father—sitting on the hood of his truck beneath a streetlight, ignoring the flaming chaos only a block behind him, staring at the motel from beneath a battered trucker cap. Smoking.
Natalie had snapped the curtains shut, gathered Molly up in a blanket, carried her daughter into the bathroom, and locked the door. Her fingers had been shaking when she had called Mack. Bobby had been gone by the time Mack had arrived.
After that, she had been willing to move to the beach.
How things could get so crazy in such a small town, Natalie had no idea. And Charlie was stuck in it. Somewhere.
Natalie turned away from the window. Behind her, Molly had pulled a shaggy white faux-fur rug onto one of the three white leather couches and nestled in on her back. She had a small plastic zebra in one hand. Her other hand was empty, but it was still managing to carry on a conversation with the zebra. They were talking about Charlie. All three of them—the hand, the zebra, and Molly—were in agreement. If Charlie were here,
he
would sneak out with them to play in the rain and everything would be better.
Natalie crossed the room and slipped onto the shaggy not-fur beside her daughter. Her arms slid around small ribs and squeezed. She pressed her face into her daughter’s hair. She inhaled life. She wanted to count every breath, every quick beat of Molly’s heart that she could feel against the inside of her arm. She wanted to thank that little muscle for every single one of those small thumps.
Molly and her hand and her zebra chatted happily, ignoring the grown-up and her very wet face.
Natalie’s phone rang.
“I don’t understand,” Charlie said.
“You’re alive,” Mrs. Wisdom said. “Here. But only here, among my trees. If you left, the farther away you got from them, the more that Gren poison in your leg would grow,the hotter your fever would burn, until …” She grimaced. “You
were
dead when I found you. Cotton had managed to get you to the first of my trees even with that awful knife through his shoulder. He had one arm around you and one arm hooked over a cypress root, poor love. He died shortly after.”
Charlie’s feet stopped. Mrs. Wisdom tugged on his arm, but he didn’t budge. Cotton? Dead? Knife? Charlie remembered being in the water. He remembered Cotton coming to help him. And then he saw it, the Stank drawing that long bone knife and raising his arm to throw.
“He’s breathing now,” Mrs. Wisdom said. “But not well. C’mon, honey. I’ll take you to him.”
The narrow bridge was slick with rain. Charlie’s eyes were on the water as they walked, watching pale stone coffins ripple and warp beneath the surface.
“The great trees drink of the deepest muck magic,” Mrs. Wisdom said as she walked. “They drink, are filled, and overflow. Just breathing their air does wonders. Many times, I nursed my Willie’s wounds in this place, as my mother nursed my father’s. By the end, when Willie’s old heart finally stopped, he had so much swamp life stored up inside, it practically erupted out of him. Lio said a tree sprang up in his grave overnight. Did you see it?”
Charlie shook his head.
“Well, I’m glad it did,” Mrs. Wisdom said. She led Charlie around the base of another large tree. A floating dockbobbed at its base. A strange canoe was tied to it. The boat had been hollowed out from a single log. It was long and sleek, and waxy smooth even where blade tracks textured its sides.
“Lionel carved that canoe for Willie,” Mrs. Wisdom said. “It isn’t the easiest thing to pull two drowning boys into, but that boat and an old woman did the trick. And it’s quicker and quieter in here among the great trees than anything with a motor.”
Mrs. Wisdom steered Charlie up another curling flight of stairs that wrapped around the trunk of a massive cypress tree. At the top, she stepped aside and gestured for Charlie to go first. He limped into a room bigger than his old school’s cafeteria.
Natalie had snapped the curtains shut, gathered Molly up in a blanket, carried her daughter into the bathroom, and locked the door. Her fingers had been shaking when she had called Mack. Bobby had been gone by the time Mack had arrived.
After that, she had been willing to move to the beach.
How things could get so crazy in such a small town, Natalie had no idea. And Charlie was stuck in it. Somewhere.
Natalie turned away from the window. Behind her, Molly had pulled a shaggy white faux-fur rug onto one of the three white leather couches and nestled in on her back. She had a small plastic zebra in one hand. Her other hand was empty, but it was still managing to carry on a conversation with the zebra. They were talking about Charlie. All three of them—the hand, the zebra, and Molly—were in agreement. If Charlie were here,
he
would sneak out with them to play in the rain and everything would be better.
Natalie crossed the room and slipped onto the shaggy not-fur beside her daughter. Her arms slid around small ribs and squeezed. She pressed her face into her daughter’s hair. She inhaled life. She wanted to count every breath, every quick beat of Molly’s heart that she could feel against the inside of her arm. She wanted to thank that little muscle for every single one of those small thumps.
Molly and her hand and her zebra chatted happily, ignoring the grown-up and her very wet face.
Natalie’s phone rang.
“I don’t understand,” Charlie said.
“You’re alive,” Mrs. Wisdom said. “Here. But only here, among my trees. If you left, the farther away you got from them, the more that Gren poison in your leg would grow,the hotter your fever would burn, until …” She grimaced. “You
were
dead when I found you. Cotton had managed to get you to the first of my trees even with that awful knife through his shoulder. He had one arm around you and one arm hooked over a cypress root, poor love. He died shortly after.”
Charlie’s feet stopped. Mrs. Wisdom tugged on his arm, but he didn’t budge. Cotton? Dead? Knife? Charlie remembered being in the water. He remembered Cotton coming to help him. And then he saw it, the Stank drawing that long bone knife and raising his arm to throw.
“He’s breathing now,” Mrs. Wisdom said. “But not well. C’mon, honey. I’ll take you to him.”
The narrow bridge was slick with rain. Charlie’s eyes were on the water as they walked, watching pale stone coffins ripple and warp beneath the surface.
“The great trees drink of the deepest muck magic,” Mrs. Wisdom said as she walked. “They drink, are filled, and overflow. Just breathing their air does wonders. Many times, I nursed my Willie’s wounds in this place, as my mother nursed my father’s. By the end, when Willie’s old heart finally stopped, he had so much swamp life stored up inside, it practically erupted out of him. Lio said a tree sprang up in his grave overnight. Did you see it?”
Charlie shook his head.
“Well, I’m glad it did,” Mrs. Wisdom said. She led Charlie around the base of another large tree. A floating dockbobbed at its base. A strange canoe was tied to it. The boat had been hollowed out from a single log. It was long and sleek, and waxy smooth even where blade tracks textured its sides.
“Lionel carved that canoe for Willie,” Mrs. Wisdom said. “It isn’t the easiest thing to pull two drowning boys into, but that boat and an old woman did the trick. And it’s quicker and quieter in here among the great trees than anything with a motor.”
Mrs. Wisdom steered Charlie up another curling flight of stairs that wrapped around the trunk of a massive cypress tree. At the top, she stepped aside and gestured for Charlie to go first. He limped into a room bigger than his old school’s cafeteria.
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