Daniel looked over at Blake, who was sitting in the mud, soaked and bleeding from his scraped palms, breathing hard.
"You did good," Daniel said quietly.
Blake shook his head. "You caught us."
"No," Daniel said. "You held on. That's the hardest part."
Later that night, after the paramedics had checked everyone and Emily was finally asleep in a warm bed, wrapped in three blankets with her stuffed rabbit, Daniel sat on the porch steps with Walter.
"When I saw her out on that tree," Daniel said slowly, "I thought about Eli."
Walter didn't ask. He just waited.
"Eli Brooks. My best friend on the teams. We went through training together. He was the funniest man I ever knew. Had a little girl about Emily's age." Daniel stared at his hands, at the raw red burns from the strap. "There was a night, overseas. A river crossing. Current was too strong. He went in after one of our guys who'd lost his footing. Got him out. Then the river took Eli instead."
He was quiet for a long time.
"I was holding the rope that night, too. I wasn't strong enough."
Walter put a gnarled hand on Daniel's shoulder.
"Son," he said gently, "tonight you were."
Daniel closed his eyes. And for the first time in many years, he let himself cry. Not for long. Just enough to let something heavy go.
The week after the storm, a strange thing happened on Maple Ridge Lane.
Daniel came home from work to find his pickup gone from the driveway.
His heart jumped. Then he saw the note taped to his front door, in Richard Bennett's neat handwriting.
"Truck's at Miller's Auto. New transmission. Paid in full. Before you argue, this isn't charity. You saved my son's life long before the storm. Let a neighbor be a neighbor. — R.B."
Daniel stood on the porch holding that note for a long time.
Then he remembered Sarah's voice. "Let somebody carry you for a while."
So he didn't argue.