Free Finding Someplace by Denise Lewis Patrick Page A

Maw’s sewing machine and all the yards and yards of fabric stashed under the bed. Her lifetime collection of sketchbooks and markers. Junior’s trophies. Her parents’ African masks. Everything. Soaked. Ruined. Gone.
    She kept wanting to hear sounds, sounds of anything—even the awful winds of Katrina would have been better than this, this nothingness. She didn’t even want to close her eyes as exhaustion pulled them shut, because she feared what might happen while she slept.
    Each time she nodded off, she jerked herself awake to stare at the strange shapes below, and at the blackness in the distance that should have been the bright lights of the lively French Quarter.
    â€œReesie! Reesie!” Eritrea was whispering. “Miss Simon! Listen!”
    Reesie blinked into the dark, groping for her flashlight. She heard a faint humming.
    â€œIt’s a boat! Turn on the flashlights!” Dr é shouted. “Hey!”
    They all started yelling.
    â€œHelp!”
    â€œOver here!”
    The putt-putting motor grew louder as the boat came closer. Water slapped at the side of the house in its wake. The motor stopped. Reesie aimed her light in the direction of the sound.
    â€œHow many of y’all up there?” a deep voice asked.
    â€œFour!” Dr é answered.
    â€œWe gotcha,” the voice said calmly. “We gotcha.”

 
    Chapter Thirteen
    A UGUST 30, 2005, 4:00 AM
    â€œThanks, man. I don’t know how long we would’ve been stuck up there.” Dr é shook hands with the man piloting the wide flat fishing boat.
    Reesie was glad to be off the roof, but held on tightly to the seat. She’d been on ferries before, but this was her first time in a small boat. It took her a minute to stop thinking about whatever might be out in the dark besides the black water.
    â€œThis is like another planet,” Eritrea whispered, sitting beside her. “I hope they’re taking us somewhere high and dry!”
    The words from Miss Martine’s poem popped into Reesie’s head: Everybody wants to find someplace . Reesie leaned around Eritrea.
    â€œMiss Martine?”
    Miss Martine had been awfully quiet when the men helped her off the roof. Now, as Reesie looked, she saw that Miss M’s face and her whole body seemed to be sagging.
    â€œMiss Martine!”
    â€œMmmm…” Her eyes fluttered before she opened them wide. “I’m feeling a little weak, Teresa,” she said, closing her eyes again.
    â€œDr é ! We have to do something!” Eritrea said.
    Dr é moved toward Miss M quickly, and she slumped against him. “Hey! They got doctors where we’re going?” he asked.
    The second man in the boat swung his bright light on them. “We can get you to the Saint Claude Bridge,” he said. “They say the National Guard’s pickin’ up from there.”
    â€œStay with me, Miss M.” Dr é shook Miss Martine’s shoulder. “Come on now!”
    Eritrea pulled a bottle of water from the bag they’d brought and tried to get Miss M to drink.
    Reesie watched, paralyzed. Why was all this happening? Was it because she’d played with God, like Miss Martine had said? What if she had stopped to help Miss M that morning? Maybe then everything would be different.… She thought about Ma Maw. Her grandmother had suddenly felt faint one day too; Daddy had rushed her to the emergency room. She never came home.
    â€œYo! We got a sick lady down here!” Dr é was yelling.
    Reesie saw the concrete of the bridge through dozens of dancing flashlight beams. The boat bumped gently against it, and Reesie got ready to climb up. Instead someone grabbed her arm and pulled her out. The water was only a couple of feet below the bridge rail.
    She lay flat out on the hot wet asphalt, panting, and then sat up. Her eyes gradually adjusted to the moving lights, and she could see past the dozens of people standing,