Chapter 30: Water Running Clear
On the anniversary of the flood, I woke before the sun and walked into the kitchen.
The house was quiet except for the refrigerator and the ticking wall clock.
I turned on the sink and watched clear water fill a glass.
For a few seconds, I remembered standing in the same room while water forced its way through the floorboards.
I remembered Valerie in her yellow raincoat, the gray pickup beyond the intersection, and Hannah holding a wet sock between two fingers.
I remembered how fear had made ordinary sounds seem threatening.
Then I shut off the tap and listened to the silence.
I no longer needed to check the utility recess every morning.
I no longer waited for the next anonymous message.
The house was not perfect, and neither was the neighborhood.
But we had taken back the ordinary routines that the vandalism had interrupted.
Hannah appeared in the doorway holding two mugs.
She was leaving for college in August, and she had already started packing books in labeled boxes.
“Coffee?” she asked.
I took one mug and thanked her.
She looked at the window above the sink.
“Funny how normal everything looks now.”
I knew exactly what she meant.
There had never been anything ordinary about losing trust in a place where you were supposed to feel safe.
And there was nothing small about rebuilding it.
I put my hand against the pantry shelf, feeling the shallow pencil marks beneath the finish.
The marks were still there.
So were we.
THE END
