Chancey Jobs (Chancey Books Book 4) Page 6

  He unwraps his arms from her middle and stands straight. "We've really gotten a lot done today. I'm going to go upstairs and get started on our dinner. I'm cooking for Patty tonight." He jogs toward the stairs as Patty turns back to the shelf and continues painting.

  "So, he's cooking in your apartment tonight?" I ask as I wipe my hands off on a wet wipe.

  "Yeah," she answers.

  "You must really like him."

  "Yeah."

  "Seems like you two are moving pretty fast. And don't you dare say, 'yeah.'"

  So she says nothing.

  "I'm worried about you. You haven't really dated much and well, he. . ."

  "He likes me."

  "Well, of course he likes you, but you need to be careful."

  She flips around to face me, and her eyes are still wide, her cheeks still pink and her hair actually flew a bit, but this time she doesn't look happy. She looks mad. "Careful? I need to be careful? Careful so I don't actually have some fun? Careful so I don't accidentally end up with a boyfriend? Careful so I don't go to my grave a virgin?"

  Now my eyes are stretched wide in surprise. "Hey, sorry. Um, no. I mean, just careful. He might, well, break your heart."

  She shakes her head and walks over to the paint can to lay the brush across the lid lying beside it.

  No idea how that blew up so fast. She never gets agitated or angry. I pick up my purse and look around. She's putting away her brush and closing the paint can, facing away from me. Pulling out my car keys, I take a couple steps toward the front door. "Have a good night. See you tomorrow."

  "Carolina?"

  I turn, and smile and shrug as I turn, but before I can say "sorry," she holds her hand up to stop me.

  "You're right. He might break my heart. But isn't that what having a heart is all about?"

  Oh, mercy. I’ll take old and tired, over young and hopeful, pretty much any day.

  Chapter 10

  And let the Twenty Questions begin…

  Sitting in one of the rocking chairs on the front porch, waiting for me to pull in, is Bryan. Just rocking. Just hanging out. Nothing going on. But this ain't my first rodeo. He wants to talk. No, not exactly talk, he wants me to ask questions until I hit what's on his mind. Like an old party trick of mind-reading. No self-respecting teenage boy wants to think he needs to talk to his mother, so he just hangs around waiting for her to talk to him, and he will tolerate it long enough to hear what he wants.

  "Hey, sweetie. You're not chilly out here?" I cross my arms and shiver a bit. The warm morning sun reset my internal thermostat. I'm ready for summer.

  "Naw," he says.

  "You waiting on somebody?"

  "Naw. Not really."

  "Maybe I'll sit with you for a minute?" If he's not wanting to be questioned, he will immediately get up and move along.

  He stops rocking by setting his feet solidly on the porch in front of him. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe he’s going inside.

  Instead, he looks up and asks, "Want me to get you a blanket? Or a sweater?"

  See? Knew it. "I'm okay for now with my sweatshirt," I say, managing to keep a sigh out of my voice. "So, what's going on with you?" I ask.

  "Nothing."

  "School good?"

  "Yeah."

  "Can’t believe you only have a month left of middle school. Only 3 more Monday’s after today. Orientation for high school is next week, right?"

  "Yeah, Thursday."

  I try to peer into his face. "How you feeling about high school? You nervous at all?"

  "Not really. Kinda excited. Be glad to get out of junior high."

  We rock side by side for a few minutes. As I move, the setting sun through the trees on the hill across from us causes the light to shift back and forth. The trees are covered with new leaves, but the leaves aren't big enough to block out the light like they will in a few weeks.

  "Are you looking forward to summer?"

  "Not really."

  Okay, now we're getting somewhere. "Why?"

  "I don't know. Just 'cause."

  "The swimming area at the lake should be open this summer. You and the guys had a lot of fun last year, and you have so many more friends now. You'll like the new docks they're putting in."

  He doesn't say anything, but his head bends a little further down. His closed mouth moves around like the words are working themselves up to escape. Finally they do. "Brittani says Grant acts like a little kid."

