“Yeah, one of the guys offered to loan us one,” Ron said.
Emma took a step toward Lizzie and encircled her with one arm to walk her away from the pile of wood and leaves. “Ron and I think maybe you should consider letting this project go.”
Lizzie stiffened and turned to her friend. “How can you say that, after all the work we’ve done?” Lizzie didn’t try to hide the note of hurt in her tone.
“You’ve done an amazing job, and I’m sure it would have been a lovely home, but this is serious damage. It’s going to cost a lot of money. It’s not just the roof. With the amount of flooding, there’s a chance of mold in the walls. The floors will have to be completely replaced, not to mention the damage to the porch and any structural issues that might have caused.”
“The homeowners insurance should cover those things.”
“But you aren’t the homeowner,” Emma said. Lizzie could see the concern in her friend’s eyes and knew she didn’t mean to upset her but her anger flared.
“If you don’t think I can fix this then just say so.”
“That’s not it at all,” Emma replied. “We’re just worried you will spend your money to get the repairs done and the homeowner won’t reimburse you. What’s to stop him from filing a claim with the insurance and keeping the money?”
“So it can just go toward the rent,” Lizzie insisted, unwilling to give any ground.
Emma hesitated. “That might work, but I’m still afraid you don’t have a realistic idea of the cost. These repairs could cover a year of rent, in addition to the investment you’ve already made.”
“And you’re worried I won’t want to stay here for a year?”
“Lizzie, we don’t doubt you in any way, we just want you to take some time to think about it before diving in. Pray about whether or not this is the right thing for you. You’re not just investing your time and money, but your heart. What happens if the owner decides he wants the place for himself? It’s easy to strike a deal like you have when the place is a rundown shack, but once it’s restored…” Emma turned to the house.
They now stood in the front yard and even with the damaged porch the house looked worlds better than when they had first stood here. The soft yellow color was warm in the overcast morning, the white shutters crisp and welcoming. It was easy to imagine the porch repaired, creating a charming home in an inviting neighborhood. Lizzie felt a swell of pride followed by a twinge of fear. Could she bear to lose the house after all her hard work?
Ian pounded on Jeffrey’s door for a third time. When he heard movement inside he took a step back. The door swung open revealing a disheveled Jeffrey, wrinkled shirt, sleep-encrusted eyes, hair sticking up in all directions. Ian held out a cup of coffee. Jeffrey ignored the offering, turned around, and shuffled into the living room where he collapsed onto the sofa.
“I tried calling first, but you didn’t answer,” Ian said, following Jeffrey inside.
“What time is it?”
“A little after nine.”
“I’m late!” Jeffrey cursed and ran to the bathroom.
Ian remained in the living room reviewing the evidence of the previous night’s activities. The coffee table was cluttered with an empty glass and rum bottle, a dirty plate and fork, a candy wrapper, and several magazines. Pushing aside the dirty glass and bottle, he set the coffee down.
“Look, I’m sorry, maybe I shouldn’t have dragged you home the other night, maybe I should have let you have your fun, but I’m worried about you,” Ian yelled toward the bathroom.
“Forget it.”
“I heard you went to your parents’ house.” There was no response, so he changed tactics. “Have you talked to Michelle?”
“You and I both know that ship has sailed.” Jeffrey emerged from the bedroom wearing a pair of jeans and a wrinkled t-shirt. He noticed the coffee cup and grabbed for it.
“She hasn’t called and you are too stubborn to call her, right?”
“She made it quite clear she wasn’t all that interested in me.” Jeffrey shuffled through the clutter on the table.
“You were acting rather possessive if I remember correctly.”
“Like you said, there are other girls, she wasn’t anything special.” Finding his keys, Jeffrey pulled on a pair of sneakers and bent low to tie the laces.
“She wasn’t? Hmm,” Ian sat thoughtful for a minute rubbing his chin. “Then why did you tell Lizzie about her?”
