“Thank you again,” Carl whispered into her ear. She patted his good arm. Her grip on him during the flood never loosened. Who knew how bad his arm would have been if he was allowed to flail about, let alone what damage he'd have done to other passengers? If anyone could have held him that long, though, it was Estelle with her over-developed arm muscles. The bruises on his back constantly reminded him of that, and was one more bit of proof that God might still be hanging around somewhere, keeping an eye on them.
He used the railing for support and swung his backpack over his shoulder, then moved cautiously towards the back of the boat. Katie stopped reading, but did not look up. When little Robin saw him she smiled and waved. She held no grudge. Mommy's with Daddy now, she'd said to Fae on their second day out. Carl waved back and forced himself to smile.
Katie finally looked up. Carl wanted to leave, go below deck, out of sight. But he waited. The ship rocked, forcing him to lean hard against the railing.
Katie looked back down, sniffed, and flipped the book back to the beginning, started to read again. Halfway through the first sentence, she hesitated and bit her lip. She lifted the book slightly. Without glancing up, gave it a little shake. Carl knew he was probably misreading the gesture, but his arm hurt, he was tired, and at the moment he no longer cared. Besides, he was certain Robin wanted him there.
He pushed himself off the railing and walked towards the girls. Robin scooted sideways, making room between them. Carl was slow to sit, expecting Katie to smack him with her book. She didn't. He laid his backpack under his knee and waited until Robin clambered onto his lap and leaned into him, before he dared lower his bandaged left arm to the deck. Katie remained sitting, stiffly, on his right. He opened his other hand. At first nothing happened; then the older girl put the closed book into his palm.
She whispered, “We already read this a hundred times...” letting the sentence drift away. Carl thought he understood. He considered calling Andy over, asking him to go below for another picture book, but remembered his backpack.
He put down the Horton book, cleared his throat, whispered, “In the pack, the front section.”
After a short hesitation, Katie leaned forward and unzipped the pack. She reached in, her hand emerging with Margaret’s tattered Bible. She stared at it, not handing the book over.
Carl said, “It was your mother’s. She’d want you to have it now.”
Katie’s hand shook. She pulled the book against her chest, and the three sat without speaking. Robin and Carl waited. Keeping her gaze to the deck, Katie handed the book to Carl.
“We’ll share it,” she said.
To Carl, those three words were the most powerful sentence he’d ever heard. He bit his lip, wanting to cry but knowing instinctively he should not. Not now. This moment was Katie’s. He held the book in his good hand, flipped random pages with his thumb.
As he began to read, Katie Carboneau slowly turned her face against his shoulder and cried.
Carl kept on reading.
###
About the Author
Dan Keohane’s debut novel, Solomon’s Grave, was a finalist for the 2009 Bram Stoker Award for Superior Achievement in a First Novel. His short fiction has been published in a variety of professional magazines including Cemetery Dance, Shroud Magazine, Apex Digest, Coach’s Midnight Diner and many more. Many of his stories have been collected in Christmas Trees & Monkeys, Collected Horror Stories Volume 1. Many have received Honorable Mention in the Year’s Best Horror anthologies. He’s an active member of the Horror Writers Association and founding member of the New England Horror Writers. You can learn more about his work at his website: http://www.dankeohane.com, and whatever social network happens to be the rage at the moment. He’s afraid of clowns, but pretends he’s not, because that would be weird.