41. Forty-One
At daybreak, we emerge to see the full extent of the damage. We stand at the edge of my driveway, mouths agape. My garage and porch are crushed like a can underfoot. My VW Bug is dented, and the windshield cracked—easy fixes. But Jack’s house looks like a slice has been carved from it, leaving his office demolished and the upstairs exposed.
“Damn,” he breathes out as we stare at the devastation.
“I know you said it doesn’t matter, but I’m sorry anyway. I should’ve listened about the tree.”
“Rowan, no apologies necessary. Anyway, the tree was hit by lightning.” He points out charred sections where the tree split. “So, I wasn’t entirely correct about what would bring it down.”
“Hmm, just like in Jane Eyre—the lightning split the tree to foreshadow the ruin of Jane and Rochester’s relationship.”
“No chance of that with us. I promise I don’t have another wife locked in my attic like Rochester did,” he jokes.
I chuckle. “If you did, she would’ve escaped last night.”
He mock-laughs and runs his hand across his forehead. “Whew. So long, Bertha.”
“Yoohoo!” Rose’s voice draws us back to the subject at hand. “Coffee, anyone?”
My hand shoots up.
She carries a fat thermos, and Vernon holds mugs hooked around his index finger. Tom and Marcy appear, offering donuts from a pink box.
“Well, Jack, you were looking for a new project,” Tom says.
He perks up. “I know. I can’t wait to get my insurance guy down here. There’s a new contractor I want to try. I saw on social media how she restored an old farmhouse, turned it into a café, and converted a barn into a home—amazing stuff.” He turns to me with sudden excitement. “Who do you have for insurance?”
I tell him, and he slaps his hands together. “Perfect. Same as mine.”
After sipping my coffee, I look quizzically at him. “Do you always get so excited about insurance?”
Marcy snort-laughs. “Nothing makes Jack happier than dealing with insurance adjustors, contractors, or house projects.”
“Almost nothing.” He grins at me.
Ed’s golf cart skids to a stop at the road. Renita eyes the damage from the passenger seat. “Holy Toledo! I can’t believe no one’s hurt!”
Ed steps out, adjusting his pants by the belt as he takes in the destruction. “It’s the only significant damage in our neck of the woods, but it’s a real doozy. It’ll take months to put it back together again.”
“You’re welcome to our guest room, Jack,” Renita coos.
“Our basement’s free,” Marcy chimes in. “And we’re closer.”
“Nonsense. Jack’ll bunk with us,” Vernon says.
“He’s staying with me.” My overly loud declaration brings all eyes to me. “Moving in. Permanently. Or for as long as it takes. I mean, if that’s okay. If you want to… it’s the least I can do.”
He flashes an amused grin at my sudden discomfort. “You heard it here first, folks. Rowan Mackey just asked me to move in with her. Sounds serious.”
I match his daring smile. “It is serious. And not just because you’re homeless.” I push into his arms and kiss him. A long, sexy kiss that shouldn’t be seen by the neighbors, which makes him laugh and blush at once.
“Damn, Rowan. I can’t say no to that. We’re moving in together.”
“And rebuilding your houses together,” Tom adds as the rest cheer.
“I’ll send a text alert. Does a half-hour work for everyone?” Rose prompts her phone.
I lock eyes with Jack, looking curious. “For what?”
“To start working. Whenever there’s storm damage, the neighborhood comes together to help clear out debris, salvage what we can, and secure the holes and gaps.”
“Took us a week for Hurricane Florence,” Vernon says. “Went house to house like the Amish with barn razing.”
“Ask that everyone brings work gloves. Wheelbarrows and tarps if they’ve got ‘em,” Ed instructs Rose as she types. “I’ll secure trucks and trailers—we’ll have much to tote away.”
Vernon holds up the camera strapped to his neck. “I’ll start documenting.”
The group disbands to complete their assignments. Jack jumps on his phone, pacing our lots as he describes the damage to the insurance adjuster.
Inside, I care for the cats, grateful that Edgar and Harper are getting along. I text Mom, Mira, and Sara to tell them what’s happened. I learn that Mira and Sara are fine—no damage to their places. They promise to help when they’re able. Then, I dress in sensible work clothes and join the crowd assembled outside.