Jeffrey fumbled with the laces. Ian caught a look of guilt flit across his face, like a child caught stealing from the cookie jar, but it was gone in an instant replaced by the vacant look Ian knew so well.
“Something about that girl just makes me talk.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean.” Ian reflected on his interactions with Lizzie and couldn’t control the smile playing at his lips. “Well, glad to know you’re still alive. For what it’s worth, I think you should call Michelle.”
Ian let himself out and picked his way across the debris-strewn yard to the driveway. In the car, he scrolled through his cell phone looking for Lizzie’s number. He pressed send, but the call wouldn’t go through. He tried twice more with the same result before deciding to drive to her house.
Some large trees had been pushed out of the road making way for traffic while others still lay on top of cars in driveways. He found himself offering up a prayer that Lizzie’s place hadn’t sustained any damage. He turned onto Washington Avenue and found the brick-paved street littered with twigs and leaves that had escaped the neighborhood clean up crew. Piles of dirt marked spots where trees had been uprooted, now their corpses stood as pyramids of firewood.
Ian recognized Lizzie standing in the front yard with a dark woman. They seemed to be in a heated conversation and he debated interrupting before cutting the engine and slipping out of his seat.
“I’m not walking away,” he heard Lizzie yell before storming into the house. He hesitated for a moment before approaching the woman still standing in the yard.
“Everything all right?” he asked.
Emma turned and he recognized the pain on her face. As a child, he’d seen the same look on his mother’s face whenever she’d disciplined him.
“It’s been a difficult morning,” Emma said. “What can I do for you?”
“I stopped by to see if Lizzie is okay. I’ve been doing some work for her,” he hurried to add as Emma’s eyes narrowed, sizing him up.
“The girl is okay, the house not so much.” Emma walked with him inside. The floors still glistened with dampness. He studied the boards before his gaze was drawn to the ceiling.
“Ian,” Lizzie exclaimed from the hallway. “Can you believe this? All of your hard work ruined.”
“Did the whole house flood?” he asked.
“Seems to have been just the living room and kitchen.”
Ian nodded. “I thought there was a slight slope when I was working. Normally I wouldn’t say that was a good thing, but in this case…” He looked from Emma to Lizzie. “Are you going to be able to repair it?”
“We were just talking about that,” Lizzie replied waving at Emma. “Emma doesn’t think I should even try, what do you think?”
Ian shifted in discomfort, trying to gage the relationship between the women. “It’s a lot of work, but you seem to be up to the task. Of course it would be understandable if you didn’t want to.”
“Why wouldn’t I want to?”
“I’m happy to do what I can,” He offered with a surrendering raise of his hands. “We might be able to salvage some of the wood if we rip it up right away and dry it out.”
“Thank you, Ian.”
“If you want, I can run home to get my tools and be back in a couple of hours.” He edged toward the door anxious to leave.
“That would be wonderful.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
The neighborhood settled back into its quiet rhythms despite the power still being out. Lizzie helped Ron carry the remaining limbs to the garb
age pile, amazed at how quickly the neighborhood had been cleaned up; however, blue tarps covered several homes making the long-term affects of the storm evident and the telephone pole still rested on the collapsed roof of the front porch, its wires trailing across the yard.
She moved around the house taking photos of the damage for the property manager until the sound of a car drew her attention and she returned to the driveway.
Ian carried a toolbox and a crowbar in one hand, and a fast food bag in the other. His stride was purposeful and confident. She felt the now familiar tingle when his eyes met hers.
“I brought an extra burger in case you were hungry,” he offered.
“Emma ran out to pick up some Chinese food, but you go ahead and eat so it doesn’t get cold.”
Ian set the toolbox on the floor and dropped into a chair. Lizzie sat next to him.
“I hope you didn’t have any damage at your house,” she said, ashamed she hadn’t thought to ask him before.
“No, my condo is snug between several other units.” He wiped his face with a napkin and dropped the empty wrapper back into the bag.
“I’ll save the other one for later.” He opened the toolbox and removed a chisel and pair of kneepads, which he pulled on as he studied the floor. He circled the room before kneeling to begin the demolition.
