Before the Storm (9 page)

boy sat down in front of us before the lights were shut out. They

didn’t say one single word, but Aunt Ginny said there was something wrong with the woman.That she felt a whole lot of anguish

coming from her. That was the word she used—
anguish.
”

“Uh-huh,” I said, keeping my expression neutral. Miss

Emma was going off the deep end, but I wasn’t about to let

her see my skepticism.

“I know it sounds crazy,” she said. “I thought so too at the

time. When the movie was over, Aunt Ginny couldn’t stop

herself from asking the woman if she was all right. Ginny had

a way of talking to people that made them open right up to

her. But the woman said everything was fine. As we were

walking out of the theater, though, and the little boy was out

of earshot, she told us that her mother’d had a stroke just that

morning and she was worried sick about her. Ginny’d picked

right up on that worry and took it inside herself. She ended

up with a bleeding ulcer from taking on too many other

people’s worries. That’s how Jamie is, too.”

before the storm

75

I remembered Jamie after the accident, when I wondered

why he’d expressed no anger toward me.
You already feel like

crap about it,
he’d said.
Why should I make you feel any worse?

I shivered.

Miss Emma handed me the corn-bread pan to dry. “Here’s

what happens with people like Jamie or my brother or my aunt,”

she said. “They feel what the other person feels so strong that

it’s less painful for them to just…give in. I knew when Jamie

was small that he had the gift. He knew when his friends were

upset about something and he’d get upset himself, even if he

didn’t know what had them upset in the first place.” She reached

into the dirty dishwater and pulled the stopper from the drain.

“One time, a boy he barely knew got his dog run over by a car.

I found Jamie crying in bed that night—he couldn’t have been

more than eight or nine. He told me about it. I said, you didn’t

even know that dog and you barely know that boy. He just kept

crying. I thought, oh Lord have mercy on me, please. Here’s my

brother and Aunt Ginny all over again. It’s a scary thing, raising

a child like that. Most kids, like Marcus, bless his heart, you have

to teach them how other children feel and how you need to be

sensitive to them and all.” She pulled another dish towel from

a drawer and dried her hands on it. “With Jamie, it was the

opposite. I had to teach him to take care of himself.”

I bit my lip as I set the dry pan on the counter. “Are you

trying to…are you warning me about something?” I asked.

She looked surprised. “Hmm,” she said. “Maybe I am. He

likes you. I can tell.You’re a nice girl. Down-to-earth.You got

a good head on your shoulders. He’s had a few girlfriends who

took advantage of his kindness. I guess I’m asking you not to

do that. Not to hurt him.”

76

diane chamberlain

I shook my head.“Never,” I said, thinking of how good it felt

to have Jamie’s arms around me. “I couldn’t.”

I thought I knew myself so well.

“I GUESS WE’RE SUPPOSED TO SIT UP THERE.” Maggie pointed

to the front row of seats in the crowded Assembly Building.

Trish Delphy’s secretary had called us the day before to say the

mayor wanted us up front at the memorial service. I was sure

our special status had to do with Andy, who was scratching his

neck beneath the collar of his blue shirt. I’d had to buy him a

new suit for the occasion. He so rarely had need of one that

his old suit no longer fit. I let him pick out his own tie—a loud

Jerry Garcia with red and blue swirls—but I’d forgotten a shirt

and the one he was wearing was too small.

“We’ll follow you, sweetie,” I said to Maggie, and she led

the way down the narrow center aisle. The air hummed with

chatter, and the seats were nearly all taken even though there

78

diane chamberlain

were still fifteen minutes before the start of the service.

There’d been school buses in the parking lot across the street,

and I noticed that teenagers occupied many of the seats. The

lock-in had attracted children from all three towns on the

island as well as from a few places on the mainland, cutting

across both geographic and economic boundaries, tying us all

together. If I’d known how many kids would show up at the

lock-in, I never would have let Andy go. Then again, if Andy

hadn’t been there, more would have died. Incredible to

imagine.

I sat between my children. Next to us were Joe and Robin

Carmichael, Emily’s parents, and in front of us was a podium

flanked by two dozen containers of daffodils. Propped up on

easels to the left of the podium were three poster-size photographs that I was not ready to look at. To the right of the

podium were about twenty-five empty chairs set at a ninety-

degree angle to us. A paper banner taped between the chairs

read
Reserved for Town of Surf City Fire Department.

Andy was next to Robin, and she embraced him.

“You beautiful boy,” she said, holding on to him three

seconds too long for Andy’s comfort level. He squirmed and

she let go with a laugh, then looked at me. “Good to see you,

Laurel.” She leaned forward a little to wave to Maggie.

“How’s Emily doing?” I asked quietly.

Joe shifted forward in his seat so he could see me. “Not

great,” he said.

“She’s gone backward some,” Robin said. “Nightmares.

Won’t let us touch her. I can hardly get her to let me comb

her hair. She’s scared to go to school again.”

“She had her shirt on inside out,” Andy piped in, too loudly.

before the storm

79

“Shh,” I hushed him.

“You’re right, Andy,” Robin said. “She was already sliding

back a ways before the fire, but now it’s got real bad.” She

raised her gaze to mine. “We’re going to have to take her to

see that psychologist again.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said. Emily had suffered brain damage at

birth, and I knew how far they’d come with her over the years.

How hard it had to be to have a child who hated to be touched!

Many FASD kids hated being touched, too, but I’d gotten lucky

with Andy; he was a hugger. I needed to rein that hugging in with

people outside the family, though, especially now that he was a

teenager.

Robin looked behind us. “So many people affected by

this…mess,” she said.

