40. Forty
Late the next night, I stare at the TV weather map, where red lines band their way into our region. Hurricane Nadine has been downgraded to a tropical storm. But winds rattle the trees and whistle through the woodwork of the little house. Rain pours in thick sheets, underscored by low rumbles of thunder.
It’s my first significant storm in the little house.
But hunkering down with Jack has eradicated anxieties over what’s happening outside. Cards from abandoned games are strewn across the coffee table next to empty glasses of wine and nibbled cheeses and crackers on a snack tray. An empty popcorn bowl sits there, too, from the movie we watched earlier. It’s felt like a sexy slumber party, only it’s gotten late. He dozes on the opposite side of the couch, our legs entangled under a blanket.
A crack of lightning stirs him. He sits up, rubbing his tired eyes. “Shit, I should check on Harper Lee. She hates loud storms.”
“Bring her back here. Edgar won’t mind.”
“I’ll grab my laptop, too. Feeling inspired,” he says coyly.
“Oh, by dreamland? Because you were snoring a minute ago,” I chuckle.
His brow knits. “I don’t snore, liar.” He leans over me, giving me a soft kiss. “Back in a minute.”
His words are bookended by winds howling across the chimney top. A shiver races through me as the front door shuts behind him.
I take our dirty dishes to the kitchen to clean up before bed. With the rain coming down in sheets against the sliding glass doors, I get a towel from the bathroom—Jack’ll be drenched when he returns.
Several minutes pass. I resettle on the couch, eyes glued to the storm coverage.
An explosive crash and a bright light make me scream and curl against the couch. The power flickers out. Cracking comes next, and a low whistle before the ground shakes in a massive thud with a raucous explosion that rips through the house. Though I can’t see the source of the noise, it sounds like a tank has taken a slow detour through the walls and over the floorboards, crushing the little house under its belted wheels.
The tree!
Edgar darts like a gazelle from the couch to my bedroom, surely hiding under the bed. Grabbing my heavy-duty flashlight from the kitchen, I go in the opposite direction—to the laundry room and converted garage. Opening the door reveals the tree, splayed and broken in brittle bits across the converted garage. The outer walls and roof are gone. A rainbow of notebooks, books, and art supplies forms a debris bed, presently soaking in the pouring rain. To the left, netting from the screened-in porch wraps around its trunk like an odd blanket, and to the right, my car’s hood acts as a pillow for the tree’s piney tips.
But this damage is nothing compared to what my flashlight reveals across the gap between our houses.
“Jack!”
I shut the outer door, securing the main house. I race into my rubber boots and raincoat. The wind and rain hit me like a wall. Through ankle-high water, I circle my car and the tree to get to Jack’s front door.
It’s locked. I pound on it, waving my hand over the doorbell sensor. When a minute passes without a response, I border the house, bracing myself against it, and go around back. Lightning cuts the gray sky like a jagged knife. I cringe inside my hood. I climb the deck and find the tree trunk split into two pieces. One has shattered the outdoor kitchen and sliding glass doors, spreading tree bits into the living room. The other, larger section holding the majority of the thick branches has scraped through the side of Jack’s house like a rake and made a path through his study.
Oh, my God, he wanted to get his laptop!
I cut through the broken doors, carefully avoiding the large glass shards dangling from the threshold.
“Jack!” The wind takes my voice away, so I yell louder. “Jack!”
There’s no response but my pounding, racing heart banging against my chest. My flashlight bobs across the room as I rush toward his study. Wicked imaginings form in the seconds it takes to get there—Jack hurt, Jack crushed, Jack... I am gasping and desperate when I examine the space, the flashlight shaking.
There’s too much debris—I can’t even make out his desk chair for the broken tree limbs, busted furniture, and fallen books. Bracing myself on the stable wall to the right, I lean in, shining my flashlight everywhere. I see no sign of him, but the silver corner of his computer peeks through the clutter like a beacon.
He’s buried underneath!I must find him. And fast. I scream for him over and over. But the windy silence lures me onto the broken floorboards. My rubber boots feel too heavy for such an unstable surface, and I slip on the damp decline with my second step, scraping my leg against the splintered tree trunk. I fear falling through to the crawlspace and getting stuck. It’s dark and difficult to know where to put my weight. But I inch closer to the center, finally giving up my grip on the stable wall to reach where I’d imagine he’d be. I miscalculate my next step, and books give way beneath me, making me fall to my knees. The surface ahead looks even more precarious—I’ll never get to him on time.
