She bent down and lifted Connor out of his walker. “I'll get some supper going,” she said, and walked past Clay into the kitchen. Holly didn't begin shaking until she was past him and safely into the other room. She heard him flop onto the couch followed by the television’s tinny voice. As fast as possible, she got Connor into a high chair and got him a few Cheerios to gum down, then went to the far corner of the kitchen, out of sight from the living room, and waited for the shaking to subside.
* * *
Carl Jorgenson did stop at McDonald's on the way home and bought a large Diet Coke and a couple of tasteless Fajitas. He ate them slowly, as the engine idled in the parking lot. Eventually the meal, and time, ran out. He could either go home to face his Mom's wrath (and likely his father’s - Dan Jorgensen would have come home a half hour ago unless he'd been delayed at work), or drive back to the common and hide. Reluctantly, Carl backed from his parking space and pulled out of the lot, turned right, headed home.
His parents were waiting. In fact, as Carl stepped in through the kitchen doorway, his mother had her jacket on and Dan was looking resigned to whatever direction his wife was going. She was about to head back to the common, Carl realized. Whatever his decision in the parking lot had been, he understood that avoiding this moment would not have been possible.
Sarah stared at her son for a long moment, her face tight with rage. She said nothing, only tore off her jacket and stormed from the room. She disappeared around the corner to the living room and Carl heard her sit angrily in one of the chairs.
Dan stared at his son, his face a mix of concern and irritation, something Carl had seen on the faces of the spectators around the common.
“Hi,” Carl said. He dropped his keys onto the counter, then regretted the act. What if his mother tried to hide them? She might do that. He remembered the spare key in his wallet and felt less exposed. He left the keys where they lay.
“Carl,” Dan said. “There's a lot we need to talk about, but it has to be said together, as a family.” He turned and followed his wife's path into the middle of the house. “Let's go,” he added, without turning back.
* * *
“All week? You've been there all week? Why hasn't the school called?” All of the blood in his mother’s body had raced to her face. Still, she remained in her chair. His father had taken a spot on the side of the couch closest to her, but not so as to make it look like an us versus you setup.
Carl sat in the other armchair. He'd told them everything. It was the only plan he could think of. All week he'd lied, made up quirky little stories about school or practice whenever they'd asked, enough to quell any fear they may have harbored about something dark lurking under the covers. If he lied now, however, they would know. They were looking for lies.
“I called the school the first three days,” he said quietly, hands folded between his knees. “I didn't call yesterday or today.”
“Why not?” his father asked.
“I don't know. Maybe I wanted them to call. They didn't, though, did they?”
His answer succeeded in pulling his mother out of her chair. Dan lightly touched her arm. She stopped but remained standing. His father said quietly, with a growing irritation, “Let's stop bantering about with trivial nonsense. Carl, why didn't you tell us? Why did you have to sneak behind our backs like this? If you felt some responsibility to help your teacher, we could have - “
“We could have told him again to stay away from that loon,” Sarah spat. “That's why he didn't tell us.” She began to pace in front of the couch.
Carl stood up. “She's not crazy!”
Sarah stopped and looked at him. “No, a middle-aged woman who sees angels and builds a boat in front of the fire station is not crazy. Not at all.”
Carl squeezed his hands together behind his back. He forced himself to maintain eye contact with his mother. “Mom, I love you. I really do. But aren't you hearing the news? She's not the only one! They're all over the place. People are suddenly building boats in their front yards, facing others like... people who think they're crazy. Why would they do this if it -”
“Is that it? This is some new fad, the cool psycho stunt to pull? Let's build an ark and yell Halleluiah, God's a comin'!”
“Sarah, that's enough.” Dan patted the cushion beside him. “Sit. We're a family having a conversation about something that's important to Carl, and being sarcastic isn't going to help.”
For a moment, Carl felt hope. His father's voice had been reassuringly calm. But there were other, subtle signs that someone outside the Jorgenson household wouldn't notice. The vein on his father's neck, pulsing quickly; the man's tight-lipped expression when he wasn't talking. He wanted to believe that his Dad's anger was towards Carl's mother, but he couldn't afford such illusions.
Sarah sat back down on the couch. Dan looked at his son. “Carl, we don't want you to be out there with Mrs. Carboneau. There's not much else to say.”
Carl felt the wind blow out of him. There was no discussion. His father had calmed the woman down only to turn and lay down the law, as if his son was still nine years old and had to obey without question. All he could manage to say in reply was, “What?”
“You heard me. Maybe you think you're doing the right thing; maybe you're even a little afraid of all the stuff she's saying. But you'd have to be blind not to realize that everyone in town thinks she's a little crazy, along with anyone who might be down there helping. We'd rather you not be part of that.”
Heat filled his stomach; his chest tightened. Carl tried to remember what Mrs. Carboneau said to him as he left the common, but all he could picture was her set expression, her total seriousness, not the words themselves. She wasn't crazy. She was frightened, much like his parents but for different reasons.
Then again, maybe they were all scared of the same thing. He didn't look up when he said, “Dad, Mom. Do you believe what she's saying? About the flood, I mean?”
“Absolutely not!” His mother's answer, quick and with no hesitation.
Carl looked up. “Dad?”
Dan said, quietly, “No, Carl. I don't.”
“I do. I believe every word of what she's saying.” His mother squirmed in her seat and Carl raised his hand. “Hold on! I don't get to have my own say? Is that it? You haven't talked to her! You didn't see the fear in that lady’s eyes. Yes, it's fear. She doesn't want to be out there building a stupid boat! She was ordered to!” Now he was standing and pacing, and suddenly his parents seemed very small.
“I'm going back there tomorrow, and the next day, and I wish you'd both come with me because I don't want you to die! Please come with me before all the spots on board are taken.”
Dan Jorgenson didn't look small any more. He slowly rose from the couch, giving his wife a gentle push on the arm as he did so. Sarah remained seated as her husband stepped forward. “Don't you think,” he said quietly, rage burning behind his own eyes, “that this might be some new form of doomsday cult? That come the final day you'll all be on board and forced to drink poison, or simply be shot dead? It's happened –”
“Oh for God's sake, Dad! These aren't religious fanatics. They're housewives, fathers, regular people like us! They're not going to hurt anyone. They're trying to save us! God’s trying to save us!”
Dan took another step closer. “You're not going back there.”
Carl forced himself to keep eye contact. “Yes, I am.”
He saw the man's fist as an after-image which vanished a moment after it connected with his face, before the room faded quickly to black.