Chapters (77)
Asher let go of the rope and ran to the edge of the thrashing water, where the father had made it to a shallow spot where he could lie with the top half of his body out of the flood. He wasn’t able to pull himself forward any farther but he reached for his child, his hands out to her even as he fought to find air instead of river in his lungs.
Asher waded in, hooked his arms under the man’s armpits and pulled him out of the water. He stood over him, suddenly aware that he was out of breath himself. He bent, his hands on his knees as he tried to gather himself. When he turned his head he saw them. The other two men farther down the slope. The one with the rope cutting into his waist lay gasping for breath. The other squatted on the ground, leaning over him, and then kissed the rescuer’s face (forehead, under each eye, even on the mouth), begging him to be alright.
4
4
Of course they knew them once they were able to see their faces clearly: Caleb Carey, one of the deacons at Asher’s church, and his daughter, Rosalee, just five years older than Justin. Their house had been washed nearly two miles down the river. Asher and the stranger helped Caleb walk up the ridge to the house. The other man carried Rosalee in his arms. They had not gone far before Caleb vomited up floodwater. Only a trickle, but he heaved violently as if there was more that never came. He ate at great gulps of breath.
“He’s having a panic attack,” Lydia said.
“No, I think he’s in shock,” Asher said. He’d been a lifeguard at Montgomery Bell one summer and had not realized until now that he had retained some of his first-aid training. Caleb collapsed under their arms. They carried his deadweight up to the house and laid him down on the couch, stacking two pillows beneath his feet.
Caleb’s skin was grayish, his eyes very narrow. “She’s drowned,” he mumbled. “She’s drowned, Asher.”
“No, no, Rosalee is right here with us. She’s fine.”
“No. She.” He couldn’t say more, but his eyes had become large, unfocused.
Of course, Asher thought. Not Rosalee. Caleb’s wife. She was nowhere to be found.
By candlelight the others put Rosalee in the guest bedroom where Zelda would tend to her.
“Is he dead?” Justin asked, suddenly next to Asher.
“No, he’s just exhausted, and in shock,” Asher said. “But he’ll be okay, buddy. There’s no getting him out to a hospital tonight.”
“I thought I heard Roscoe,” Justin said. “That’s why I ran off. I thought he was down there, barking.”