Chapter 4

John’s turn:

Where my drive leaves the road, I have a cattle guard. Keeps a few head of cattle in. That’s its job: metal bars are spaced widely enough so that a cow can’t walk on them, the whole grate-looking thing wide enough to keep the more athletic bovines from jumping across to freedom. I have two of them, this one at the road, the other at the end of the drive where it crosses into what one day might be a neat little yard. Right now it’s a muddy mess from recent construction activities.

“You could’ve paid to have the place turfed,” Laura noted.

“I think I’ll do that, at least part of the front between the drive and the front door.”

I parked my truck on the slab that was once a carport. It’s gone, taken to who knows where by hundred and forty mile an hour winds.

“C’mon. Let’s get the place open for business,” I told Laura.

We got out, I unlocked the door, was happy to see that no water had been blown under the door. She followed me through the house as I did an assessment.

“Place needs electricity,” I stated.

“Uh, yeah...”

“Lemme check a few things.”

She followed me out the back door to a concrete pad with a steel cover that survived the hurricane. Opening a panel, I checked fluid levels, then pushed the start button. The generator rumbled to life.

Observing a meter, I said, “Electricity.” The last step was to operate a manual transfer switch on the side of the house near the electric meter. “Now we’re good.”

We walked back into the house. I flipped on lights, heard the air conditioner blowing, felt a vent. “Cold air.” Checked the refrigerator. “Cooling.”

“Empty,” she said. “Let’s get that ice chest out of the truck. Now we don’t have to worry about that stuff going bad.”

“Yeah. We’re gonna have to drive a ways to get groceries now. At least we got a few things from the old apartment. We can make a list for our next trip. You can get your bag out of the car. That’s YOUR room.” I said, nodding toward the first door up the hallway.”

The two of us made short work of unloading the truck. That was the first step. Second step was to turn on the water. I had water pressure. The money I spent to have the old well refurbished paid off. Yes, there’s a community water line at the road, but this is MINE. I don’t even want to think about the viability of the community water system. Things were down all over, even the cellular system.

“No signal,” she said sadly. “totally isolated.”

‘Lemme work on some of that. The dishes survived.”

“Dishes?”

“One for TV, one for the internet. Might need to re-aim them.”

Turns out they were protected by virtue of being on the right side of the house. TV came right up. Had to do a little re-tweak of the internet dish, but...

“We’re in!” she announced.

“Great! Now I can tell the world we’re back.”

That was a short jaunt to a company website.

“Now, you wanna go see what our places look like?”

“I suppose.”

Found out that the parish is still under ‘mandatory’ evacuation order. Fortunately, Louisiana’s laws in that regard are rather toothless. I explained to an over-wrought looking deputy sheriff our intent to visit two specific spots, waved my ‘critical access’ letter at him, got told to watch out for debris, downed lines, poles down, “Everything under the sun, my friend. It’s ALL down.”

He was right. Crews were already working hard to get main thoroughfares cleared to a passable condition.

Neither of our houses were on main thoroughfares. We walked in to hers first. The front door still worked.

“D’ya think it’s safe to get in there and grab some clothes?”

I looked at the tree that had crashed through the roof and upper floor. “Let’s proceed slowly.”

The answer was ‘no’. Inside, the ceiling and upper floor had caved in to the bottom floor.

“I need clothes,” she said. “This is my last clean change.”

“Washer and dryer at the house.”

“Still need...”

“Tomorrow we take a road trip. Clothes. Groceries. Whatever.”

“Money.”

“One, when we get home, get on line, sign up for every relief program there is. You’re a student on fixed income. Should be able to get something. Two, I can cover whatever you need. Pay me back whenever.”

“I’m starting to owe you a lot.”

“Not the way we should look at things.”

She gave me an inscrutable look.

We drove back out of town to the house, our heads swiveling at the destruction about us. Everywhere there were signs of varying degrees of mayhem. Some homes were never going to be repairable, others promised months of reconstruction. There was hardly a roof that didn’t receive at least some damage. Everywhere trees were down, some uprooted wholesale, others snapped off several feet above ground, some that gave up branches.