I didn’t turn around. My attention was drawn to the Surf

City firefighters who were now filing into the seats reserved

for them. In their dress blues and white gloves, a more sober

looking bunch of men—and three women—would be hard to

find, and as they sat down, a hush washed over the crowd. I

saw Marcus glance at us, and I quickly turned my attention to

the pink beribboned program I’d been handed when I entered

the building.

Some people had wanted to put the memorial service off for

another couple of weeks so the new Surf City Community

Center would be open and the event could be held in the gymnasium. But the somber mood of the island couldn’t wait that

long. In the week since the fire, that’s all anyone talked about.

The part-time counselor at the elementary school where I

worked was so inundated with kids suffering from nightmares

about being burned or trapped that she’d had to refer the

80

diane chamberlain

overflow, those whose fears showed up as stomachaches or

headaches, to me. People were not only sad, they were angry.

Everyone knew the fire was arson, although those words had

not been uttered by anyone in an official capacity, at least not

publicly.

Maggie hadn’t said a word since we walked into the

building. I glanced at her now. Her gaze was on the firefighters and I wondered what she was thinking. I was never sure

how much she remembered of her father. She had a framed

picture of Jamie in his dress blues on her bureau beside a

picture of Andy taken on his twelfth birthday. There was

another picture, taken a couple of years ago at a party, of

herself with Amber Donnelly and a couple of other girls.

She had no picture of me on the bureau. I realized that just

the other day.

Andy started jiggling his leg, making my chair vibrate. I used

to rest a hand on his knee to try to stop his jiggling, but I rarely

did that anymore. I’d learned that if I stopped the energy from

coming out of Andy in one place, it would come out someplace

else. Jiggling his legs was preferable to slapping his hands on his

thighs or cracking his knuckles. Sometimes I pictured a tightly

coiled spring inside my son, ready to burst out of him with the

slightest provocation. That’s most likely what happened when

Keith called him names at the lock-in. It was rare for Andy to

react with violence, but calling him names could do it.

“Hey, I know him!” Andy said suddenly.

“Shh,” I whispered in his ear. I thought he meant Marcus or

Ben Trippett, but he was pointing to the third poster-size photograph at the front of the room. It was Charlie Eggles, a longtime real estate agent in Topsail Beach. Charlie’d had no kids

before the storm

81

of his own but often volunteered to help with community

events. I’d been saddened to learn he was one of the fire

victims. I looked at his engaging smile, his gray hair pulled back

in his customary ponytail.

“It’s Mr. Eggles,” I whispered to Andy.

“He held on to me so I couldn’t hit Keith again.” I watched

a crease form between Andy’s eyebrows as reality dawned on

him. “Is he one of the dead people?”

“I’m afraid he is,” I said.

I waited for him to speak again, but he fell silent.

“What are you thinking, love?” I asked quietly.

“Why didn’t he follow me when I said to?”

I put my arm around him. “Maybe he didn’t hear you, or he

was trying to help some of the other children. We’ll never

know.You did the very best you—”

Somber piano music suddenly filled the room, swallowing

my words, and Trish Delphy and Reverend Bill walked up the

center aisle together. Reverend Bill stood behind the podium,

while the mayor took the last empty seat in our row. Reverend

Bill was so tall, skinny and long necked that he reminded me

of an egret. Sara told me that he came into Jabeen’s Java every

afternoon for a large double-fudge-and-caramel-iced coffee

with extra whipped cream, yet there was not an ounce of fat

on the man. He was all sticks and angles.

Now he craned his long neck forward to speak into the microphone. “Let us pray,” he said.

I bowed my head and tried to listen to his words, but I felt

Maggie’s warm body against my left arm and Andy’s against

my right. I felt them breathing, and my eyes once more filled

with tears. I was so lucky.

82

diane chamberlain

When I lifted my head again, Reverend Bill began talking

about the two teenagers and one adult killed in the fire. I

forced myself to look at the blown-up images to the left of the

podium. I didn’t know either of the teenagers, both of whom

were from Sneads Ferry. The girl, Jordy Matthews, was a

smiling, freckle-faced blonde with eyes the powder-blue of the

firefighters’ shirts. The boy, Henderson Wright, looked about

thirteen, sullen and a little scared. A tiny gold hoop hung

from one end of his right eyebrow and his hair was in a buzz

cut so short it was difficult to tell what color it was.

“…and Henderson Wright lived in his family’s old green van

for the past three years,” Reverend Bill was saying. “We have

people in our very own community who are forced to live that

way, through no fault of their own.” Somewhere to my right, I

heard quiet weeping, and it suddenly occurred to me that the

families of the victims most likely shared this front row with us.

I wondered if it had been necessary for Reverend Bill to mention

the Wright boy’s poverty. Shrimping had once sustained Sneads

Ferry’s families, but imported seafood was changing all that.

There were many poor people living amidst the wealth in our

area.

I thought of Sara. Ever since I’d heard that Keith had

referred to Andy as
rich,
apparently with much disdain, I’d

been stewing about it. Andy and Keith had known each other

since they were babies and the disparity between our financial

situations had never been an issue, at least as far as I knew. I

wondered now if there was some underlying resentment on

Sara’s part. God, I hoped not. I loved her like a sister. We were

so open with each other—we had one of those friendships

where nothing was off-limits. We’d both been single mothers

before the storm

83

for a decade, but Jamie had left my children and me more than

comfortable. We had a handsome, ten-year-old four-bedroom

house on the sound, while Sara and Keith lived in an aging

double-wide sandwiched in a sea of other mobile homes.