The Not Too Calm After The Storm

I wasn't quite sure what to do.

There was a part of me that had absolutely needed to know what was going on. Was he safe or was he clinging to the rafters as storm water filled the house? Were the dogs and the girls safe or paddling to safety on inner tubes? Was the house still standing or laying in pieces in various sections of the neighborhood? Had the boat drifted from its spot to sail away on its own like a ghost ship? What about the shore house? It is ten steps from the beach. What was happening to the home Scott's parents had dreamed of buying only to buy it and learn that they both were terminally ill? So much emotion attached to that place. Was it still a towering 4 story Victorian or a pile of sticks?

But clearly Scott had not wanted to have to deal with a thousand questions from a curious mate. Maybe because his decision to stay in the house had been a colossally stupid one and he was afraid I'd say I'd told him so? (I wouldn't have but he'd know I thought so.) Maybe he'd been overwhelmed by the destruction all around him and knowing I was safe gave him the freedom to have another top priority for a moment?

Whatever the reason, he just dropped out of touch.

And stayed out of touch.

As I learned from Facebook that he was alive and well (and cleaning up the 4th street beach with his daughters) and that his house had only lost a few shingles (which Mr. Handy Man Negrey could easily replace himself) I called him a time or two, as I always had, on the way to work (finally after 3 days off as "non-essential personnel.") Our calls had been uncharacteristically brief. He'd seemed distracted. I guess I could understand that.

But when Friday had finally come and it had been his turn to come to my house, I'd been worried. We'd reached a fork in the road. Would he join me and the kids on the weekend like he had every other week for two years or would he have better things to do? The grown up in me knew it had been unrealistic to expect him to come to see me when there was so much work to do, if not at his own home then around the neighborhood. I had not asked for an answer directly for fear that he'd confirm that he was not coming. I really had not wanted to hear those words. After so much fear and worry, I needed to be near him.

We'd spoken as I'd driven home from work that evening. I had been stuck in traffic and he had just put dinner in the oven. He was going to take a hot shower and drop one of the girls off somewhere. He'd asked that I give him a call when my kids had settled down for the night. Completely normal. Except that when I'd called he'd not answered.

And there had been no call the next morning. No "be there in ten minutes, get the coffee going" text. He'd never arrived. I'd never heard a word. Even as I'd wrung my hands and tried to be cheerful, dark thoughts had begun to weave a choking web in my head.

Evening had come and Pat had gone to a dance. I remember that I'd fallen asleep on the floor in front of the fireplace. Hil had been watching a movie. When Pat had come through the door afterwards, I'd awakened and had cheerfully asked all about his first high school dance.

And I had had another question. This one for Scott. And I'd finally sent him a text "Are you upset with me about something?" Send.

And wait.

Penny's mouth is hanging open with disbelief. And the story is just getting started.