Driving by businesses we saw that they fared no better than homes did. This was a life-changing event.

As the shadows lengthened, darkness took on an alien depth. One doesn’t realize how much light civilization brings to the world, even in semi-rural areas like where I now call home. When it got dark, it was dark like I can’t remember. NO lights on the horizon from the industries. No lights for the towns. No lights from homes spaced up and down the road and through the woods. Dark.

I stepped outside to take that particular sight in. Laura was there beside me. We didn’t wait long. Mosquitos seem to be unaffected by the storm. We hurried back inside.

“Dinner,” I said, opening the pantry. Laura was looking over my shoulder.

“Possibilities. Sad it’s not soup weather.”

“It’s always soup weather. What kind of soup?”

“You got that bag of split peas. We bought that sausage and stuff. That cooler was a good idea.” She dug around some more. “Dried onions.”

“You sound like you know what you’re talking about?”

She smiled. “I know a few things.”

“If it doesn’t disturb you, then split pea soup will work.”

She grabbed the bag. “Half of this will be plenty.”

I cut up some sausage and started it browning while she rinsed the peas. Everything in one pot, add the sad dried onions, a shake of garlic powder, bring to a boil, reduce to simmer, sit back.

“Wow!” she snickered. “Like a machine!” Then, “I got a weak signal on my phone. I’m gonna text mom and dad.”

“Have at it. I’m gonna check the company webpage.”

She curled up in a knot at one end of the sofa. I kicked my recliner back, flipped open my personal laptop, booted up.

Company email. Normal stuff one expects from a corporation whose headquarters lies well outside the hurricane’s footprints.

The website set up for the local office, though, was more telling. A quick note from the boss acknowledging my location and intentions.

I added new files of the tree resting on top of my company car and updated my location back in my new house.

Read a message asking those who might be able to make the trip to show up during the day the next day. Recovery and support efforts by the company were mobilizing, based at the office complex.

“Anything from your folks?” I asked Laura.

“Dad worries that I’m safe. Mom worries that I’m on a highway to Hell.”

“You’re an only child. Your parents love you. That’s a good thing.”

“Apparently your parents love you, too.”

“They do. It can be annoying when you’re an adult and your mom still gets upset at your antics.”

“Especially when they do it in front of friends,” she giggled. “But I got over it and I relish that they love me.”

“And now they worry.”

“I told ‘em not to worry. Should I worry?”

“Nope.”

“You sure? Sometimes you get this look.”

“Laura, you’re quite attractive for a lot of reasons, but I’m a bit old for you, don’t you think?”

She smiled a little. “So that’s it? Age?”

“Well, assuming other factors lined up. I mean, right now we’re kind of tossed together by circumstances. A man who used this situation to push something...”

“You haven’t. Not that I’ve seen.”

“Actually, you’re a surprise.”

“How so?”

“First, I didn’t think you’d hang around for the hotel...”

“Free room. If you turned out crazy, I could’ve bailed...”

“Second, you’re not stupid.”

“4.0 in high school...”

“Third, you seem like a neat personality.”

“Thank you. You haven’t seen me when the moon is full.”

“Yeah ... That’s Wednesday. What happens then?”

Giggle. “Dunno. Never had a reason to allow the change to happen.” She watched my face, giggled again. “You’re WORRIED something will happen!”

“You started it.”

I smiled, more inwardly than outwardly, I hoped.

“I did. One of us needs to stir the soup.”

She got up and her walk across the room toward the kitchen redefined the word ‘sashay’ in my mind. John, what is going on in your head, fool?

I tried a little diversion in the direction of domestic duties, grabbing the dirty clothes from my bag, headed to the laundry room. She was tasting the soup.

“Where’re yours?”

“I can get ‘em later...”

“Only got half a load. Just as well do them together.”

“Lemme get ‘em.”

She bounded out, came back with a bundle. “Here.”

I took them. “Gonna be a bachelor load – everything together, unless you got something delicate that needs the gentle cycle or something.”

“Just toss ‘em with yours. Your things and my things swirling together in wanton abandon.”

“Don’t tease me, Laura Landry.”

Giggle. “Was that a tease? I didn’t mean to tease.”