Chapter 36
“It can’t be that bad,” Jackée commented nonchalantly.
“How do you know?” Pearl asked. Her purple glasses were barely hanging on to the tip of her tiny nose. How could she even breathe? I wanted to reach over and push them up.
“If it was real bad, the Waffle House would close down. They’re better at forecasting the weather than those weathermen.” Jackée pointed to the TV where a red banner rolled along the bottom of the screen while a woman in ridiculously tall heels motioned toward the circular nuisance on the radar.
“They like to be called meteorologists,” Bruno piped in.
Jackée clucked her tongue. “Them fools don’t know nothin’ about meteors either! But Waffle House does. They still open, so we’re good.”
All that Waffle House talk had me hankering for an order of hash browns smothered in sautéed onions and covered in American cheese.
“What do you think, Junie?” Pearl asked.
I snapped to and wiped the drool from the corner of my mouth. “I think we need to go to Waffle House.”
The group chuckled.
“I know y’all need to get home soon, but I’m glad everyone was able to make it. I’ll keep our meeting brief.” Patsy gave us a kind smile. “Storms can leave us isolated and that can be difficult. Please reach out if you find yourself struggling.”
I’d flipped my calendar to August earlier this week, making me aware of another looming storm—my brother leaving town with my child.
“Patsy’s right,” Gilbert said. “You can call me too if you need to. I’ve got a canoe. I’ll come to you if need be.” You’d think he was joking but the man said it in all seriousness. “Just because this storm might cause a calamity, doesn’t give you a pass to cause one too.”
“I have bread, Danishes, and croissants for everyone, so at least we won’t starve.” Chris Evans placed a large box on the table and started passing around steaming bags filled with freshly baked goods. “I’ve been nervous-baking all day.”
“Well good, because I’ve been nervous-munching all day and already polished off most of our storm snacks.
” Jackée lifted the loaf of sourdough and inhaled the aroma with great appreciation.
Chris Evans slid her two extra loaves and she gave him a giant smile.
“My boys are gonna be fightin’ over this. Thank you.”
It was almost undetectable with his dark skin, but I caught a hint of Chris Evans blushing. I met Patsy’s eyes and we shared a knowing smile.
Patsy went over a few pointers to help us stay distracted during the storm. “Play card games. Read a book. Or just take naps. It’s the perfect time to catch up on your rest. Self-care and all that, ya know.”
We said our goodbyes but Gilbert stopped me at the door. “Will Henry be around just in case the storm gets rough?”
I held back the retort that a man could protect me from a hurricane no better than anyone else.
“No. He’s out of town, but I’ll be fine.
” I’d received my daily prayer text three days ago with the addition of him letting me know he was visiting family for the next week.
Still not quite over him lying to me, I simply sent a thumbs-up emoji.
“Well, you know I’m just up the road if you need me.” Gilbert gave me a sturdy side hug and it was all I could do not to lean in. I hoped Gilbert’s son knew how lucky he was to call this man Dad.
“Yes, sir. And if you need me, I’m just down the road.” I gave him one last squeeze and let go. I flipped the hood of my raincoat up and did a mad dash to the Caddy.
A thick sheet of rain made the task of getting home safely a little more tricky, but I made it in one piece.
I parked as close to the house as possible, did my best at tucking the food underneath the raincoat, and darted up the porch steps.
Placing the bread and pastries onto the chair by the door, I shucked the coat and draped it over the back of the chair.
As I kicked off the rainboots, a shiver raced up my neck.
I turned and peered out at the dark front yard, only finding the palmetto trees swaying in the brisk wind.
Shaking my head, I keyed in the code for the door and eased it open, silently reprimanding myself for forgetting to turn some lights on before I left.
The clouds had shown up and ran off the sun early, leaving me with a dark house full of thick shadows.
Gathering my belongings from the chair, I walked inside and stood there for a moment, listening to the house groan its grievances with the weather.
I think it’s gonna be a long, long time . . .
The line from “Rocket Man” popped in my head and started on repeat.
I think it’s gonna be a long, long time . . .
I wondered if it was too late to beg Cy to let me go stay with them during the storm. I’d had my opportunity this morning when he called to check on me but I’d chickened out. Heaving an antsy sigh, I moved away from the door and headed for the kitchen.
A shadow shifted just as I turned into the kitchen. Blinking to refocus my eyes, I peered at it again, only to find it charging my way. I choked on a scream as arms wrapped around me, knocking the bread and pastries to the floor.
