Chapter 8 – Storm #3
“Sure. It’s about 5:00 now. So, 6:30/7:00?”
“Sounds good.” He turned off to his cabin and Grace walked to hers, listening to the silence of the Northwoods, except now she could hear the wind in the tops of the trees.
When she walked in the door, she went straight to the shower, shedding her clothes as she went.
After a short one, she put on the plaid nightshirt, pulled out some clean, black jeans, grabbed a dry towel, and headed for the bed, setting her cell phone alarm for 6:00.
These days, that was about all it was good for.
She put her jeans at the foot of the bed and the towel across her pillow.
The woodstove was out, but she didn’t give it a second thought.
**********
Robby intended to do much the same thing. He picked up his guitar first, though, to play something that’d been running through his head on the lake, then there was a knock on his door. He opened it. Billy.
“Sorry to bother you. Jim sent me to warn everybody there’s a storm coming.
Big enough there’s no way it’s gonna miss us.
High wind, rain, probably hail — the whole works.
Could last a while. Tomorrow will clear off and be cooler.
Point is, he wants to be sure you guys have enough dry wood inside for tonight and tomorrow morning, and that Grace is aware of the forecast. She needs to know the power could go out if trees fall across the lines, but the gas’ll work and the woodstoves.
You should put aside some water for drinking and flushing ‘cause the pumps won’t work without electricity.
Do you want me to take care of Grace, or you? ”
“I’ll go there as soon as I get some stuff together and close up this place. I’ll take my truck too — fewer trees there. Thanks.”
“Sure. I came here first, but I gotta get to the other cabins. That’ll save me a trip.” He turned to go, then turned back. “Oh. Here.” He handed Robby Grace’s jacket. “You guys take care.”
Robby was in his truck within ten minutes.
He had his coat, boots, a change of clothes, Grace’s jacket, and his guitar, a cumbersome bundle he somehow balanced through her doorway without waking her up, maybe because she was deeply asleep.
He put it all down, went out the side door, and started carrying in the wood he’d chopped yesterday, some to the side porch, the rest all the way next to the woodstove.
Grace stirred but didn’t wake. Scenes from a derecho that tore through when Robby was a teenager kept flashing across his memory.
Next, he searched for water containers. That was when she woke up.
He couldn’t be quiet with pots and pans.
She sat up. Startled. “It’s just me. And, yes, I let myself in your house.
There’s a storm coming. We have to get prepared.
Jim thinks we’ll lose power. He sent Billy around to all the guests.
” He’d found two pots and a pitcher for drinking water, and the bucket from the side porch to fill and put by the toilet.
“Jim was worried about you. He wants every cabin to have water and dry firewood. I’ve brought enough in.
And he wants someone down here with you.
I told Billy I’d come. It was him or me. ” He knew that wasn’t exactly true.
Grace wasn’t completely awake. “What should I do?”
“Are there any candles here?” He gathered the containers and went to the sink.
“There are two and that lantern.” She pointed to the top of the refrigerator where there was an LED lantern, but Robby had turned his back to her and had the water running.
She flipped the covers back and slipped off the bed.
Only then did she remember her jeans were at the foot of the bed, but Robby was busy at the sink.
She reached over, got the jeans, stood up, and had both legs in by the time he turned around.
She had the oversized shirt bunched up under her chin so she could zip up her jeans.
She noticed it had gotten quiet. She raised her eyes without lifting her chin.
Robby had turned from the sink, had the bucket handle in his hand, and was looking at her . . . not at her face.
He raised his eyes to hers. “You’re killing me, but you know that.
” He took a deep breath, kept his eyes on hers.
“Tell me about candles.” So she told it all again.
He got the lantern down. It was working.
Grace got the candles. There was a box of matches in a metal strike container.
They decided on the unfinished shelves in front of the door as a central location for light-related items. Grace put her cell phone there, because of its flashlight.
Robby forgot to charge his, again, so he plugged it in next to the table.
“This is like a hurricane. I’m awake now, and I know how to do this. We should eat before the power goes out. I’ll get that going. Will you start securing everything outside?”
Robby nodded. “What time is it?”
“About 6:00?”
He went out the side door.
Grace’s cell phone alarm went off. So, 6:00. She was thinking easy — canned chili and Margie’s mac ‘n’ cheese.
By the time Robby came back in the side door, the chili was on the stove, the mac ‘n’ cheese was ready to be nuked, and there was enough room on the table to eat.
He brought the bag of charcoal inside. “The grill’s on the side porch.
I brought up the Adirondacks, but it’d be easier to get them on the porch if you held the door open.
I can hear the wind picking up in the trees, coming at the lodge side of this cabin —right at my truck, come to think of it.
I’ll move it . . . after we finish on the porch.
Let’s go.” Together they stacked the Adirondacks against the porch wall, did the same with the birch rockers and the little table, and turned the picnic table on its side and shoved it against the wall.
Then, Robby moved his truck to the opposite side of the cabin, the point side, and came in.
“I can smell the rain coming. I need a quick shower before there’s no water.”
“Yes, it’s a small cabin — your shower’s a priority. I’ll get the woodstove going while you do that. We’ve been so busy, I hadn’t noticed it’s chilly in here.”
When she heard the shower turn off, she put the mac ‘n’ cheese in the microwave and ladled chili into the bowls. Robby appeared with wet hair in a clean pair of black jeans and a heavy tan and black plaid shirt. “Feel better?”
“That’s a relative question. I thought I’d been in every kind of shower, but I’ve never been in one that small.
It’s even smaller than the ones on our first tour buses.
Thank God it has a handheld shower head.
To answer your question, I feel marginally better, but I feel every year of my age.
” He opened the refrigerator and pulled out a beer.
“Wow. You must feel really bad, then.”
“Set myself up for that one,” he said, taking his plate.
They sat down at the table. Robby took a deep breath and looked across at Grace.
“Long day. Second one in a row. Not at all what I had in mind driving up here yesterday, which now seems like a week ago and more surreal than ever. Definitely no longer easing into a new reality.”
“We’ve done all we can, but I hate it too, when storms come at night. It’s nerve-wracking when you can’t see. Maybe it won’t last long.”
“That’s not what I meant. It’s surreal being in the Northwoods with a possible derecho coming .
. . with you. A few weeks ago, I was onstage in Montreal.
I didn’t even know you existed. Now we’re standing together at the kitchen sink and moving furniture.
” Grace laughed. Every once in a while, they could hear the wind gusting around the northwest corner of the cabin where Robby’s truck had been parked. “What time is it now?
“Not 7:30 yet, but after 7:00.”
“Close enough for me. You’re handy. I never liked wearing a watch either. Your dad and I might’ve gotten along . . . I’m going to play a little, after this, then sleep. I needed a nap hours ago. But first I need to get my head in a better place.” They finished eating in silence.
Robby played. Grace was restless. She went out on the porch so she could see.
It wasn’t raining yet. The lake was slate gray like the sky and frothy with whitecaps, all racing past pushed by the wind.
Back here, protected for now by the trees, it was quieter, the forest holding its breath, as if it were gathering its strength, sensing a looming threat.
The wind was still up high, whooshing steadily through the treetops, except every now and then, a strong gust dove down, buffeting the porch screens.
The light had the same sick yellow tinge it did before a hurricane.
This waiting period was familiar to Grace.
She had grown up with hurricanes. There was the flurry of activity to batten down.
The nerve-wracking wait. The fury of the storm.
Then the cleanup. She heard distant thunder rolling forward and felt sorry for the trees.
She couldn’t bear looking at them anymore.
She turned and went back into the cabin.