  Now there are words stuck in my closed mouth, but they have to stay there. "Really? I've always thought Grant acts fine for a fourteen-year-old…” Since I couldn’t add “kid” without risking upsetting Bryan, I leave the sentence hanging.

  He notices and looks at me. "What else were you going to say?"

  "Oh, nothing. Just that sometimes girls mature a bit before boys."

  "So Brittani's right when she says he's immature?"

  "No, it's not just Grant, all boys."

  "Brittani says I'm more mature than my friends. That's why we're dating, she says."

  Oh, for crying out loud. I swallow and take a deep breath. "So, do you feel you're too, uh, mature for your friends?"

  He doesn't answer, and his rocker slows down as he stills his feet again. "Sometimes. Not really. Just…"

  "Does having a girlfriend kind of set you apart from them?"

  He nods. "Well, an older girlfriend. James is going out with Zoe, but they just hang out with the same group. Zoe's in our grade. Brittani says we should do more couple things."

  "Really? Like what?" More swallowing, more breathing through my nose.

  He shrugs, then stands up. "I've got homework. When are we eating?"

  He's already heading for the door, and his talking itch has been scratched. For now.

  "About thirty minutes. Oh, Savannah got a job at MoonShots."

  "Good." As he opens the screen door, he smiles at me. "Talk to you later, Mom." The door bounces softly closed behind him. I lay my head back against the rocker.

  And I thought I was tired after talking to Patty.

  Strong winds push at me as I leave the porch. Spring storms are forecasted for this week. Maybe they’ll last into the weekend, and the Mother’s Day brunch will have to be cancelled.

  And Gertie won’t stay here.

  And Jordan will send Savannah home with Susan’s chicken and dumplings.

  And Will will go to law school.

  And Anna won’t be pregnant.

  And if a frog had wings, he wouldn’t bump his behind on the ground when he hops.

  Chapter 11

  Our house has stood on this hill for over one hundred and thirty years. Or maybe it’s only one hundred and ten years. As with pretty much everything else in Chancey, the facts depend on who you're talking to. So exactly when our home was built is up for discussion, and if you think this is strange, you've never lived in an old, small town.

  So, for a long, long time our house has stood on this hill, but tonight feels like it might be its last. At least its last with a roof. Our power's been out for a couple hours, and Savannah never made it to her tower room on the third floor once the storm hit, right before bedtime. No, instead, she is dead asleep and taking up most of my bed. Bryan is keeping vigil over the storm at his window. Only because I won't let him watch it from outside on the porch. His daddy loves storms and can't stay inside when one is raging. But his daddy's not here, is he?

  Of course, Jackson is out of town when anything happens. So when the house gets swept into the river, why would I expect him to be here? My love of the suburbs wasn't just for the privacy and convenience and stores and, well, just everything. But our move to the Atlanta suburbs had been in conjunction with Jackson's new job. In an office. Not traveling. No more sick children on my own. No more water heaters, microwaves, toilets breaking on my lonely watch. No more hamster burials, where I alone made the casket, dug the grave, and officiated the service. Obviously, I took that to be my due when I got married—two-person parenthood. A
nd in what I thought was the eternal security of that agreement, I neglected to stress strongly enough how I planned to never go back to him traveling again. Never.

  But I did let it happen, didn't I? Like everything else. With a sigh loud enough to wake up a dead hamster, I roll off my little slice of bed and onto the floor. No fear of my sigh waking up my sprawled daughter, I’ve been trying all night to make her feel guilty for encroaching on my space in my bed. I may, or may not, have even pushed and poked her. Maybe.

  With the flashes of lightning, I find my robe and pull it on. The thunder is actually shaking the window panes. Outside, the trees pull back and forth, bending to the wind’s will. The rain also follows the wind’s bidding and slashes in waves against the house, then follows in a different direction, only to startle me anew with each assault.

  In the hallway, I push open Bryan's door and see him still leaning against the window glass. With a flash of lightning, however, I see his eyes are closed. I gently push him down on his bed, and he grabs onto the covers, pulling them over himself, and then he's still.

