Chapter 3
Three
Blair
“Shit.” I stand on the porch of my dilapidated home and cuss up a storm. Literally. Because this storm is making the mountain look like I’m going to need an ark to stay alive. “Fuck. Damn. Son of a bitch.”
I’m not opposed to a few colorful words when it’s appropriate. And I’ve never been in a more appropriate situation than this one.
Why didn’t I listen to Mr. Fancy Jeans? Because I’m stubborn. If I weren’t so stubborn, I wouldn’t be fleeing my stupid life in search of something new. Something deeper. Something that will fill my soul. Something that will derail me from the disastrous train wreck I’ve been living in.
Move to the mountains, I said. It’ll be fun, I said. No one will bother you here, I said. Go for it!
I’m resourceful. At least I thought I was.
Until today. My plan was to move into this piece-of-shit house while I built a new one.
The realtor didn’t tell me this building wasn’t habitable.
I’m starting to think that’s because she assumed I would have known that.
Plus, I told her I intended to build on the property.
I just didn’t mention that I meant to live here in the meantime.
I was desperate to escape the rat race. I basically sold most of my worldly possessions and moved to this quaint mountain town in order to escape my family and friends. I assume they won’t follow me.
My prayer is that when my parents realize I’m not on a short vacation, they will indulge me in the hope I will eventually change my mind. Over time, they’ll learn otherwise. I’m not going back.
I’m being a bit of a coward. I didn’t speak a word about my plans to anyone. I simply left because I knew they would try to talk me out of it, and I wasn’t in the mood to spar with them.
It’s done. Even though I’m now questioning my sanity, given the furious nature of this storm. I will make this work. I’ll take Adrian’s advice and buy an RV or something so I can live here while I build.
No way would my parents come here. Right? They could send someone in their stead. That’s more their style. But I can be firm about my decision with their hired help. I’m not going back.
Hell, I don’t know anyone who would so much as drive their car through this town, let alone attempt a trek up the mountain. They’d be too scared their fancy vehicles might get dinged or scratched. This is the most backward place I’ve ever been to. It’s perfect.
Except perhaps for this storm.
I’m freezing cold. It wasn’t supposed to be this chilly this early in the season. It was warm earlier. Now, not so much. I didn’t even grab the raincoat from my SUV, and now I would get soaked if I ran toward the vehicle to rummage around for it.
I wasn’t lying when I told Adrian I would head to the city tonight.
He did manage to convince me the house wasn’t livable in its current state.
But I took too long investigating the property, trying to figure out where I want to build.
The rain started earlier than he insinuated.
He’d said tonight. I don’t think I would call this hour night.
It’s five o’clock. It’s also getting dark, partly from the clouds, partly from the time of year.
The creak of wood behind me makes me squeal as I spin around. Adrian said this house would collapse in a stiff breeze. What’s happening is far more than a stiff breeze, and I think he was right. It sounds like it’s going to cave in any second.
I’m standing on the porch because at least there’s a rickety roof over me, but the rain is picking up. It’s coming down sideways and in droves now. I can’t escape it. I’m soaked clear through my clothes. So much for the expensive blouse and boots. Everything I’m wearing is drenched.
My hair is plastered to my head. The only wise decision I made before leaving New York was having my hairdresser dye my hair back to its natural color, because I figured that was my last cut and style for a long while, and I didn’t want the blond highlights making me look ridiculous as they grew out.
This morning, when I arrived, my hair was hanging in perfectly curled layers down my back. I had makeup on. I was even wearing stylish jewelry. All of that seems dumb now. I’d applied the makeup and jewelry by habit. My hair, too. Why did I stand in the hotel bathroom and arrange it so perfectly?
I’m sure my mascara is running down my cheeks. The only part of me that hasn’t been ruined is the jewelry. Rain can’t destroy gold and diamonds.
And why am I so fixated on such material matters? I’m so screwed right now it’s not even funny. And that’s good because I’m not laughing.
My SUV is about ten yards away, but I fear I would slip and fall in the mud between here and there if I attempted to get to it. I consider trying so I can at least turn on the engine and sit in the warmth.
My belongings are still inside. I didn’t unload a thing. I contemplate rummaging around to find dry clothes and some towels, changing in the driver’s seat, and then sleeping in the SUV while this storm rages.
The idea seems plausible and even inviting until my SUV slides away from me. My eyes bug out as it moves about five yards farther away and then lodges against a tree.
No way in hell do I want to be sitting in that and risk getting swept away so I possibly drown.
As the next lightning bolt flashes, so does the accompanying crack of thunder. That’s how close the storm is. It’s on top of me. And in the light, I watch a large branch fall on top of my SUV.
What did I ever do to the universe to deserve this madness? I bet this kind of storm only happens once every decade. Why today?
I tip my head back and scream. The storm is so loud that not even small animals can hear me over the rumbling thunder and pounding rain.
