Chapter Thirty-One
Nicki hated to be left behind. She might have pretended Harold needed babysitting, but Nicki knew the truth. Aunt Liv didn’t want to be responsible for putting her in danger.
She understood, but that didn’t mean she had to like it.
“Rummy!” Harold fanned his cards on the kitchen table with a delighted flourish. At his elbow, a small glass of whiskey sat on ice.
“You shouldn’t be drinking. What if you have a concussion?”
Harold wagged a finger at her. “I’m old enough to do exactly as I please. You’re welcome to a glass if you like, if you’re old enough, that is.”
“I am, but no thanks. One of us has to keep a clear head.” She checked her phone again. Nothing from Aunt Liv or Sharp. Worry knotted her gut. They’re smart. They’ll be OK.
Harold got up to splash another finger of the Macallan into his glass. “You’re sure?” He lifted the bottle and gave it a little wiggle.
“Positive.” Nicki swept the cards into a pile and began shuffling them. “If you get drunk enough, maybe I’ll beat you.”
“There isn’t enough whiskey.”
“Aren’t you cocky?” she quipped.
“I am.” Swelling made his grin lopsided, but she was happy to see him smile.
“How about food? I have a dozen casseroles in the freezer. Women usually outlive men, so the ratio of widows to widowers is approximately fifty to one. Someone has brought me dinner every week since Clarice died.” He sat back down gingerly, as if his bones hurt.
“Any of them datable?” Nicki asked.
“I’ve already had the love of my life.” He sipped. “Can’t compete with that.” He said it in a matter-of-fact tone.
“Do they have to compete?”
He looked up but said nothing.
Nicki continued. “I mean, I get that you loved your wife with your whole heart.”
“That I did.”
“But does that mean you have to be alone forever? What about companionship? Maybe there’s a widow out there who loved her husband but also doesn’t want to be alone forever.”
He shrugged. “Not interested.”
“Do you think Clarice would be fine with you just giving up on life?”
“She’d understand.” Harold snorted. “If I were twenty years younger, I’d probably think differently, but that just isn’t where I am in my life anymore.”
Nicki’s phone vibrated. She snatched it up, hoping for a text from Aunt Liv.
Instead, a weather alert banner popped up.
Another flash flood warning. They’d been coming in all day.
Her phone began alarming, a loud, pulsing emergency alert.
Nicki read the text. “Oh, shit. The bridge washed out. The town is being evacuated.” How would they get out of town? “Do you have a vehicle?”
“This house will be fine. We’re not in a flood zone,” Harold said.
“The bridge washed out,” Nicki repeated, in case he hadn’t understood.
“It’s happened before.” Harold stood, his face transformed by purpose. “We will be fine. In fact, this is one of the only safe spots in town. Anyone who can’t make it out will need somewhere to go. We’d better get ready.”
“Ready for what?”
“Company.” He walked to a door and opened it to reveal a walk-in pantry the size of Nicki’s living room.
He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Would you go down to the basement and grab the crate of emergency supplies? It’s on the shelves under the stairs.
” He pulled candles and matches off a shelf.
“There’s a crank radio, flashlights, and batteries.
After that, we’ll start moving the water and food upstairs.
The basement might take on water. Thanks to Clarice’s emergency planning, we have plenty of food on hand. ”
Nicki spent the next twenty minutes moving gallons of water and crates of canned goods.
“I’m putting out the word that we’re here.” He bent over a laptop. “We need to fill all the bathtubs with water so toilets can be manually flushed if necessary. I have a generator, but if the pump should be struck by lightning, we could lose water.”
Nicki followed orders, filling tubs and sinks and putting clean linens on beds.
Bedding was stored in every closet in zippered bags labeled in a woman’s handwriting.
Clarice had been super organized. By the time Nicki finished and jogged down the stairs, Harold was opening the door to a cold and wet family with an equally cold and wet border collie that smelled like sheep.
She went out onto the porch. The rain was still coming down in sheets.
The solid gray sky indicated the storm was not letting up anytime soon.
A minivan was driving up the hill toward the house.
On the other side of the hill, the river had overflowed onto the street.
A couple paddled toward them in a kayak.
Nicki turned to scan the town. “The whole valley is flooded. I hope everyone got out in time.”
But Nicki knew many hadn’t had time. Much of the town—including the main roads—was underwater.
She scanned the closest blocks and saw people waiting for rescue on the roofs of houses mostly underwater.
Her chest tightened, and she placed a hand over her aching heart.
She couldn’t imagine driving in these conditions.
Where were Aunt Liv and Sharp?