Richard put an arm around his son's shoulders. Awkwardly at first. Then not awkwardly at all.
"No," he said. "I don't think it is."
The storm came in early September.
The weather service had been warning about it for days. A line of severe thunderstorms rolling in from the west, with high winds and the possibility of flash flooding.
Daniel spent the afternoon securing his house. He tied down the trash cans, cleared the gutters, and moved the blue porch chair inside. Then he walked across the street and did the same for Walter, who grumbled that he wasn't helpless but let Daniel do it anyway.
By eight that evening, the wind was howling. Rain lashed sideways against the windows. The lights flickered twice, then went out completely.
Daniel lit candles in the kitchen. Emily sat at the table in her pajamas, hugging her stuffed rabbit, trying to look brave.
"Daddy, where's Biscuit?"
Daniel froze.
Biscuit was Walter's old beagle. He'd been staying with them for the night because Walter's back had been acting up and he couldn't manage the dog during the storm.
Daniel checked the living room. The bedroom. The bathroom.
Then he saw it. The back door, rattling in the wind. The latch hadn't caught properly.
"He got out," Daniel said.
"We have to find him!" Emily jumped off her chair. "Grandpa Walt loves him! He'll be so sad!"
"Sweetheart, stay here. I'll go look. I'll be right back."
He grabbed a flashlight and his rain jacket and stepped out into the storm.
The backyard was a river. Water streamed across the grass toward the drainage creek that ran behind the row of houses, a creek that was usually a trickle you could step across. Tonight, Daniel could hear it roaring.
He searched for ten minutes, calling Biscuit's name, sweeping the flashlight across the fence line. Nothing.
When he came back inside, soaked to the bone, the kitchen was empty.