CHAPTER 35 #2
Tiff grabbed her notebook. “I already collected stories from Peggy Lancaster from the gas station, and old Mr. and Mrs. Crenshaw, from that diner out on Highway Five? I just didn’t write them yet in case you didn’t like it.
I’ve got a list of at least four more I can do easily, and maybe Millie can help with suggestions, since she’s from here and all. ”
Rebecca glanced at Millie, who was pretending not to listen.
“Sure, happy to help,” Millie piped up before nosing back into her classifieds.
Tiff shrugged. “I figured, if you didn’t like the idea, maybe it’d made a good book series, something I can work on in my spare time. But I’d really rather see it in the paper.”
Rebecca shook her head incredulously. A book idea was positively brilliant. Talk about a sleeper—this girl was one surprise after another.
“I think it’d make a fine book,” she told Tiff. “I think you can do both.” She did some quick mental calculations. “No promises, but possibly the paper could help on the publishing end.”
Tiff flushed prettily. “Thanks, Boss. Really—thanks.”
“Look into alternate publication specs and pricing,” Rebecca scrawled on a notepad, then stuffed it in the “after press” inbox.
She eyed the wall clock—nine sharp. Time to get rolling on the paper. She glanced at her purse, where she knew her phone was tucked. Granny had promised to text her if Devon didn’t show. No telltale “ding” from the device meant good news.
Outside, thunder began in earnest, and the lights flickered. She held her breath—the last thing they needed on pre-press day was to lose power.
“Save your work, people,” she called as the phone rang and the newsroom began its usual Monday morning hum of energy.
By the time the weather service woman called her back, she had finished everything except final edits on Tiff’s stories and last-minute ad deals.
“Thanks for the call,” Rebecca said, pulling out her notes.
“You got it.” The woman sounded harried. “I’m not sure what else you need, but you can put me down as saying we’re doing everything we can to prepare and make sure residents are safe, aware, and can evacuate if needed.”
“Honestly, I just have a question—isn’t most of the concern for the coast and the Lowcountry? So far inland, does this part of the state really need to worry?” Rebecca glanced over at Dinah. “I mean, I have one employee who’s asking if she can go home early, board her house.”
“Precautions save lives and property, so from my perspective, your employee’s got the right idea.
But truthfully, the Dahlia and Aberville areas won’t see anywhere near the damage the coast will see, though there’s still danger anytime you have a storm this big looming so close. I imagine you’ve seen the pictures.”
Rebecca eyed the live radar on her computer screen, the swirling ocean storm clouds ominously large but still very far away.
“I have.”
“Well, then you know as well as I do that the best thing you can tell your readers is to stay indoors and stay safe. No sense taking unnecessary chances.”
“Got it.” Rebecca typed as she talked. “Thanks.”
They hung up, and Rebecca finished her draft, then printed it for a final read. She glanced at her purse—still no text from Granny.
Still, she fished in her purse anyway for the phone. It couldn’t hurt to check in with Granny. Just in case. Besides, she wanted to see what social services had said.
But her phone wasn’t in its usual pocket. She rummaged, then hauled the bag onto her lap, peered inside.
The car! She remembered with a start that she’d used the phone to type a reminder to herself at the red light that morning. She swallowed. That was three hours ago!
“You all right?” Millie called as Rebecca darted outside into the rain with her car keys, found the phone in the cup holder next to her travel mug.
Three missed texts from Granny.
None from Josh.
Rebecca slid inside the car and shut the door, held her breath as she pulled up the messages. The rain beat against the windshield, and she watched as a gust of wind knocked over a potted plant they’d forgotten to bring inside.
“Devon’s not here yet,” read the first, then “I called his house, no answer.” The last one, not fifteen minutes ago, read, “I left a message with social services. I’m going to take a ride out to Devon’s house, check on things. I’ll update ASAP.”
No. The last thing Granny needed to be doing was going out alone to Devon’s house. Rebecca shivered, remembering Uncle T, the way he’d glared at them. The look in his eye said in no uncertain terms: Don’t come back. And now here was Granny, doing just that.
She dialed Granny’s cell phone. Granny didn’t answer.
“Granny, do not under any circumstances go to Devon’s house,” she said breathlessly as Granny’s voicemail came on and instructed her to leave a message. “At least, don’t go alone. I’m heading that way now and I’ll go with you. Pull over and wait for me.”
Rebecca jammed the car into reverse and backed out, pulling with a squeal onto Main Street.
Too late, she remembered she didn’t have her purse with her, let alone her umbrella—not to mention that her entire newsroom had to be wondering why their editor had run out on them in the middle of pre-production without a word.
Forget it—I’ll be back before anyone can notice. She gripped the wheel as she drove toward Devon’s side of town.
As she passed Dahlia Community Bible Church, her car seemed to slow of its own will.
Rev Bryant. Maybe he’d go with her. If her ever-stubborn Granny had decided to ignore her phone and show up alone at Devon’s doorstep to face Uncle T, it made sense to have the broad-shouldered preacher by her side to help even the playing field.
Before she could change her mind, she parked at the curb, heart racing, and headed toward the office to find Rev. It was locked. The fellowship hall door was locked, too, and the sanctuary. Great. The rain was slick on her arms, soaking her thin dress and giving her a chill.
She was rounding the corner to the parsonage when she almost bumped right into Rev.
“Rebecca Chastain!” he said in his deep baritone, holding a large black umbrella over them both.
She could have cried in relief at the sight of him, felt in fact the telltale scratchy throat and itchy eyes that said tears were next, but she didn’t have time for that.
“Rev, please—I need your help,” she said, and filled him in, the words tumbling out in a torrent that she couldn’t seem to stop. Granny, and Devon, and Uncle T, and all her fears and worries now released.
“My friend, take a breath.” He took one of her hands, his grip gentle and comforting, but she didn’t want to be calm. She needed to act. Now.
“Rev, with all due respect…”
“Rebecca.” The way he said it made her look straight into his eyes. “I’m on the way there myself. Marla’s with your Granny. Get it together and let’s go now. We’ll meet at the house together.”
A wave of something—comfort? Relief?—washed over her, and she found she didn’t have words to even reply.
She got in her car and followed him to Devon’s, all the time praying. Please, let them be okay. Let Devon be okay. Let Granny be okay.
The rain had slowed from a pelt to a drizzle, and cleared enough so that she could see Granny in the front seat of Marla’s red SUV when they got to the intersection of Fourth and Baker. Marla flashed her lights at them, and they parked on the side of the road, piled in.
“Thanks for waiting, Baby,” Rev said, sliding into the seat behind Marla.
Rebecca slid in behind Granny, who gave her a worried smile.
And then Marla gunned the engine, turning left on Baker for Devon’s house.