Chapter 58
The storm arrives fast and furious around six that morning, with barely enough warning to get the necessary measures in place, even with our sophisticated weather-warning systems.
Wyatt and I latch the storm shutters, closing us in from the outside.
We switch our indoor lights to a warmer ambient color, to better represent sunlight.
Obviously with the rainstorm there is no natural light, and our circadian rhythms rely on it for optimal functioning.
The rain teems furiously, but it’s the wind that cranks up my unease.
I watch the oak outside our town house on the front-door camera, swaying with the wind, the Spanish moss being tossed about. Tornados and tropical storms have become increasingly common, and the current warnings chirping on our tablets and watches suggest we’re in for a doozy.
School is canceled, as is Shelby’s cognitive therapy session due to internet instability.
My MotherHelper meetup cancellation comes moments later.
Stay safe, Mommas! We’ll make up the session once the storm passes is the message that comes across my tablet at six thirty in the morning.
GIA also sends out a notification that we’re on a work-from-home mandate for at least the next twenty-four hours.
I sent a note to Raoul during last night’s insomnia, after the nightmare, asking him to receive the Leclerc today and move it into Room D. I provided the excuse that I needed the facility’s resources to finish the conservation properly. But I have no intention of ever touching the painting again.
However, Raoul has been dispatched to one of GIA’s storage vaults, where original works are housed underground in climate-controlled pods.
The facility southwest of Atlanta was originally built in 1969 by the Army Corps of Engineers and has since been repurposed as a safe haven for government initiatives.
Dispatching a conservator to the bunkers is standard GIA protocol during storms, which I would have remembered if I was thinking clearly.
Raoul replies that the lab is closed but he’ll accept the delivery when he returns in a couple of days.
I don’t have a couple of days, I think. But all I write back is Thank you—stay safe!
While I’m worried about our community facing a direct storm hit, the painting—which I can’t get out of the house now—occupies much of my focus. The heartbeat won’t relent, as though calling me back upstairs. It’s almost a compulsion, to obey. I fight it with all I have.
I consider telling Wyatt everything, but before I can sort out where to start, his foreman calls.
One of the developments is at risk of collapse.
It’s at a critical stage in the construction cycle, and they’re concerned about structural integrity if the winds pick up more than they already have.
Wyatt needs to provide his expertise, and time is of the essence.
“Can’t you do that from here?” I’m panicked at the idea of him going out into the storm. Panicked at the thought of being alone with only Clementine, Shelby, and the painting. I don’t trust myself, as I’m barely holding things together.
Lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub…
“If I could, I would,” he says, with a smile meant to relax me.
“I’ll be careful,” he adds. “And quick—back before you know it, darlin’.
” I burst into tears, blaming my hormones, the stress of the storm.
He wipes my tears, kisses each cheek, then quietly tells me everything is going to be fine.
“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t know it for sure. You take good care of our girls, okay?”
I nod, trying to stem a fresh wave of tears.
Lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub…
Another kiss for me, and one for my belly, then he rustles Clementine’s hair lovingly while she is preoccupied with the latest Clara the Cloud episode on her tablet and hugs Shelby. “Okay, family, stay warm and dry,” he says. “Hot cocoa when I get home, Clem.”
Don’t go…I long to plead, as he presses the button to roll up the front door’s storm shield.
Please stay! I wish I could cry out, when his hand reaches for the door’s handle.
But I say nothing, do nothing, and a moment later he’s out the door, with a final “Don’t forget to reengage the storm shield once I’m gone” over his shoulder to me as he leaves.