No Absolution in the Rain

I keep waiting for the part where I feel clean. I do not. We got the men out, and that matters, but doing the right thing does not wash the blood from my hands or make my ribs stop aching every time I breathe too deeply.

I was frightened at the Boathouse. Not of the storm, not exactly. I was frightened that the truth would become convenient to someone, that pieces could be made to disappear and I would be left holding the blame for failing to stop it. I checked Kato’s response because watching the lights gave my fear somewhere useful to sit.

Ben’s account was careful, almost painfully careful. He said only what he could support. I wanted him to look at me and say I had done enough, that I had not been reckless, that the cost would somehow balance what came before. He did not. I respect that more than I wanted to.

The hot food made me lonely in a humiliating way. Their hands were still shaking, and they had each other. I had rescued them, but I did not know how to remain in the room without standing like some hard-faced stranger waiting to be useful again.

I kept Ben close because I trust him more than I trust the quiet spreading among the crews. There is danger in a story that has already travelled too far.