Page 138 of Two-Step
“It looks like it’s just the treetop,” Iris says, moving around the front of the truck, Mica on a lead close at her heels. “Maybe it’s not too bad.”
I round the tree, coming aside the house. She’s right. The front porch has been shorn off and is nothing more than a flattened heap of lumber and tin, but most of the structure of the house itself appears to be intact. I’ll have to clear this out before I know for sure how bad the damage is, but it’s fixable. Maybe the tree did do me a favor because a few feet more to the right, and it would’ve smashed through my living space.
Getting the tree debris cleared and securing a tarp over what is probably a damaged roof are my first order of business, but I need to get Iris home before I can do that. Maybe Lowe’s or Home Depot will be open today. One can only hope.
With a dusk to dawn curfew in place, I need to get busy. I’ve got about four hours to work with.
I face Iris. “Will you be okay at your house by yourself?” I ask, not wanting to leave her if she doesn’t feel safe. Maybe I could take her toNonc’sif she’s uneasy being alone without power.
Iris scrunches up her forehead. “What do you mean?”
I take a step toward her, wanting—as always—to be closer to her. “I have a lot of work to do here, so I’m going to have to run you back home, but if you don’t feel—”
“Why can’t I stay and help?”
Her question—and her determined frown—have me coming up empty. “I—I didn’t think you’d want to.”
Iris gapes at me like I’m crazy. “Of course, I want to help!”
Okay, I’m pretty sure Mrs. Thibodeaux heard that all the way over at her place. I try to tame my grin. “Sorry, I—”
Iris scowls. “What? You don’t think I can handle a little manual labor?” She waves a hand at the heap of branches, leaves, and debris. “Or maybe I’m too small or too girly to be of any use?”
I know she’s tough. No one hikes the AT without a serious measure of grit, but, dammit, she’s a celebrity. I wasn’t expecting her to put on work gloves and start excavating my house.
“No and no,” I say firmly. “Fair enough. You’re on branch hauling duty.”
Her scowl clears. “Good.”
“Good,” I echo. “I’ll get the chainsaw.”
* * *
We work until about six-thirty.It’s stifling, and the mosquitos are murderous. Mica took refuge in the shed hours ago after Iris used the hose beside it to fill a metal tub with clean water. The hose has also been our only source of hydration as we’ve worked.
But at least the branches have been cleared from my porch and the bigger ones cut into firewood. We also cleared at least some of the demolished porch and my rocking chair that was reduced to matchsticks, but I still can’t open my front door yet. It happens to be the only door, so I can’t get into the house for clean clothes or assess the damage from the inside.
I find a waterproof horse blanket in the barn, and Iris and I use it as a makeshift tarp until I can get to the hardware store for the real thing. It’s all we can do before we run the risk of being on the roads after curfew.
Besides, we’re exhausted. Sweaty. Dirty. Scraped. Scratched. And mosquito-bitten.
On the drive back to Iris’s, I take Pinhook all the way to University, and nearly cheer when I see working traffic lights.
“Power,” I say, pointing to the beacons of hope.
Iris gasps. “Oh my God. Is that Sonic open?”
The lights are on. Cars fill the bays. A line snakes from the drive thru.
“Want a burger?” I ask.
“I want everything on the menu.”
Chuckling, I pull in and get into the drive thru line.
“I’m buying,” Iris says.
“Um. I don’t think so.” I dig into my pocket for my wallet. Iris digs into her purse for hers.
