Before you know it, they’ll make this cannibalism mess a non-issue. They’ll be afraid to mention it, and they’ll condemn anybody who does.”
Shaw finished his cigarette, dropped it to the sidewalk, and rubbed it out with the toe of his boot. Then he took his phone from his shirt pocket and checked it.
“Almost time,” he said. “Listen, Eleanor, I want you to go home to your family.”
“What? You mean right now?”
He nodded.
“Sir, I can’t do that,” she said. “Not with everything that’s going on.”
“Yes, you can. I’m telling you to.”
“Captain, I can’t just leave you like this. Not now. My duty is here.”
“Eleanor, don’t confuse your duty with what others expect you to do. We’re both parents, okay? We have a clear set of obligations—family, country, job. In that order. Go home to your family. Be with them. When the storm’s over, and they’re safe, come back here.”
“What about you, sir? What about your family? You’ve got two sons out there.”
He smiled faintly. The last two weeks had really aged him, she realized. She’d read books in which people went through something awful, and it seemed to age them ten years in as many hours, but she always thought that was a writer’s hyperbole. Real people didn’t age like that.
But he had. She could see it in the slump of his shoulders and in the nests of lines that spread out from the corners of his eyes like river deltas.
“I’ve already taken care of my family’s future,” he said. “Don’t worry about that. My sons will walk away from this with a future they can count on. Now it’s time for me to move on to my other obligations.”
She looked across the trash and mud-strewn yard, where the reporters waited like a pack of hungry hounds, and an awful feeling stirred in her.
“What are you going to do?” she said.
“I’m going to go over there and become a scapegoat for every act of mismanagement this city has done up to this point. I’ll take the blame so others can pick up the pieces when this is all done and lead the city forward. And when I’m done with that, I’m going to come right back here and see if I can’t help some of the people in our shelters.”
She started to object, but found she didn’t really have the words for it. What he was saying was awful, but it did make sense. As soon as conditions in the shelter hit the front page of the newspapers and scrolled across the home pages of every Internet provider the world over, the public would demand to know why it had all gone wrong. If Shaw took the blame, it would give the city’s leaders the public opinion mandate they would need to move Houston out of this crisis. If that was even possible.
“Go home, Eleanor,” he said, and turned and walked off toward Hoffman Hall.
She watched him go, a little stunned, and filled once again with awe for the man’s courage. The reporters closed on him, swarmed around him, and soon he was lost among the throng.
“Good luck,” she muttered, and began the long walk down to the makeshift docks they’d built along Spur 5, where she’d left her canoe.
There was a cement loading dock behind the Student Service Center. Floodwater had come right up to the edge of the walkway that ran along the rear of the loading dock, and Eleanor and a few of the other police officers and firefighters who lived close by and who used canoes or small motorboats to get to work had taken to tying up their boats to an eighteen-wheeler that had been trapped in the flood. Somebody—Eleanor thought maybe it was Hank Gleason, but she wasn’t sure—had spray-painted RESERVED PARKING FOR HPD ONLY along the side panel of the big rig that was nearest the dock. Along the other side of the rig, the side that was facing the floodwater and was therefore impossible to get to from the dock unless you were swimming, the same somebody had painted RESERVED PARKING FOR HFD HOSERS . It had been funny the first time she saw it, but it
Shaw finished his cigarette, dropped it to the sidewalk, and rubbed it out with the toe of his boot. Then he took his phone from his shirt pocket and checked it.
“Almost time,” he said. “Listen, Eleanor, I want you to go home to your family.”
“What? You mean right now?”
He nodded.
“Sir, I can’t do that,” she said. “Not with everything that’s going on.”
“Yes, you can. I’m telling you to.”
“Captain, I can’t just leave you like this. Not now. My duty is here.”
“Eleanor, don’t confuse your duty with what others expect you to do. We’re both parents, okay? We have a clear set of obligations—family, country, job. In that order. Go home to your family. Be with them. When the storm’s over, and they’re safe, come back here.”
“What about you, sir? What about your family? You’ve got two sons out there.”
He smiled faintly. The last two weeks had really aged him, she realized. She’d read books in which people went through something awful, and it seemed to age them ten years in as many hours, but she always thought that was a writer’s hyperbole. Real people didn’t age like that.
But he had. She could see it in the slump of his shoulders and in the nests of lines that spread out from the corners of his eyes like river deltas.
“I’ve already taken care of my family’s future,” he said. “Don’t worry about that. My sons will walk away from this with a future they can count on. Now it’s time for me to move on to my other obligations.”
She looked across the trash and mud-strewn yard, where the reporters waited like a pack of hungry hounds, and an awful feeling stirred in her.
“What are you going to do?” she said.
“I’m going to go over there and become a scapegoat for every act of mismanagement this city has done up to this point. I’ll take the blame so others can pick up the pieces when this is all done and lead the city forward. And when I’m done with that, I’m going to come right back here and see if I can’t help some of the people in our shelters.”
She started to object, but found she didn’t really have the words for it. What he was saying was awful, but it did make sense. As soon as conditions in the shelter hit the front page of the newspapers and scrolled across the home pages of every Internet provider the world over, the public would demand to know why it had all gone wrong. If Shaw took the blame, it would give the city’s leaders the public opinion mandate they would need to move Houston out of this crisis. If that was even possible.
“Go home, Eleanor,” he said, and turned and walked off toward Hoffman Hall.
She watched him go, a little stunned, and filled once again with awe for the man’s courage. The reporters closed on him, swarmed around him, and soon he was lost among the throng.
“Good luck,” she muttered, and began the long walk down to the makeshift docks they’d built along Spur 5, where she’d left her canoe.
There was a cement loading dock behind the Student Service Center. Floodwater had come right up to the edge of the walkway that ran along the rear of the loading dock, and Eleanor and a few of the other police officers and firefighters who lived close by and who used canoes or small motorboats to get to work had taken to tying up their boats to an eighteen-wheeler that had been trapped in the flood. Somebody—Eleanor thought maybe it was Hank Gleason, but she wasn’t sure—had spray-painted RESERVED PARKING FOR HPD ONLY along the side panel of the big rig that was nearest the dock. Along the other side of the rig, the side that was facing the floodwater and was therefore impossible to get to from the dock unless you were swimming, the same somebody had painted RESERVED PARKING FOR HFD HOSERS . It had been funny the first time she saw it, but it
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