Chapter Eight Rosalynn
Chapter Eight
Rosalynn
Starting a road trip on limited sleep really stunk, but after packing through most of the night, they couldn’t afford to waste time. Beyond the need to stay safe, the sooner she got this journey underway, the sooner she would have her daughter trapped with nowhere to hide.
Uh, rather, she would have her daughter and mother on a lovely “bonding” experience.
Waiting in the van, Rosalynn stared at her home, willing her mom and Elsie to hurry up.
Headlights streamed into the garage. Otherwise, the dark hung thickly in the last gasps of night, all the murkier for the lack of stars in the cloudy sky.
Even the streetlamps struggled to push through the haze.
The tropical storm had shifted to a Category Two hurricane overnight, which meant winds of around ninety-six to one hundred and ten miles per hour.
The weather app predicted another thirty-six to forty-eight hours before the hurricane made landfall, with a direct hit to her beach community.
Sure, she needed an open and honest conversation with her daughter, but she would have preferred one without the added layer of stress.
The thought of Elsie wanting to leave early, even plotting behind her back, was devastating.
A seismic shift in Rosalynn’s world. And she couldn’t help but feel she’d failed as a mother at a time when she was still reeling from a failed marriage.
She’d assumed Elsie was okay with the divorce—well, as okay as any kid could be.
She’d assumed wrongly, and that stung. Her clenched fists went white-knuckled around the steering wheel as she thought of additional fallout when Elsie learned her college fund had evaporated at a blackjack table.
Rosalynn shook the blood back into her hands and adjusted the van’s vents, set on low, just enough to circulate the air as the vehicle idled in the driveway.
Rain pattered on the roof, heavier by the hour.
The drumming crescendoed, drawing her already freaked-out nerves even tighter while her mother and daughter made one final sweep inside the house.
“Come on, come on, come on,” she whispered, drawing a whimper from Dusty tethered behind her. The poor pup was curled up on his bed, tucked between a suitcase and the bench seat in the far back. “It’s okay, boy. We’ll be outta here soon.”
Lightning crackled through the sky. Goose bumps lifted along her arms. A local police car drove slowly along the street, the PA system broadcasting a repeated warning to leave . . .
“. . . for your own personal safety. If you choose not to evacuate, you do so at your own risk. Once weather conditions deteriorate and flooding conditions begin, officers may not be able to help you leave your home . . .”
The warning raised the hairs along her arms. Was this just an abundance of caution after the last scare, which brought unexpected flooding?
Or— Her phone blared an alert as well that the storm was now strengthening to a Category Three.
She struggled to breathe, while reminding herself of her grandmother’s mantra.
Hope for the best. Prepare for the worst.
All her windows were covered, even the front door.
A few other houses along the road carried the same unwelcoming air, all boarded up.
A memory floated to mind from the aftermath of another hurricane a few years ago, when the police spray-painted each boarded home after they’d cleared the house. How many alive. How many . . . not.
Many on her street had peeled out one after another during the night.
Even her neighbors who usually rode out any storm were now hauling butt down the road in their Suburban, towing their sailboat.
Elsie used to love afternoons out on the water with them, but lately, Rosalynn couldn’t remember her daughter showing excitement over anything.
Their SUV’s headlights swept around the corner and away, dark swallowing her again other than the glow of the van’s dashboard throwing a green haze onto the ballerina charm on her rearview mirror.
“Elsie,” Rosalynn called out the window to her daughter, who looked like a pack mule carrying two overstuffed canvas bags. “We’re running low on space. Everything’s wedged in mighty tight and we need to go.”
Her mother had insisted on packing Rosalynn’s leg braces and walker, even though she could only use them for short distances, at times when she wasn’t already completely exhausted.
“Uh, I’m just loading a few keepsakes in case our place gets whacked.” Elsie slid the van’s side door open and hefted the sacks in, both thudding beside Dusty, who was tethered in place. “I can stuff them under the back seat. I think I see a little room.”
Her daughter sat on the floorboards before swinging her legs inside to push her feet against the sacks.
Rosalynn stifled a wince at the crunching sound. “It’s a shame neither of us inherited my dad’s talent for loading. Mom used to say it was like watching him play Tetris.”
