The photographs were still there, framed and hung on the light blue wall, one every third door. The black-and-white images were part of a permanent exhibit sponsored by the Oregon Historical Society. A black man in a fedora carrying a blond little boy through waist-deep water, past cars flooded to their roofs. An aerial view of dozens of apartment buildings that had been lifted off their foundations and clumped together, water up to the top floor. Rescuers holding hands, forming a chain, reaching out to save people.

She’d first seen the photographs when she was a teenager with a dying father and a lot of time to kill in the hospital. That was the first she’d heard of Vanport. You could grow up in Portland and never hear the name. It had been wiped out. Not a trace left behind. Even her teachers didn’t know much. The death toll was murky. The official count was fifteen. Some said thousands. There were rumors of a conspiracy to cover up the real numbers.

Maybe she’d stretched it in her column, looking for connections where there weren’t any. Ralph probably hadn’t died at Vanport. But other people had.

Susan had visited those photographs again and again that year when she was fourteen.

It was something to do, when she wasn’t sneaking cigarettes in the children’s cancer garden.

An announcement crackled over the intercom, pulling Susan back to the present.

Emergency room. Code Blue.

Henry.

Susan ran for the elevator.

Chapter 14

CHAPTER

14

Crash carts, up close, looked like Craftsman auto supply tool chests. Take away the IV pole, the green oxygen tank, and that’s what you were left with—a sturdy, waist-high red metal chest of drawers, each drawer tidily labeled. But instead of SOCKET WRENCHES and HEX BOLTS, these drawers were labeled BREATHING and CIRCULATION.

Susan wasn’t crying. It surprised her. She would probably cry later. But right now she just felt a shattering sense of dread.

The door to Henry’s room was wide open, but Claire wasn’t looking. She was outside the door, in the hallway, her back against the wall, turned away from Henry, both hands over her mouth. Why did people do that? Susan wondered. Were they trying to keep their emotions in, or keep the world out?

Archie was in the hall, next to Claire. He had his hand on her upper arm. He was just standing there with her, in his blue-and-white gown and white robe, his bare calves and hospital slippers. Susan envied their closeness. They looked like they were holding each other up. She hugged her own arms across her chest.

Claire. Henry. Archie. They had known each other so long, been through so much. Susan felt like an interloper, like maybe she should go. Who was she to them, anyway? She still couldn’t figure out exactly what Archie thought of her.