“Christ,” Tony said, surveying the damage all around.
Ray nodded up ahead. “Check that out.”
A guy in a toboggan hat stood thigh-deep in snow. He was looking at his house, which sat half buried beneath an avalanche of jagged, leafy limbs. The big tree in the front yard looked like a fat wrist with broken fingers, nothing but a broad gap of blue where its canopy had been.
“That right there,” Tony said. “See that? That right there is why you rent.”
It was the same all over the place. Broken branches everywhere: sticking out of roofs, blockading streets. They’d had a dry summer, the news guy had said, and most of the trees still hadn’t lost their leaves; the added weight of the ice and snow had snapped limbs big around as Tony’s waist like they were pencils. The remains of stately old trees jutted up from the snow like compound fractures, splintered ends poking at the sky.
“I mean, Jesus,” Tony said. He’d figured it was bad to make CNN already, but this was nuts. “It’s like an F-5 went through here.”
“Too bad we couldn’t just call your uncle on the phone,” Ray said. He braked to a halt in the middle of Dodge Street; the truck rattled as the antilock brakes grabbed at a slick patch. They idled, waiting for three college guys in down vests to push out a blonde in a high-centered Grand Am. “I mean, that wouldn’t make sense.”
“Yeah, but then you wouldn’t get to wear that stylin’ scarf.”
“Good point.”
They moved on. Between the plows and stuck cars, the creeping traffic, the OPPD crews out working downed power lines, and the general mess, it was after ten by the time they made it all the way down to Eddie’s store.
In the empty front lot, four pickups with blades and tire chains worked on pushing snow into heaps. They’d built a tall ridge around the perimeter and were making a big mountain in the middle.
“Head around back,” Tony said.
Ray hit the service drive. They found Eddie’s Hummer parked in the warehouse docks, where the delivery lanes had already been cleared.
Ray parked the Expedition alongside and said, “So.”
“So?”
“So what are we telling him?”
Tony had been thinking about that all morning. “Maybe we’re not telling him anything yet.”
Salcedo nodded, waiting to hear more.
John woke up in the chair to the snarl of a snowblower digging in outside.
The power was still out; he hadn’t brought his wristwatch out to the chair with him, but morning sun had brightened the living room.
He blinked and yawned, stretched a kink in his neck. No mistaking the noise, bap-bap-bap, but it sounded too close. Like it could have been coming from the front porch.
John craned sideways, grabbed a crutch, and moved the curtain.
Great billows of snow churned up from his own driveway. He caught glimpses of red through the cloud. When the cloud parted briefly, he saw Matt Worth in a stocking hat and ski goggles working a big blower uphill toward the house. White geysers blasted from the chute, high and long, sparkling in the sun and sifting away.
John lowered the crutch and sat the recliner upright, thinking How about that? He eased the footrest down and prepared to get up.
Then he sat there a minute, choking up without warning. It just happened that way. Right out of the blue, no reason at all.
John cleared his throat hard, annoyed with himself. He swore he didn’t know what the hell was the matter with him anymore. He’d never cried over much of anything, even as a boy; all of a sudden, lately, he’d tear up like a baby at the least little goddamned thing. TV commercials, even. The doc had warned him it happened that way sometimes.
On the bright side, the leg didn’t seem to be feeling so bad this morning. A good way to start the day.
John folded the quilts back and worked his way up slowly, getting the crutches under him, being careful not to overbalance or give himself a rush. It was pure dumb luck, last time, that he’d fallen straight back into the chair.
As close as he could guess, the electricity had gone out somewhere between two and four this morning—right about the time the trees began creaking and groaning all over the neighborhood. The house had grown plenty cold by now. In the kitchen, he set the gas oven to 400 degrees and left the door open. He could keep at least one room warm until the power company sorted things out.
He headed back through the living room, hauled the front door open, and crutched out into the cold. The porch was about the only place he could see that wasn’t buried in snow. He stopped at the edge and waved; Matt Worth cut the engine and waved back.
“Nice weather,” John called. His voice sounded loud in the sudden quiet.
Matt came around to the bottom of the sidewalk, trudging through the deep stuff, pushing the snow-crusted goggles up on his head. “You getting along okay over here?”
“Power’s out, but fine. Just fine. Listen, I sure appreciate the help, but you got your own place to worry about.”
“It’s no trouble.”
“I’ll call a service,” John said. “Or pay some kid to shovel. Hell, I’m not going anywhere.”
“John, really, it’s nothing.” Matt grinned and gestured toward the snowblower with one fat glove. “Paid enough for that thing, I might as well use it.”
John chuckled, feeling a little embarrassed. Past winters, he’d have been the one across the street, clearing Helen’s driveway for her. Now here he was, humping around like an invalid, not even able to scoop his own walk. Just standing out here, his leg was starting to talk to him.
“Guess you ended up with a mess,” he said.
“Little bit.”
They both stood a minute and looked at the sprawling tangle of branches over at Matthew’s place. The biggest of the limbs had rammed right through the big picture window in the front of the house, littering the snow-covered bushes with shards of glass. Smaller limbs covered the ground all the way to the street.
The sight of it broke John’s heart. Everybody liked that tree: a big old sugar maple that stood fifty feet, spread out thirty, and had shaded that corner as long as anybody around here had lived in the neighborhood. Always turned a pretty, fiery red this time of year.
This morning Helen’s old tree stood decimated. It looked forlorn, like a crippled giant that had dropped an armload of firewood. The whole view over there seemed naked and wrong.
Matt Worth gave a weary smile. “Guess that’s what insurance is for. Hate to lose that tree, though.”
“Maybe it’ll pull through yet.” The longer John looked, the more he doubted it. His leg gave a twinge, and he realized he didn’t like looking at the splintered ends of the limbs. “Old trees like that, they can take a beating.”
“Maybe so. Listen, do you need anything?”
“Nah. I’ll be fine. I’m sure Liz’ll be up soon as they get dug out down there. Or Rodney. No need to worry.”
“Well, I’ve got a two-hundred-foot cord. I’ll run it over from the garage and you can plug in.”
The power grid ran down the middle of the street. It happened occasionally, one side staying up while the other side went down, but John couldn’t remember it happening during weather this bad. Up and down the block, he could see heavy-duty power extensions snaking from one side to the other, orange and yellow lines against the snow.
“I appreciate that, but I wouldn’t want to…“
“At least keep the fridge going,” Matt Worth said. “Watch a little TV.”
John sighed and gave in. He needed to get back inside and find the Vicodin anyway. “You’re a good neighbor.”
“Just returning the favor, John.”
While they were talking, a red Chevy Blazer stopped at the corner and turned right. The truck idled bumper-deep in the street a moment, exhaust rolling from the tailpipes, runner panels cloudy with salt. Probably looking at Matt Worth’s new woodpile, the same as they’d been standing there doing just now.