“Tetris?” Elsie pivoted back around, gathering her damp hair up into a messy bun and securing it with a scrunchie from her wrist. “It’s that old video game, right?”
Nothing like a teenager to make a parent feel ancient. “Yes, where you stack blocks in a way that creates a full line without leaving empty spots—”
The drone of the police announcement wafted ominously in the distance, urgent even in its monotone repetition.
Lillian ducked through the rain wearing one of Rosalynn’s floppy beach hats to protect her head as she carried a tote bag with two hands. “Great gravy, Elsie, what’s in here? Bricks?”
“Grammie, that’s just some stuff from my bathroom closet.” She sprinted to take the sack from her grandmother. Elsie stacked the bags on the bench seat. “I mean it when I say that I’m not coming back. This will save you on shipping when I emancipate.”
Rosalynn clenched her teeth to keep from speaking. They had the entire road trip to talk, discuss, negotiate. Easier said than done when she really just wanted to wring Elsie’s neck.
Lillian clapped a hand on the borrowed beach hat. “I’ll be finished in just a jiff. I’m going to fill a thermos with coffee.”
“We’ll be here where you left us. No hurry, though, because natural disasters are known for their predictability,” Rosalynn said tightly.
Her mother had never been known for moving fast in the morning, but come on, these were special circumstances.
Opening the maps app on her cell, she checked the route and winced at the multiple alerts for stretches with slow moving traffic. Time for a backup plan.
As a crow flew, it wasn’t that far. Normally, they could push through the drive in a day, but she was booking a hotel, just in case.
She suspected the more direct path up through Florence and Fayetteville would have higher traffic and worse weather.
Fayetteville could also prove problematic if the Cape Fear River overflowed.
Swooping over, driving through Columbia and Charlotte instead, would add miles but hopefully prove to be an easier trip.
Provided nothing went wrong.
Elsie reached to stroke Dusty’s ear. “I’ll miss you most of all, Cowardly Lion.”
“I can hear you.” Rosalynn didn’t bother looking up from her phone, sighing at all the stalled-traffic alerts on the map. “Could you run back in and tell Grammie to hurry up?”
“Fine,” Elsie said with a huff and slouch. “I need to get my pillow anyway. So I can sleep rather than listen to you try and talk me out of leaving. Unless you want me to drive? I’ll stay awake for that.”
“I’ll take it under consideration.” Unlikely. An evacuation route didn’t offer the best driving conditions for a teen. Especially a moody one intent on rebellion.
As Elsie jumped out of the van, Lillian emerged from the garage, a thermos in one hand, her cell phone in the other on speaker. “Thank you for returning my call so early, Mr. Nguyen.”
Ah, Benjamin Nguyen. The facility manager at the hospice center. Rosalynn tipped her head to listen, her heart squeezing with worry.
“No problem,” the deep voice rumbled. “You said I could return your message early. I saw on the news it’s looking rather rough down there. I hope you’re somewhere safe.”
“We’re evacuating now, but I was worried about cell connections and want to get an update before we hit the road.
What’s his blood pressure? And his O2 stats?
Has there been any improvement since last night?
” She passed the thermos to Rosalynn, seemingly oblivious to the wind tugging off her hat or the rain dotting her blouse.
Shoulders hunched as she ducked back into the garage, Lillian looked .
. . vulnerable. Which kept Rosalynn from shouting at her mom to quit dawdling and get in the car.
She couldn’t think of a time she’d ever seen her mother that way.
Not even in those early days after the accident.
She always had a metaphorical sword on her back, within reach and ready for battle.
She’d navigated the labyrinth of a whole new medical world with dogged determination.
Lillian had kept a smile on her face, the steel magnolia kind that reminded everyone she had a notepad within reach at all times.
She kept track of everything. Including where to lodge complaints if something went awry.
Rosalynn’s father, though?
Grady had been a basket case from the moment she’d regained consciousness in the hospital.
He’d tried to hide it, but she’d seen otherwise, and truth be told, it had freaked her out a little.
Like a week after her first surgery, when she’d woken in the middle of the night when her pain medication wore off.
She’d caught her father crying on her mother’s shoulder.