“Anything I can do to help?” Lizzie asked feeling useless just watching him work.
He paused, resting on his heels. “Do you have any towels? You can dry the boards off as I remove them. Might be able to salvage some of them that way.”
“I’ll call Emma and see if she can pick up some on her way back.” After making the call, Lizzie went in search of the few rags left in the master bath. They were stiff with soap that had not been completely washed out, making a soft crunching sound as she grabbed them.
When she returned to the living room, Ian already had several boards removed so Lizzie started wiping them down. The edges of the wood were dark and cold to her touch as if she could almost wring water from them. The two worked in silence until Emma arrived.
“Good gracious,” Emma exclaimed upon entering the house. “You’ve got a lot done.”
She carried a large paper sack with grease stains at the bottom and two plastic bags with towels peeking over the edges. Lizzie jumped up and took the towels. Ian stood, his knees popping as they straightened.
The women pulled out cartons of food and set them on the kitchen counter. Ron wandered in from the yard to grab a carton of mushu pork that he took to the front porch. The others followed. Ron and Emma sat in the chairs, fumbling with their chopsticks, while Lizzie sat on the steps.
“There’s plenty if you want some,” Lizzie offered Ian. “I can never eat a full meal.”
“Thanks,” he said as he leaned against the doorway, “but I’ll just take a break for a few minutes then see if I can finish removing the floor before it gets too late.” He glanced toward a bank of clouds moving in and threatening more rain.
Lizzie watched a car pull into Mae’s driveway. A rotund man struggled out of the driver’s side while a slender, elegant looking woman slipped out of the passenger seat. They were an unlikely pair, yet Lizzie watched the lady walk around the front of the car and slip an arm around the man in a tender embrace.
“Earth to Lizzie,” Emma called waving a hand in front of her face.
“Sorry, did you say something?”
“Ron said everything is cleaned up outside and wanted to know what else we can do to help.”
“Other than getting the roof covered, I don’t know what more we can do until the power company comes.” Lizzie gave a slight shrug. “You guys can take off if you want.”
Emma gave her a dubious look. “Are you sure? I hate to leave you with such a mess on your hands.”
“It’s fine. Go home, relax, there will be plenty to do once the porch can be repaired.” Lizzie gave her friend a weak smile, her energy waning after the sleepless night.
“If you’re sure…”
“Everything will be fine,” Lizzie said. “Tomorrow I’ll see if I can find a storage unit for my things. Would you guys mind if I crashed at your place until the roof is fixed?”
“Of course not. I’ll get the guest room ready for you.” Emma pulled Lizzie into an affectionate hug before gathering her things and trailing Ron to the car.
Lizzie watched as they disappeared around the corner. Most of the neighbors had retreated indoors with the bulk of the exterior clean up finished. She imagined the other families that had sustained roof damage and the subsequent flooding, now picking through their belongings to see what could be salvaged. Relief washed over her that she hadn’t lost anything irreplaceable.
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
The parking lot was already full when Jeffrey arrived at work. He took stock of the area thankful it didn’t appear to have sustained much damage. He heard men laughing and followed the sound into the unfinished building.
“There’s the boss man,” one of them yelled as he approached.
“We was beginning to think you had been blown away by the storm,” another joked.
“Sorry guys,” Jeffrey answered. “I appreciate you all coming out. Have you walked through to see if anything seems out of order?”
“We picked up some debris outside, but haven’t gone through the building yet,” Wally said.
“Alright, let’s split up and take a look around.” Jeffrey directed. He rode the lift to the top, his gaze scanning each floor as he passed by, relieved he didn’t see any glaring problems.
An hour later, the men regrouped on the first floor. Jeffrey thanked them all again for helping with the clean up before turning his attention to the office, thankful the trailer had escaped damage as well. He made quick work of uncovering the computers and getting the space ready for Monday morning.
He patted his pockets looking for his cell phone only to find it wasn’t there. He jogged to the truck, where it was lying on the seat.
