  When you’re safe somewhere…”

She gave a harsh laugh.  “Safe.  There’s a word.”

He started over.  “When you’re safe somewhere, I’ll be gone.”

“To where?”

“Very far away.  That’s nothing to do with you and everything to do with me.  You have to know that.”

“Seeing how you are, I think I always knew.”  She curled up with her knees against him and he went quiet again.  “Not to make an argument,” she said softly, “but how many chances do you think I’ll have for happiness in my life?  I’ll tell you what I think.  None.  Except right here, right now.”

“I can’t let anything happen to you,” he said.  “Ever.”

She waited again, unwilling to move, wanting to hold onto the moment.  Finally, she pulled the blanket back up around her and turned away.  She could sense only a deep and unsettled stillness behind her.

“Just understand that nothing will ever be your fault.”

“That’s your way of looking at it.”

“Are you going to sleep now?”

“No, but I can’t tell you how much I wish you would.”

“You’ll still be here?”

“I’ll always be here.”

“Until you’re not.”

“You couldn’t make this more difficult if you tried,” he said.

“I don’t know about that,” she said.  “Let me sleep on it.”

19

19

The rain held through the morning, turning all the dust into mud.  In the afternoon, when the sun came out, Charlotte climbed into the wagon to inspect the damage.  The outside rubber sheets had mostly blown off and were plastered against the side of the barn.  The inside ones had done their job.  The clothes hung on pegs were wet, the blankets left on the bed, the velvet-lined box holding her grandmother’s silver, but those would all survive.  The book crates were dry.  She mopped up the water on the floorboards and took a cloth to everything else that was damp.  The foodstuffs were preserved, that was the most important thing.  She knew the uselessness of wet flour.

Chace had disappeared, though she now trusted that he was always within shouting distance.  He approached her in the middle of the afternoon carrying something small, but oddly with just the ends of his fingers.  He held it up.

“Do you know what this is?” he said.

She shrieked.  “Do you know what that is?”

“I just asked you.”

“That is a crawfish.  Where did you find it?”

“The creek bank’s crawling with them.  They must’ve been flushed out by the storm.”

“Show me.  Though I don’t know whether you’d favor them or not.  We’ll see.”

The creek had risen in its banks, the water churning with fallen branches and debris.

“Here,” Chace said.