Chapter Eight Rosalynn #2
As an adult, Rosalynn could better understand her parents’ reactions and feelings of helplessness.
But as a teen? She’d struggled with how to tell them when she hurt or when she wanted to scream at the universe because of the hardware in her spine that would never give her back the ability to dance.
However the last thing she wanted was to make her father cry again. And the thought of her mom chewing out another staff member was scary and embarrassing.
Did Elsie feel the same about her parents? Embarrassed? Could that be why she wanted to leave?
Her daughter came back into view as she trotted through the garage again, carrying a guitar case, the edge of her pillow in her teeth. She swooped the case over her head as she sprinted through the rain to the van. Elsie leaned in and opened her mouth, dropping the pillow.
Frowning, Rosalynn asked, “Where did you find the guitar? I thought you hated music lessons.”
“I just saw it in the attic and thought it looked like a keepsake.” She climbed into the van and propped the case on the bench seat like an extra passenger.
The acoustic had been Rosalynn’s father’s.
She recognized the stickers all too well, especially the fire department emblem smack dab in the middle.
Nostalgia swelled. Strains of him singing wove through her memory.
A Willie Nelson–style “Always on My Mind” or Van Morrison’s “Have I Told You Lately.” Closer to the time of her injury, he’d stopped playing almost altogether. No more love songs.
Back then, she’d felt responsible for the strain in her parents’ relationship from carting her around to so many rehearsals and performances. Afterward, there had been the stress of surgeries and recovery. Wash. Rinse. Repeat.
Rosalynn asked, “Would you like to take lessons?”
Her daughter certainly had inherited Grady’s musical talent, even if she’d ripped up every piano practice schedule Rosalynn printed out.
“Nah,” Elsie said quickly, taking her place beside the sticker-covered case. “Maybe a tree will fall on the place and we can all start over with a big, fat insurance check.”
Rosalynn’s gut lurched. It was one thing to grieve over selling her house. It was another altogether to think of the home she’d renovated with such care being wiped away.
The sun started to rise, throwing a muddy glow through the storm clouds. Was that a funnel cloud pushing downward toward the water?
Deep breaths. One crisis at a time. “You’ll forgive me if I prefer a different outcome.”
“I only meant for a tree to fall onto a part of our house, say, maybe over the living room, right onto the piano. I wasn’t wishing ill will on anybody else.” She slouched into her seat and opened the guitar case. She reached inside. “I brought a keepsake for you too.”
Elsie lifted up a brass ballerina holding a tiny nutcracker soldier. A lump settled in Rosalynn’s throat. The twelve-inch statue had been a gift from her parents the year before her injury, dancing the part she’d dreamed of since she first slid on ballet slippers. “Thank you. That was thoughtful.”
And it was kind. Even if the sight of it squeezed her heart so hard it hurt.
Her gaze skated toward her mother still huddled in the garage taking her call.
Headlights from the van illuminated every line of worry on her face.
A fresh wave of guilt hit that her troubles with Elsie had taken Lillian from her beloved husband’s bedside, stealing even a couple of days from their last weeks together.
Tears welled and Rosalynn swiped her hands across her face, stifling frustration that Elsie hadn’t considered Lillian’s grief. Instead, the teen had piled on more worry. Why couldn’t Elsie have waited just a little longer, until their scheduled trip to Grammie’s place in Virginia?
Enough delaying. She leaned out the window again. “Mom, come on. You can finish the call while I drive.”
Her mother tucked her phone into her pocket and sprinted toward the van, grumbling, “You’re just like your father. So impatient on road trips.”
“Well, getting out of here before the hurricane makes landfall really could be a matter of life and death.” Rosalynn thumbed the remote for the garage door as her mom ducked into the passenger seat.
She and her mother had agreed to take turns driving since her adaptive van could be driven by someone else with the flip of a switch.
Lillian tugged her seat belt in place. “See, I was right about evacuating. Elsie girl. I can’t wait to tell you all about my first trek to DC thirty-six years ago.”
Groaning, Elsie pulled the pillow over her head.
“Elsie?” Rosalynn called out in an attempt to smooth over her daughter’s rudeness. “All buckled in?”
“Yeah,” Elsie said, her voice muffled by the cushion.
That funnel cloud in the distance still reached toward the water, then retreated upward, like a yo-yo.
Reminding her how many threats her home faced beyond just the force of the hurricane’s wind.
Tornadoes. Storm surge. Flooding. Falling debris.
Even lightning fires. Her mind threatened to spiral into a well of panic as dangerous as the waterspouts teasing a prelude.
Exhaling hard, Rosalynn backed out of her driveway, then stole one last glance at her home as if she could safeguard it through sheer force of will. Nana Della’s voice echoed in her mind.
Don’t worry about the mule. Just load the wagon.
Rosalynn shifted the van into drive and left behind her home for quite possibly the last time.