Speaking of animals, I wonder what sorts of creatures inhabit this area.
I should have researched that. I’m a total fool.
I might actually die tonight from stupidity.
I’m sure Mr. Fancy Jeans thought as much while he was here.
He smirked enough to indicate he assumed I wasn’t playing with a full deck. I’m loath to admit he was right.
I had an idyllic view of mountain life that included cute little bunnies, skittish deer, beautiful sunsets, a garden full of all the produce I could possibly need, long, lazy days spent sitting on a porch swing, reading the latest novel.
I pictured sleeping late, singing as loud as I wanted because no one would be around to hear how bad and off-key I am. Talking to myself. Laughing at myself. I never imagined killing any animals because I would just become a vegetarian.
At no point in my glamorized visions of mountain life did I picture getting washed away in a storm and drowning. What the absolute fuck is this madness?
Another loud creak behind me causes me to step closer to the edge of the porch. If the awning collapses, I’m going to get buried under the debris. I don’t dare go inside. For one thing, it really does seem like it will cave in. For another thing, I’m not sure it’s any dryer or warmer in there.
I’m gripping this support beam on the porch with both hands as though I might get sucked up in a tornado and swept away. It’s just rain. A lot of fucking rain, but still, just rain. It’s not going to suck me into some sort of vortex and transport me into the next county.
How far is the next county, though? Six thousand miles?
Seems like it about now. When a crash fills my ears, I scream so loud my head rings.
Still holding on to the very post that Adrian proved wasn’t well anchored, I spin around in time to watch the entire house collapse, just as he predicted.
It happens so fast that when it’s over, the only thing standing is the post I’m gripping.
I assume it, too, would have fallen, except for the fact that I’m supporting it.
There’s nothing left. Just a pile of rubble. A lot of it has caved in underground, which doesn’t shock me since Mr. Fancy Jeans informed me there was a cellar. That’s where all the walls and two-by-fours have collapsed into.
This cannot be happening.
For long seconds, I continue to hold up the beam. It’s heavy. I’m behaving like a lunatic. All I can do is cry and pray to any deity who might be listening to help me live through the night.
Silently, I start promising to be a better person. To be kind and helpful. To make wiser choices. To do a lot more research before taking on irrational projects that are completely outside of my scope.
I’m not normally this foolish. I’m educated. I have a fucking master’s degree for fuck’s sake. I can do anything I set my mind to. I refuse to be held back by my gender.
Desperation caused me to make this life change, and I’ll be damned if it’s going to get the better of me. I’m going to win. I will live through the night. I will rebuild on my land. I will make sure the home I erect is deeply anchored to withstand a hurricane.
I don’t care that a hurricane would never happen this far inland or at this altitude. But that’s not the point. The point is that my new house will be able to weather any storm. It will have its own advanced electrical grid. Is that a thing? It will have a cell tower, too.
At that thought, I turn in time to see the Gallant Mountain cell tower just as the next lightning strike lights up the sky.
Fuck, it looks far away. Adrian didn’t tell me how far the hike would be down the path he pointed out.
He just said I could keep my eye on the giant pole with an antenna on the top as a guide, or something to that effect.
I’m all out of options. I might die trying to get to the adjacent property. But if I don’t try, I’ll surely die out in the elements, especially if this storm keeps up all night or gets even worse. Eventually, I will wash away and drown.
I glance down at my ridiculous outfit. My blouse is pale blue and plastered to my expensive lace bra.
I look like a wet-T-shirt contest gone wrong.
My boots are not meant for walking. They’re meant for pretty.
They certainly don’t resemble anything close to fashionable now, but they’re not going to be comfortable hiking in a storm.
I don’t even have a jacket, because I’m a stupid idiot.
And yet, I must hike to the neighbors’ homestead with my tail between my legs and beg for a warm place to stay the night. I’m embarrassed and feel like a moron, but at least I’ll be alive.
The worst part is that I’ll have to live next door to these people for perhaps the rest of my life.
The only person I’ve met so far is Adrian.
He said there are six brothers. Five of them are married.
That’s eleven people who will forever remember me as the foolish new neighbor who hiked in the biggest storm of the century to arrive soaking wet and broken on their doorstep.
At least I hope this is considered a giant storm. If not, I give up. I can’t “weather” this sort of thing on the regular. Not alone in the woods. Even if I were sitting in a perfectly sound structure with a raging fire and a glass of wine, I’d still be freaking out from the size of this storm.
I’m determined, though. I will survive this. I don’t care about material things. If my SUV gets swept farther away and I never see it or any of the contents again, I’ll live.
The truth is, even though I might not have fully functioning brain cells right now, I do have money. And money buys new stuff.
It doesn’t buy happiness. That’s for sure. But it does buy shit. And it keeps me from caring about my SUV or the contents.
When I finally release the post, it teeters for a moment before falling in slow motion to join the rest of the pile of rubble. Good riddance.
Time to hike.