He noticed a missed call and found himself hoping it was Michelle. He scrolled to the call log and found his mother’s number. He grimaced remembering his recent visit with his parents. She’d called twice since then pleading him to forgive them and to come over again. Each time he deleted the voicemail before she finished talking. He played the message now, expecting more of the same, prepared to delete as soon as she started speaking, but there was something different in her voice. Instead of the tone of desperate begging, he heard crying.
“I know… you might not care… but I …thought… you should know. Your father…he had a heart attack… while preparing for the storm. He’s in critical condition... at Orlando Regional Hospital.”
Jeffrey sat dumbstruck. His anger drained away replaced by cold fear. He moved without thinking, slamming the car door, and peeling out of the parking lot. He arrived at the hospital twenty minutes later and barreled past the startled front desk attendant. He tapped his hand against the wall waiting for the elevator. When the polished metal doors slid open, he jumped inside and stabbed the button for ICU before anyone else could get onboard. The machine crept up to intensive care.
Stepping off the elevator, he took a moment to orient himself, assailed by the smell of antiseptic, latex, and bleach. Memories of days spent at Camylle’s bedside came flooding back, paralyzing him.
“Can I help you, sir?” a nurse asked. Jeffrey turned his head to look at her.
“Sir?” she asked again reaching out to touch his arm. Her touch was light yet it seemed to sear his skin.
“My father,” he managed to say through his constricted throat.
“Is he a patient?”
Jeffrey nodded.
“What’s his name? I can help you find him.”
“Edward Robbins.”
The nurse nodded in recognition and led him through the security doors. He followed her past half a dozen rooms.
“He’s right in here.”
Jeffrey took a few steps, wobbling like a tod
dler. His mother sat by the bed with her back to the door. He peered around her to see his father, who had always been larger than life, lying there shriveled and pale. His face was only a shade or two darker than the sheet pulled up to his chin. His eyes were sunken hollows. A monitor beeped, measuring his heartbeat.
Jeffrey stopped behind his mother’s chair and settled a hand on her shoulder. She looked up, her haggard face brightening when she saw him. She reached for his hand and clasped it. Her lips trembled and tears welled in her eyes.
“I’m so sorry, Jeff.”
Jeffrey shook his head. “Now’s not the time. How’s he doing?”
“The doctor says the next twenty-four hours will be critical. They have him sedated right now.”
Jeffrey sat in a vinyl recliner on the other side of the bed. His father’s hand dangled over the edge, angry bruising visible around an I-V needle.
The room was a neutral beige color with a beach scene hanging on the wall across from the bed. A plastic water pitcher with a yellow lid, a box of cheap tissues, and flimsy phone sat on a rolling table. He noticed the heavy silence and thought of how different it had been when sitting with Camylle on the cancer ward, where he could hear the groans of other patients, the quick footsteps of nurses and orderlies. Here in the ICU, silence was revered, protected. Jeffrey found himself wanting to scream, simply to see what would happen. Would he be tackled and carried out with a gag in his mouth? Would they sedate him and put him in restraints? He sucked in a deep breath preparing to scream.
His chest deflated a moment later when a doctor entered the room, chart in hand. The doctor looked up from the documents and Jeffrey tried to make eye contact with him, seeking out unspoken answers.
“Dr. Woodard, this is my son, Jeffrey.” Jacquelyn motioned across the bed.
He nodded, his gaze directed to a monitor where a line bounced in a series of erratic spikes and dips. Jeffrey noticed the corners of his mouth turn down as he analyzed the rhythm.
“I want to keep your husband sedated for another day,” the doctor addressed Jacquelyn. “His chances of recovery are improved by allowing his body to receive ample rest before we bring him back around.”
“Can he hear us?” Jeffrey asked.
“It’s hard to say. Some patients have reported being able to hear and understand their families talking to them while they are in this semi-comatose state, but the science is not definitive.” As he spoke, he made notes on the chart before snapping it shut and exited the room before Jeffrey could ask anything more.