Many more remained to ride it out—as if Betsy had wheels. When the light went out, the darkness gave the storm even greater power over someone sitting in the darkness. Her great voice seemed all the greater to anyone alone. They would know she would go by. She would have to, because that was her way; a wandering and restless giant. Her life would be fierce but short. She couldn’t remain there forever, but it felt like she could. Seconds like hours. When the storm waded in, she didn’t come alone. She brought the Gulf in with her, crowding in on the river and the bay, parading clear up Mr. Go toward the city, washing little islands as she went, flooding the canals and lapping over the levees. Once inside, the waters raced through the streets, filling up the low spots then filling a bit more until they reached inside homes and chased people upstairs, if they had a second floor to flee to. And many didn’t. Water slapped Celeste’s cheek and she woke at once to a dark room filled with the sounds of movement.
