Chapter 5: The Dock

The dark in that house was complete.

Monty said, "Stay there, I'll find flashlights," and I heard him knock into the coffee table and swear.

I didn't stay.

I felt along the wall to the porch door and let myself out.

The air was wet and cold, and the thunder was moving off to the east.

I went down the steps and across the wet grass, because I couldn't breathe in that room.

My mother's notebook was in my coat pocket. I held on to it.

The path to the dock was worn so smooth that I could follow it with my feet.

At the end of the boards, somebody was already sitting.

I knew the shape of his shoulders without being able to see them.

"Kip."

"The generator won't start," he said. "I was going to try again in a minute."

"You've been out here a while."

"Long enough to get cold."

"You're sitting in the rain."

"It stopped."

It had.

I sat on the boards six feet from him, with the water slapping underneath.

For a long time neither of us said anything.

"He couldn't read it," I said finally.

Kip didn't answer.

"The tide poem. My mother's. I asked Monty to read it to me. He had to follow every word with his finger."

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