  Out in the hallway again, I debate going downstairs, but the storm seems less violent now. Less noisy. And there is Will's room. We call it his room, but it's really just a spare room. It doesn't look like Will's room. He'd already been away at school for three years when we moved here. Actually, Jackson has spent more nights in it than Will. As much as I hate Jackson's traveling, it's hard to believe how many nights he didn't sleep in our bed when he was home. Only in the dead of the night, when I'm all alone can I even begin to think of how close we came to falling apart.

  Marriage can be so hard, and now, now Will is married. And having a baby. This really is a spare room, and I can't call it Will's room anymore. He no longer has a room here. He and Anna have a room at Missus' and FM's. And the baby has a room there.

  A baby. The thought makes my stomach churn, and I sit on the bed. Then, with just a little lean, I'm laying down on the green floral bedspread from our old master bedroom in Marietta.

  This bedspread was a gift at our wedding shower. I think about Jackson and me on that day. How young we were and so stupid about so much. I try to remember how that unconscious joy in the future felt. The joy I saw on Will and Anna's faces on Saturday. No fear. No understanding. What's to understand? You're in love, you get married, have babies. No big deal.

  And then one day you have pre-adults in your care in a big, old house with so many windows and doors and shingles. People think you know what you're doing, and actually ask you for help or advice. And you have no idea how you got there. No idea why people act like you should know what you're doing. I flop over onto my back and notice the lengthened space between lightning flash to thunder roll. So, no blowing of the house into the river tonight. No dash to the basement because the sound of a train barreling down isn't actually a train barreling down, but a tornado.

  In the quiet space of soft rain and leftover wind blowing itself out, my words seem loud. "I just hope Will and Anna know what they're doing." Before my sigh can finish, I'm laughing. Why should they be different from the rest of us and know what they are doing?

  "Shoot," I say with a sigh as I close my eyes. "If people ever fully start realizing what they are doing there will be no more weddings or babies.”

  Waking up to a flashing clock beside the bed doesn't tell me much about what time it is. A steady rain is the only sound, and that could explain why there's no light coming around the curtains, or it could just be too early. I sit up and realize my phone is back in my bedroom. Dead. And of course, I should've plugged it in so it would charge if the power came back on. But seeing as I was busy planning all of us dying in a tornado, I forgot. Of course, late at night with all the weather forecaster’s panic materializing into the storm outside, I might’ve been a tad dramatic. Harsh spring storms are common across the south, but they rarely result in death.

  A peek in Bryan's room shows he hasn’t moved since he rolled himself up in his covers last night. In Jackson's and my room, Savannah still claims the whole bed. Hair and limbs splayed out to cover the most possible space. Her phone is in bed with her and is lighting up, but not making any noise. I take mine off the dresser and shuffle out of the room and downstairs, still with no idea of the time since my phone is completely black. Downstairs is that murky gray and although the clock’s hands point to 4:20, I don't know how correct that is. I plug my phone in and fill the coffeepot with water. Finally my phone makes a sound and shows the time as 6:42. Then the face of my phone fills up with a list of missed calls and texts. Trying to read them while I spoon coffee into the filter proves too hard, so I finish preparing the coffee and press the brew button. Then I leaned on the counter and look down the impressive list of people wanting to know if we're okay. Jackson has called and called and called, and his last text says he's headed home. What?

  Then the phone rings in my hand and scares me to death.

  "Hello?"

  "Carolina? Oh my God. Are you okay? The kids? I'm headed that direction.”

  Jackson's practically screaming, and my heart starts racing. "What's wrong? I just got up."

  "You were asleep? The kids are with you?"

  "Of course, they're still asleep. The storm was really bad here. Power was out, and my phone died."

  "Carolina, there was a tornado. It's been all over the news. I've talked to Susan and Laney. Tree fell on Missus’ house. Some branches down, so they can't get around. Griffin was going to check on y’all, but they're telling people to stay put because of downed power lines, at least until first light. You need to call Susan and tell her you're fine."

