But the face of the man who stood beside them did. That man was my first cousin Joel Lusk, Aunt Margaret’s youngest son. His arms were also crossed. Biting his lower lip with his front teeth, he shook his head slightly. Joel was twenty-nine and divorced. He lived in a trailer he’d put beside Aunt Margaret’s house.

“The man I brought here with me tonight, Pete Brennon, builds portable dams,” Herb Kowalsky continued. “He can divert enough water from Wolf Cliff Falls to get Ruth out, and that dam can be put up in four hours.”

Kowalsky shifted his gaze to Luke.

“I’m not going to get up here and jerk you around emotionally. I could do that. I could tell you how I feel about knowing my daughter is in that river. I could have brought my wife, Ruth’s mother, and let her tell you the hell these last three weeks have been. It wouldn’t be hard for her to get up here and cry because that’s all she’s done lately. But I’m not going to put her through that. All I’m going to do is ask you to think about what you’d do if Ruth was your daughter.”

Kowalsky stepped to the side of the lectern.

“Come on up here, Pete.”

The man who’d been sitting next to Herb Kowalsky earlier stepped to the lectern. He looked to be in his late forties, six feet tall but paunchy. Brennon’s mismatched coat and tie looked like they’d been bought a decade earlier at Kmart. He wore black-rimmed glasses that made his eyes large and owlish. If you had seen him on the street you’d have guessed pharmacist or jeweler before dam builder.

“I’ve already met some of you,” he said, “but for those I haven’t, my name is Peter Brennon. I’m the owner of Brennon Portable Dam Company in Carbondale, Illinois. I’m also the inventor of this dam.”

Brennon’s voice had the same flat midwestern inflection of news anchors. It was the inflection taught in Charlotte and Atlanta—even in Columbia—to Southerners ashamed of talking like their parents and grandparents. But such classes weren’t taught in Oconee County.

“Mr. Kowalsky wanted me to tell you about the dam and then answer any questions.”

Brennon turned his head toward Kowalsky, who had not sat down but stood next to Walter Phillips. Nonverbal communication, my college speech teacher would have called it. Kowalsky was letting Phillips and everyone else in the room know he considered this his meeting.

“Take what time you need to explain it, Pete,” Kowalsky said, looking at the audience as he spoke. “There’s been a lot of misinformation put out about this dam, and it’s time to clear things up.”