I scream his name, but it gets caught in my throat as something strong hooks my waist, yanking me up to the solid floor again.
I turn into Jack’s arms, and he curses in my ear. “Damn it, Rowan. You scared me to death. What’re you doing?”
“Finding you!” My voice—my entire body—shakes. “I thought you were…”
He leans into me, his breath hitting my lips. “I’m okay. We’re okay.”
I latch onto him, desperate and tearful. “I love you, you stupid jerk. Never do that to me again!”
“I love you, too.” A smile crooks the corner of his mouth. “You were about to claw through rubble for me? You must mean it.”
“I-I do. I… We stay together from now on!”
“Fine. But we can’t do anything here,” he says, shining a flashlight around the open space. Seeing the cloudy night sky through the broken roof and rain pouring inside the walls chills me—it’s weird and unsettling. “It’s too dark and unsafe… What about your place?”
“The damage is contained to the garage and porch.”
“Good. I’ll find Harper Lee, text the neighborhood that we’re fine, and we’ll stay there until the storm passes.”
Scanning the floor, my flashlight fixes on something on the floor near my rubber boots. I lean in, bracing myself on the intact threshold to grab it. Devin and Jack’s baseball picture. I swipe it across my shirt and tuck it into my pocket.
Jack grabs my hand, pulling me away from the mess. On the other side of the house, he flips the power off at the breaker. Then, we find Harper Lee hiding in a closet upstairs. Jack gently coaxes her into her carrier. I cover it with a throw blanket.
Wind swirls through his living room like ghosts, rattling what’s left. Jack examines the broken glass door to his deck as if he might want to secure it.
“Motherfucker!” Glass protruding from the door jamb slices into his arm.
“You can’t do anything about that now,” I shout over the storm noise. “Let’s get Harper home, huh?”
Back into the rain and howling winds, we make a slow but hurried trail through our water-logged yards and around the broken tree. We reach the little house, drenched and cold. With the power out, everything is dark, but I quickly set up lanterns and candles, creating a warm glow. Jack covers the broken kitchen window with plastic trash bags and duct tape. We clean the glass together before releasing Harper.
Edgar approaches with caution, but Harper’s quick to bat her honey eyes and give an affectionate head butt—she’s a pacifist. Wearily, Edgar accepts her with suspicion, keeping an eye on her.
With the cats settled, the last few minutes do vicious circles in my head. This is my fault. Tears flood my eyes with the realization of the damage.
“What’s wrong?”
“I should’ve listened to you about the tree. Your beautiful house is ruined, your study, all your books. This is my fault.”
“Stop. I don’t care about the house. We’re safe. We’re together. That’s all that matters.”
He’s right—a fact I’ve never felt entirely confident about until now. This moment.
Dodging cats, I fall into his arms, snuggling against his chest even though he’s damp. He smells like wind and rain and feels clammy cold.
“There’s nothing more we can do until daylight,” he says, his voice soft. “How about you wrap the cut on my arm, and then you let me wrap you up, huh?”
Smirking, I look up at him, my blue eyes widening. “Oh, wordplay… I like it. How ‘bout we ride out the rest of the storm with me riding you?”
“Damn, Rowan.” He laughs. “Forget the arm. Let’s do your plan. Right now.” He squeezes my ass, bringing me tighter against him.
“Cut first.” My hands slip to his waist, where I roll up the hem of his hoodie, slowly taking it off him. It’s not a bad cut, just messy. I retrieve my first-aid kit from under the kitchen sink and get to work.
He works hard to distract me—fondling things, vampire-biting my neck, grazing sensitive spots with his fingertips—but I stay focused on my task despite my laughter and flushed cheeks.
Finally shutting the lid of my kit, I laser in on him, practically throwing myself on him. He lifts me, wrapping my legs around him like they were made to fit there. I kiss the soft skin under his ear—he loves that. Then, my lips trail lower, biting and licking him as he carries me to the bedroom.
“The storm surge will be… impressive,” I giggle between kisses.
“So will the tides,” he breathes against my neck, smiling. “Cresting high tide will be… orgasmic… I mean, cataclysmic.”
I laugh again as we strip out of our damp clothes, and he lays me down. Maybe it’s the dorky wordplay that does it, but I know this is it. He’s it. He’s my forever romance.