The death toll in Mississippi had risen to over a hundred. The president had made an emergency disaster declaration for Louisiana. The levees around New Orleans had breached, leaving the Ninth Ward and St. Bernard Parish underwater. And the wind had torn the roof off the Superdome.
When I heard that last thing, I was desperate to contact Eva.
The Superdome had been designated a “shelter of last resort,” and that’s where Eva had said she and her granny were going. I remember calling her and being so relieved when she picked up on the first ring. That relief didn’t last long.
She explained that she and Granny Mabel, who was in a wheelchair, hadn’t been able to catch a ride to the Superdome before the storm hit. They were still at home in the Ninth Ward. And even though Eva had managed to drag Granny Mabel up to the roof, they were trapped without any supplies, exposed to the elements, and the water around the house was still rising.
I told her to call 911, but she said the emergency services lines were down or busy, and before I could say more, our connection was cut. Beside myself with terror, I relayed everything to my parents. After an hour of trying to get through to the authorities with no success, I begged them to go get Eva and Granny Mabel and bring them back to Aunt Bea’s cabin.
And, bless them, theytried.
In the immediate aftermath of the storm, with the wind and the rain still raging, David and Trina Carter put on their rain gear, strapped our tin jon boat to the roof of our SUV, and headed into the fray.
Later, we would learn my phone connection with Eva was cut because the nearest cell tower had gone down. And while my parents were on their way into New Orleans, a Good Samaritan had stopped by and managed to get Eva and her grandmother into his canoe. They were nearly to dry land by the time my parents arrived at Granny Mabel’s house.
Eyewitnesses told the authorities that after finding Eva and her granny long gone, Momma and Daddy began floating through the neighborhood, searching for folks left trapped in their homes or on their roofs as the water rose higher and higher. They died heroes, trying to help an old man who’d taken shelter in his attic. But heroes or not, the sticking point is theydied.
Because Isentthem there.
I’ve lived with that terrible truth for fourteen years.
I’ll live with it for the rest of my life.
Like so many from the Ninth Ward, after the hurricane, Eva and her granny were relocated to the Houston Astrodome.Alsolike so many, with their home gone and no money to speak of, they hadn’t had the way or the means to come back home afterward.
It wasn’t until Granny Mabel was gone and Eva was a grown woman making her own way in the world that she managed to move back to New Orleans. So, that awful day in late August, I didn’t only lose my folks and the love of my big sister, I lost my best friend too.
It was a dark time in my life. A dark time that dragged on for almost two years until, eventually, I made the decision to end it all. Stop the pain. Stop the guilt and isolation. Stop the insidious thoughts that whispered dark, hopeless words.
Then I met Luc.
Joining him in the library after school to talk about Harry Potter lifted the heavy blanket of depression that’d been suffocating me. And later on, when Cash arrived on the scene, the blanket disappeared completely.
The sound of the doorbell jerks me from my reverie. Aunt Bea’s guests are arriving, and I’m quick to leave the painful memories behind to race for the door.
A group of ten or so women with big hair, big boobs, and big bank accounts waits on the veranda. For the record, Southern women think the higher their hair, the closer they are to Jesus. As for the boobs and the bank accounts? Who knows?
“Hi, y’all!” I say, wondering if they can hear the false cheer in my voice. A pall has fallen over the day. “Come on in!”
As the crowd rushes past me, air-kissing me and talking at once, I glance toward the three people I’ve left standing around the entryway table. Eva is graciously shaking hands and answering the effusive questions hurled her way. Cash is patting his breast pocket, looking for something. His flask maybe? And Luc? Well, he’s watching me closely.
Too closely.
Curse him and his ability to see so much!