“Boo!” Deaton’s mocking voice struck me like a hot iron. He laughed.
Furious, I shoved him off and flipped on the light switch. “What are you doing in my house?”
“To surprise you!” He laughed. “We need a hurricane party.”
“Are you high?” I asked, knowing the answer. His twitching and blown pupils gave it away. I reversed a step. “You’re trespassing. Either get out or I’m calling the police.”
“But I’m bored. I wanna play a game.” The crooked smirk disappeared and a dark expression came over him. I turned to run as he lunged for me, knocking into my back and nearly sending us both to the floor.
“Let go!” I wrestled with him, trying to wiggle free. The treats ended up mushed in the tussle and that made me even madder. I shoved my hand into my bag to search for my phone, but Deaton snatched it and threw it across the room.
“Let’s have some fun, Sassy.” Using his entire body, Deaton propelled me forward. His arm wrapped around me until his hand rested on my shoulder and then I felt the cold press of metal to the side of my neck.
I began to tremble. “Is that a g-gun? Are you crazy?”
“Just a little.” He chuckled, raspy like brittle fall leaves. His hold on my shoulder became more of a pinch.
“You’re hurting me.”
Deaton leaned closer, filling the space with the sharp scent of sweat and something else that reminded me of rehab. A sourness that didn’t wash off so easily. “You brought this on yourself.”
“How?” I blinked rapidly but my eyes refused to focus.
“I only wanted you to give me a freaking chance.” He skimmed his nose along my hair, the action too intimate. “I’ve tried all summer to get you to just talk to me. We could be fun together if you’d just loosen up.”
I highly doubted talking was the only thing he wanted but went along with it. “Fine. We can talk. J-just put the gun away and . . .”
“Be a good girl and go sit on the couch.” He shoved me in that direction and I shuffled to the couch on weak legs. With the gun still aimed at my head, he pulled out a pair of handcuffs.
I choked on air. “You don’t need to cuff me.”
He laughed, cackling. “Yeah, right. You’re too sassy for submission.” Licking his lips, his eyes skimmed my body. “That’s too bad . . . Now hold out your hands.”
With no other choice, I did as Deaton said and he secured the handcuffs around my wrists.
At least he placed them in front of me and not behind my back.
I regarded him as he sat on the coffee table in front of me.
Wild red eyes, bottom lip chewed raw, a sore beneath his right nostril, dark circles under his eyes. He’d lost weight since I saw him last.
“Deaton . . . are you okay?”
He sniffed and hitched a shoulder, not quite a shrug, more like a twitch. “Yeah, babe. I thought we could have us a hurricane party.” Gun in one hand, he fiddled with his phone until music started playing ridiculously loud.
“When’s the last time you’ve slept?” I asked, raising my voice over the song.
Tilting his head, Deaton stared at the ceiling and chewed on his bottom lip. “Not sure.”
“Why don’t we have some hurricane snacks, then rest a while before the storm arrives.”
“Nah . . . I’m not hungry.” He jumped to his feet and began an anxious pace around the room.
“These cuffs . . .” I wiggled my wrists, the metal clanking together, biting into my skin. “They’re too tight. Can you loosen them some?”
Deaton shook his head in an exaggerated motion. “It’s the only way I can make you get still. You’ve been like a scared little mouse, sneaking around and scurrying away every time you’ve seen me lately.” Squinting his glassy eyes, he chuckled. “Gotta keep you still somehow.”
Anger scorched through me, but I forced a wobbly smile, figuring my best bet was to play along. “You could’ve sprung for the fur-lined cuffs at least.”
“I thought about it.” He chuckled again, nearly tipping sideways, and went back to pacing.
“Come on, Deaton. Take these off, please.”
“You’ve ignored me all summer. I don’t like to be ignored.” Mouth twisted, he waved the gun toward me from across the room. “Do you think you’re too good for me?”
Was this really about a case of a bruised ego more than anything else?
“No! I’m the one not good enough for you. Seriously, we’ve talked about this. You need someone who doesn’t have the baggage like—”
“That’s enough!” Deaton stormed over and glared down at me, the gun pointing to my chest. A reminder for me to tread carefully. “I’m so sick of your brush-offs.”
I buttoned my lips and nodded.
“Good. Just shut up. Shut up, shut up, shut up.”
With the music still blaring, he returned to circling around the living room. Like a caged animal, agitated and unable to get still. The sensation of things moving too fleetingly to process had me off-kilter. At some point, I lost the feeling in my hands.
“Deaton, I can’t feel my hands. Please loosen them a little.”