Page 42 of Girl Between
“She’s something,” Dana said, taking in the shiny two-toned exterior of the antique pickup truck that he’d painstakingly restored.
George knew every last inch of the baby blue classic that had belonged to his late father. He took a moment to appreciate the spotless white walled tires, gleaming chrome, and recently rebuilt flared fenders that he’d painted black.
“No motorcycle today?” Dana asked.
“Nah. I got a delivery to make. Thought you might like to help.”
“I thought you had to go to the coroner’s office?” she asked, her doe eyes suddenly wide as she glanced suspiciously at the tarp-covered truck bed.
“Relax,” he teased. “I’m not transporting bodies back there. We’ve got a stop to make before the coroner.”
“We?” Dana asked as George opened the passenger door for her.
“You offered to help with the transnasal business, didn’t you?”
“I did but …”
“No buts,” he said, helping her into the truck. “Have you been to the Ninth Ward?”
She shook her head.
“Buckle up,” was all he said before shutting the door.
40
Dana watchedin abject horror as George drove through the suffering neighborhoods of Lakeview, St. Bernard Parish, and the Ninth Ward. She knew these were some of the areas most affected by flooding during Hurricane Katrina but seeing how much damage still remained all these years later left a pit in her stomach.
Most of New Orleans maintained an average elevation of six feet below sea level. Add in the fact that the city is entirely surrounded by water from the Mississippi River, Lake Pontchartrain, and Lake Borge, flooding was a major risk factor on a good day.
August 29, 2005, had not been a good day.
When the levees failed, the damage was catastrophic.
Despite 80 percent of the city evacuating, the loss of life was still unfathomable. Particularly in the Ninth Ward.
As George drove by overgrown lots and dilapidated houses, Dana couldn’t help the heaviness that welled inside her. She stared at the faded X’s spray-painted on the sides of once vibrant homes. She knew what they meant.
Dubbed the Katrina Cross, the search and rescue shorthand was used to declare time, date, hazards, and horrors.
Dana’s gaze focused on the lowest quadrant at the bottom the X, indicating the number of souls found inside. It was an effective reminder of the failings and triumphs New Orleans had endured, and perhaps most importantly a testament to the city’s strength and perseverance.
Paint faded, but memories endured. Yet she couldn’t help wondering what was more painful—to remember or forget?
The echo of her own dilemma suddenly resurfaced, unbidden. A hollow spot in her chest yawned open painfully as it always did any time she thought of Claire.Even when she braced for it, the pain still surprised her, biting at her bones so severely it made it hard to catch her breath.
Dana knew her personal traumas paled in comparison to what the city of New Orleans had suffered, but still, she turned away from George to disguise her anguish.
Squeezing her eyes shut she put a hand to her tightening chest. As Dana forced herself to take slow, shallow breaths, more bitter thoughts blossomed in her mind.
Good and evil.
Light and dark.
Bitter and sweet.
Life and death.
One could not exist without the other.
