He said, “By faith, Noah, being warned of God of things not seen as yet, moved with fear, prepared an ark to the saving of his house; by the which he condemned the world, and became heir of the righteousness which is by faith.” Pausing to study the strangely warm air drifting in through the window, Edgar added, “A righteous man runs a righteous house. Settle in. Settle up.”
He was a father.
A caretaker. A carpenter.
A provider. A destroyer.
A lover. Oh, yes, he was a lover.
Edgar looked over at the crumpled sheets and blankets on the bed. After he checked in on his new family, he’d get her to make the bed up proper. It would be their consummation, as soon as she was ready to do that deed. Edgar felt his heart thudding. Ever since he had seen that family photo, he’d fantasized about her. And here he was, waking up with the nastiest of hangovers, and she was waiting for him… in the basement? Yes, the basement. He remembered now. He’d stuck her down in the basement. He tried to picture her sitting on the little couch down there, with no panties or pants on, legs spread, looking at him with simmering eyes.
He looked down at his sweatpants, where a tiny hump protruded, begging to be set free.
Two snakes. Two lizards. Two ducks. Two mosquitos.
Once upon a time, a man named Noah created a boat. He created a boat to save mankind, to save the concept of purity, of living beings that mated in the name of perseverance. Such was the game of survival.
Two tigers. Two whales. Two kittens. Two leeches.
Edgar hung his head out the window, smiling as he stared down the reveling neighbor from across the street, a chubby man with a burly beard. The man pulled his head back inside the window and retreated. He was scared of Edgar for some reason (perhaps because the man didn’t yet know that Edgar belonged in this house), but there was nothing to fret over. Edgar was hoping to make friends with the man soon enough, once all this damn snow melted.
Two lions. Two bears. Two geckos. Two jellyfish.
He looked into the wet snow banks to the left of the house, where the mailman’s head was just emerging. He reconsidered the burly neighbor’s frightful retreat and now it made more sense. He’d seen the mailman. Edgar hadn’t buried the fucker deep enough. If he didn’t take care of that blight on the eye, and then the nosy fucking neighbor as well, then people would start asking questions. His wife might start asking questions. His son (Bobby? Marty?) would start asking questions, the twerp.
“Well isn’t that a shame,” he growled, staring at the mailman’s half-frozen head.
Two mushrooms. Two houseflies. Two sloths. Two humans.
Chapter Six
Using a few pieces of steel lawn furniture that Christian had left outside over the winter, Annie had managed a makeshift ladder on to the shallow, sloping roof of the garage. It was incredibly wobbly, but strong enough to get them some elevation. Getting higher than the water was the only way they would beat this thing.
As soon as Paulie was up on to the roof with her, struggling to keep his footing, the lawn furniture was caught up in the rush, swept back into their fenced in backyard. Chunks of ice careened by, clattering against the eaves of the garage’s roof. Annie wanted to swear at the terror of this alteration in their world, but she needed to spare Paulie of any further frightful thoughts. Her fear would heighten his fear and that could lead to panic. She breathed slowly, calming herself in the only way she knew how, hoping to set an example for her baby boy.
The roof, though, was not high enough. They needed more elevation. They needed to get as high as they could, possibly to the main part of the house’s roof. Or—
Into the trees. She hated climbing trees and was quite terrible at it when she was a child, but it was their best bet. They would need a sturdy tree, and luckily enough there was one only a short distance away from them.
For the past two years, she’d warned Christian about the thick oak tree that was rubbing up against the side of the garage: One day you’re going to walk out there and find that it’s ripping shingles off the roof, or burrowing into the side of the house. It’s too close and it has no signs of rotting. You’ll have to deal with that old tree sooner, rather than later. Knock it down Christian. Knock it down!
He had protested, then dragged his feet, protested some more, and then forgot about the proposed venture altogether. When she reminded him of the tree on one occasion, the scene had escalated into a full-on war, digging up every chore he had ever failed to complete, as he dug his nails into her as well, coaching her on her lack of tact and appreciation. They’d nearly exploded, each in their own way, so Annie hadn’t brought up the damn tree again.
Now, that tree was their only chance to escape drowning in an icy grave. Annie felt a pang of guilt. She couldn’t have known. This was just how things happened… she couldn’t have ever known.
“Stay here, baby. Don’t move your feet. If you lose your footing, I can’t help you. You understand?” she asked Paulie. He nodded, looking as if he might start to cry at any moment. “Bend down and put your butt against the roof until I’m ready for you. I’m going across.” He nodded again, hunching himself down into a tight package, putting his weight back against the roof. He had better instincts than she would have expected. Paulie was a natural survivor, just like her. This thought dawned on her and it gave her heart warmth and the power to go on.
Annie reached one hand out, for the closest limb (which also happened to look sturdier than all the rest), wrapping her fingers around it and inching her body forward. She hesitated to look down at the flotsam of icy melt that was swirling about her side yard now, certain that the sight of it would make her vomit or at the very least make her lose all her nerve. Without thinking it over much, Annie thrust her upper body forward, putting all of her weight on to the branch that she was gripping. She swung her legs and feet out, begging the tree branch not to snap on her. Before she could realize what she’d done, her feet were wedged between two of the large offshoots of the oak’s sturdy trunk.
She pulled her feet out of the wedge. Her left foot almost didn’t budge, but with the final tug, it came loose. Annie looked up at the expanse of the tree branches above her, scanning the branches in case they needed to go higher. Something inside of her said that they would, insisted that the water was only going to get deeper. Judging by the amount of snow that had accumulated (she’d lost count- twenty-five feet? thirty?), the water level would be something shorter than that height, but perhaps not by much.
Sweat trickled down Annie’s forehead. Up until she woke up with a flood outside their door, she was convinced that she would never sweat like this again. She missed the sticky, moist sweat that now clung to her armpits. The warm air felt good on her body.
“Come on. Your turn,” she said, reaching out her hand to Paulie. He grabbed her hand, his feet shuffling to keep steady on the steep roof. The kid was four years old. He could barely put his pants on without assistance, and now she was challenging him to sling himself across a rushing gap of icy water, on to a tree. He hadn’t even attempted tree climbing at the most rudimentary level yet, so she’d have to climb for the both of them. But they wouldn’t be climbing anywhere if he didn’t make his move soon.
“I’s scared,” he said and a truer sentiment Annie could not recall.
“I know you are, honey. But I have your hand. I’m going to hold on tight and you’re going to swing over to me. I won’t drop you, baby. I would never drop you, not in a million years.”