Everyone shows up to help. Neighbors from Daisy Lane and Daffodil Avenue. Mira, Jane, and family. Sara and her father, Eddie, bring his lawn care truck and supplies to help cut the tree into manageable pieces before loading his truck and taking the debris away. He promises to help with my lawn and overrun garden beds when the madness calms down.
The news of our storm damage spreads, and by lunchtime, my students arrive—four or five packed in each car with the music blaring as they come down the road. They park along the street and get out wearing work boots and gloves.
I meet them in the driveway. “You’re here?”
Julio grins. “Heard you could use some help with the little house.”
“Mr. Graham’s house, too,” Mia adds quickly.
“I’m totally getting service hours for this,” Ashley announces, “but I want to help, anyway.”
Eddie shrugs. “You’ve fixed enough of my problems. Remember the pimple from hell? I owe you.”
“Thanks, guys! That’s awesome!”
Jack comes over and says, “Holy shit! The party has arrived! Perfect timing, too. I just ordered a hundred pizzas.”
We FaceTime with Mom and Reggie over our makeshift neighborhood picnic. Tom asks what I plan to do with the little house.
I shrug. “I don’t know. I guess I’ll put it back the way it was.”
Jack shakes his head before I finish the sentence. “No, Rowan. Upgrades are the only upside to storm damage.”
Tom’s arms fold over his bulky frame. “He’s right. If you don’t upgrade, Mother Nature wins.”
“I’m upgrading the hell out of everything,” Jack says.
Tom claps his hands together and hoots like he’s just won tickets to his favorite sporting event. “We’ll use my senior discount at Lowe’s and Ace. A wraparound porch would be nice.”
“That’s already on my shortlist,” Jack says.
“I’d love a gazebo,” Marcy says dreamily. “People don’t have gazebos anymore.”
“Vernon and I will binge-watch HGTV for design trends,” Rose says. “Will you let me help with the paint colors?”
Jack’s eyes narrow with obvious skepticism. “I’ll consider it.”
“I can help with that… and any artistic projects you want,” Sara says. “I’ve always wanted to do a mural.”
Rose questions Sara about murals while Marcy and Tom launch into a gazebo discussion. Mom and Reggie voice their opinions on gazebos—they’re split. Deep in conversation with them, Vernon takes over my phone, moving it across the debris-filled lawn as they discuss the pros and cons of gazebos.
Meanwhile, I lean on my VW, taking in my chaotic yard with warm delight. Who knew that the best feature of owning the little house would be the family that came with it? Hardwood floors, fireplace, family—it should’ve been listed amongst the amenities.
Like he’s reading my mind, Jack slips his arm around me, smiling as he tugs me close as if saying, “This is good, right?”
I grin back to say, “Yes, very good.”
“Since we’re living together now,” Jack says, “how ‘bout you let me handle your renovation?”
“You want to take on my renovation?”
“Absofuckinglutely.” He nods toward my students, currently playing a makeshift football game with a water bottle on the street. “Focus on them. They need you right now. You need them, too, I think. I’m here, and I live for this shit. I’ll even upgrade for you.”
“I don’t want an arcade, Jack.”
“You will once you see it.” I scoff, and he says, “Fine. No arcade. I’ll only do what I know you’ll love. This way, you can worry about whatever you do—inspiring the next generation, shaping young minds, saving the world, whatever—and I’ll take care of the tough stuff like haggling with plumbers and replacing windows. It’ll be fun for me, and it’ll take stress off of you. Win, win.”
I don’t even have to think about it. “Yes.”
He looks surprised at my quick answer. “Yes?”
“Yes. The little house matters to you, too. I trust you to take care of her. You’re all the home I need, anyway.”
He draws me closer. His brown eyes circle me, studying me. I love it when he looks at me like my face is the only one he ever needs to see. “Damn, I couldn’t have written that better. I’m going to make you so fucking happy.”
I don’t doubt it, but laughter is my only response as he attacks my neck with delicate kisses.