hand. He climbed back to the log, took a length of the slackening rope and tied it around the saw and hitched it over his shoulder, then used both hands to pull himself up the slope. He had murdered and burned his Russian wife or he had not. She moved back as he came closer, came up over the edge. He stood unhitching the rope from the saw and then pulling the line up out of the ravine, and when the rope went slack she knew things had gone off-script and her father was diving amid sea creatures as he’d seen them in dreams but he was drifting farther, deeper, out of touch.
He stood before her, nodded, and said, “Clay Shoad.”He shifted his eyes to the rope as he worked it. “You rent this place.” A statement not a question.
She nodded yes.
“I knocked on the door.”
She sensed he knew she’d been inside, and knew even now that she was going to lie about it.
“I was out. Looking for my dog. I saw your note. Is he okay?”
“He’s all mud. I tied him outside.”
He drew the rope through his hand as he coiled it. It must have burned in the palm.
“It was unusual for him to be gone so long.”
“Nothing usual today.” He tied the coil and looked down at the river. “It’s already rising again. I should have cut smaller. Smaller section. Let it run off.”
He spoke slowly. There was something in his vowels, a narrow shelf. She guessed he was a native English speaker but his parents were not. Some tongue of northern Europe in a region of his brain.
“Thank you for helping out.”
He looked at her only briefly. His eyes paused at the knife on her hip, then slipped away.
“It’s no help.”
The angles of his jawline were taken up in his hands, the cocked thumbs. His face was offset by a nose pressed slightly sideways at the bridge. That he wouldn’t look at her directly might be for his sake, she thought. A means of self-control. But it was only Denise who made her think this way. Normally she’d see this man as shy. She needed to get a read on him.
“You’re in a bad spot,” he said. He wasn’t describing impressions but asserting truths. If she found herself in trouble with him, it would be the asserted truths and half truths that drew her there. “Nothing to be done. Better clear out.”
“I owe it to Denise and Stefan to stay. If you can bring Crooner back I’ll wait it out with him.”
“Not here. There’s no electricity.” He seemed to read her surprise, anticipate her question. “All along the road. No power, no phone. Won’t be back for a long time.”
He said the sky was getting bigger and she felt it was true, that he understood something and the way to say it belonged to a children’s story, the sky’s getting bigger, it’s falling. He was a stater of facts, a maker of pronouncements. Then he said it again.
“It’s getting bigger. From the west and south. A long ways off. It’s the continent. There’s no break in it.” She couldn’t see in his expression if something was building in him. “You’re in a bad spot here.” He looked to the lake forming again below them in the field. “The house will wash away.”
“The water might go down.”
“Too dangerous. You need a tow. Out to the highway. Your road’s washing out. I have change.”
Not “change.” He’d said “chains,” to tow her car to the highway. The mistake was small, odd, but she wasn’t sure if it was his or her own. Something to pay attention to. Distinguishing between an
s
and a soft
g
engaged twenty-two sites in the brain.
“Well. That’s kind of you. But I feel a duty to the Dahls.”
“The house can’t be saved.”
He was overstating the danger. He liked to shock. She said it was just a rising creek. Not even a river, really. If the water reached the house, of course she’d leave.
“There’s a river. It bends half a mile from here. Soon the water won’t make the curve. Then it’s straight for you. It will show up there”—he pointed to a crotch in the hills across the
He stood before her, nodded, and said, “Clay Shoad.”He shifted his eyes to the rope as he worked it. “You rent this place.” A statement not a question.
She nodded yes.
“I knocked on the door.”
She sensed he knew she’d been inside, and knew even now that she was going to lie about it.
“I was out. Looking for my dog. I saw your note. Is he okay?”
“He’s all mud. I tied him outside.”
He drew the rope through his hand as he coiled it. It must have burned in the palm.
“It was unusual for him to be gone so long.”
“Nothing usual today.” He tied the coil and looked down at the river. “It’s already rising again. I should have cut smaller. Smaller section. Let it run off.”
He spoke slowly. There was something in his vowels, a narrow shelf. She guessed he was a native English speaker but his parents were not. Some tongue of northern Europe in a region of his brain.
“Thank you for helping out.”
He looked at her only briefly. His eyes paused at the knife on her hip, then slipped away.
“It’s no help.”
The angles of his jawline were taken up in his hands, the cocked thumbs. His face was offset by a nose pressed slightly sideways at the bridge. That he wouldn’t look at her directly might be for his sake, she thought. A means of self-control. But it was only Denise who made her think this way. Normally she’d see this man as shy. She needed to get a read on him.
“You’re in a bad spot,” he said. He wasn’t describing impressions but asserting truths. If she found herself in trouble with him, it would be the asserted truths and half truths that drew her there. “Nothing to be done. Better clear out.”
“I owe it to Denise and Stefan to stay. If you can bring Crooner back I’ll wait it out with him.”
“Not here. There’s no electricity.” He seemed to read her surprise, anticipate her question. “All along the road. No power, no phone. Won’t be back for a long time.”
He said the sky was getting bigger and she felt it was true, that he understood something and the way to say it belonged to a children’s story, the sky’s getting bigger, it’s falling. He was a stater of facts, a maker of pronouncements. Then he said it again.
“It’s getting bigger. From the west and south. A long ways off. It’s the continent. There’s no break in it.” She couldn’t see in his expression if something was building in him. “You’re in a bad spot here.” He looked to the lake forming again below them in the field. “The house will wash away.”
“The water might go down.”
“Too dangerous. You need a tow. Out to the highway. Your road’s washing out. I have change.”
Not “change.” He’d said “chains,” to tow her car to the highway. The mistake was small, odd, but she wasn’t sure if it was his or her own. Something to pay attention to. Distinguishing between an
s
and a soft
g
engaged twenty-two sites in the brain.
“Well. That’s kind of you. But I feel a duty to the Dahls.”
“The house can’t be saved.”
He was overstating the danger. He liked to shock. She said it was just a rising creek. Not even a river, really. If the water reached the house, of course she’d leave.
“There’s a river. It bends half a mile from here. Soon the water won’t make the curve. Then it’s straight for you. It will show up there”—he pointed to a crotch in the hills across the
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