  "Yeah, the phone keeps beeping. Where are you?" I move to the window and look out. Just a few small branches and lots of leaves lie around the yard.

  "Still out near the Alabama line. But you're okay? What about the house?"

  "It all seems fine, but let me go check and then call Susan. I don't want Griffin to be out trying to get here. I'll call you right back."

  I hit Susan's name on recent calls, and she answers almost immediately. "Carolina! Are you okay?"

  "Listen, I just talked to Jackson, and we're good. Fine. I just woke up. He said Missus' house was hit?"

  "Oh, wait." She shouts, "Honey, Carolina's fine! Slept through it." She speaks back into the phone. "He's been just so afraid y'all needed help up there, but fire and police are saying there are too many wires down to go out in the dark. Apparently, there were a couple tornados, and they hit here and there. Downtown got messed up quite a bit, but so far they don't have anybody seriously hurt. Missus and FM are good, just have a big tree on their roof. Over in Jasper, though, a tornado went right up the highway, and some folks in the cars there were hurt."

  "Oh, my goodness. That’s awful,” I say. “Our power came back on. Do you have power?"

  "It's come on and gone off a couple times. Off right now. Listen, I need to get off the phone. Mother is calling again. I'm just glad you're okay. Jackson was frantic when he couldn't get you or the kids."

  I turn on the TV and sip coffee while watching the breaking news of the line of spring storms across Georgia. I watch as I call back and talk to Jackson, who’s stopped at a QuikTrip getting coffee and regrouping since he knows we’re okay. We hang up after he decides to go back to his hotel at the job site to get some sleep. We’re fine, so he might as well go back to Alabama. As the sun rises, news crews report on the worst damage. So far, the injuries on the highway in Jasper are the only ones known. One by one, I answer the texts from our family and friends and answer when the phone rings again, which is now plugged in beside the couch in the living room. "Hey, Will,” I greet my eldest son. “We're fine. Slept through it."

  "Yeah, that's what Dad said. We've been talking through the night."

  "You and Anna okay? Did it storm there?" The quickly planned honeymoon was in a lake house on the east side of Georgia, loaned by some friends of FM's family.

  "No, just rain. Did you hear Missus and FM's house
got hit by a tree? They're okay, though."

  "Yeah, I heard. Wonder what the rest of downtown looks like. It's getting light, so we should know soon."

  "Turn to channel five ’cause they have a crew headed to Chancey specifically. I'll let you go. My wife wants me." He laughs. "That's a trip, isn't it? ‘My wife.’"

  I grudgingly smile. "Yes, it is. Tell Anna I said 'hi.' Love you."

  "I will. Love you, too, Mom."

  From the stairs, Savannah asks, "You on the phone? Can you believe all this? School's cancelled. There was a tornado."

  He eyes are huge, and she slides next to me on the couch. I pull her close, and she shows me her phone. "Look. I rolled over and felt my phone, and I was going to just put it back on the nightstand, but then I saw all the calls and stuff."

  "Well, everyone we know seems to be okay. Daddy called. He was worried about us.” I bend my head to look in her eyes. “Are you okay?”

  She smiles at me and snuggles closer. “Yeah.”

  For few moments we just enjoy sitting close, and this feels as familiar as it does strange. But most of all—it feels good.

  She’s still and I wonder if she’s fallen back asleep until she asks, "Missus’ house got hit by a tree. Can we go see it?"

  "Not yet. Power lines are down, and we need to stay out of the way of the police and firefighters. Luckily, we have power."

  The news comes back from a commercial break, and I unmute it. We pull an afghan off the back of the couch to cover us and watch as the news crews and the rising sun uncover the damage.

  Bryan joins us just as the Atlanta news crew shows downtown Chancey. Shingles and lots of little, and not-so-little, branches litter the streets, sidewalks, and everywhere. Thousands of leaves were ripped from the trees and plastered around town by the wind and rain. The fresh new leaves cover cars and store windows.