Riptide

She opened her mouth to yell back at him and nearly drowned. She ran to him and clutched his arms. “It’s me,” she said, “it’s me. I was coming to your house. A tree branch crashed through the bedroom window and it sounded like the house was going to collapse.”

If he wanted to smack her because she was teetering on the edge of hysteria, he didn’t let on, just gripped her shoulders in his big wet hands and said very slowly, very calmly, “I thought I saw some car lights but I couldn’t be sure. All I thought about was getting to you. It’s okay. That old house won’t fall down. There’s nothing to be afraid of. Now, follow me back home. I left Sam alone. He’s asleep but I can’t count on him staying that way. I don’t want him to wake up and be scared.”

She got herself together. She wasn’t helpless, not like Sam was. The wind tore at their clothes, the rain was coming down so hard it hurt where it struck. Her jeans felt stiff and hard and heavy. But she didn’t care. She wasn’t alone. Tyler wasn’t the crazy man from New York. She took a deep breath and watched as he drove at a snail’s pace back to his house on Gum Shoe Lane. It took another ten minutes to get to the small clapboard house that sat back in a lovely lawn that was planted heavily with spruce and hemlock. She jumped out of the car and yelled as she ran to the front door, “Gum Shoe, what a wonderful name.” She began to laugh. “Gum Shoe Lane!”

“It’s okay, Becca, we’re home now. We made it. Jesus, this is one of the worst storms I can remember. As bad as the one back in ’78, they said on the radio. I remember that one, I was a little kid and it scared me shitless. I’ve got to say that your timing is wild, Becca, coming to Riptide just before this mother of all storms hits.” He gave her another look, then added, slowly, his voice calm and low, “It’s sort of like the Mancini virus that came along last year and crashed every computer in this small software company called Tiffany’s. They called me in to fix it. That was a job, I’ll tell you.”

Becca stood dripping in the small entrance hall, staring at him. He was trying to talk her down and doing a good job of it. “Computer humor,” she said, and laughed after him when he fetched some towels from the bathroom. A slash of lightning came through the window and lit up the pile of newspapers on the floor beside the sofa. “I’m okay,” she said when Tyler began to lightly rub his palm over her wet back. He drew back, smiling down at her. “I know. You’re tough.”

Sam was still asleep, curled on his side, his left hand under his cheek. The world was exploding not ten feet away and Sam was probably dreaming about his morning cartoons. She pulled the blanket over him, paused a moment, and said quietly to Tyler, who was standing just behind her, “He is precious.”

“Yes,” he said.

She wanted to ask him why Sam didn’t talk much, was so very wary, but she heard something in his voice that made her go still and keep her question to herself. There was anger there, bitterness. Because his wife had left him? Walked away without a word? With not a single regret? Well, it made sense to her. Her own mother had left her, and she felt sick with rage at being left alone. Not her mother’s fault, of course, but the pain of it. She looked down at Sam one last time, then turned and left the small bedroom, Tyler on her heels. He gave her one of his wife’s robes, pink and thick and on the tatty side, well worn, and she wondered what sort of woman Ann McBride had been. Why hadn’t she taken her robe? She couldn’t ask Tyler now. The robe fit her very well. It was warm, comfy. She and Ann McBride were of a size.

They drank coffee heated on a Coleman stove Tyler got out of the basement. It was the best coffee she’d ever tasted and she told him so. She fell asleep on the old chintz sofa, wrapped in blankets.

The sun was harshly bright, too bright, as if the storm had scrubbed off a thick layer of dust from all the trees and streets and houses, even given the sky a thorough shower. Becca’s jeans were soft, hot from the drier, and so tight she had barely been able to zip them up when Tyler had tossed them to her.

Sam said, his small voice unexpected, startling her, “Did you bring cookies, Becca?”

An entire sentence. Maybe he was just very frightened and wary of strangers. Maybe he didn’t think of her as a stranger anymore. She hoped so. She smiled at him. “Sorry, kiddo, no cookies this time.” She’d awakened with a start, frightened, tingling, to see Sam standing beside the sofa, holding a blanket against his side, his thumb in his mouth, just staring at her, saying nothing at all.