Summer Storms (Seasons of Faith Book 1)

by Rebekah Lyn

  “Jeffrey!” he heard his mother’s plaintive cry as the door slammed behind him. He revved the engine and ground through several gears before peeling away from the curb.

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  “The National Weather Service has issued a tropical storm warning for southwest Florida. Tropical Storm Charley is expected to strengthen into a hurricane within the next twelve hours and is projected to make landfall late Thursday night near Captiva.”

  Lizzie sat transfixed in front of the television watching the anticipated path of the storm. She chewed on the inside of her lip, a habit she had when she was tense. The phone rang.

  “Are you watching the news?” Emma’s concerned voice came across the phone line.

  “Yes, what am I going to do?”

  “Don’t worry, everything will be fine. Ron and I are finishing up our preparations here and will take care of your place tomorrow.”

  “My apartment lease is up next weekend. What will I do if the house is damaged?” A myriad of scenarios flew through Lizzie’s mind causing her to breathe faster.

  “Shh, don’t get ahead of yourself. You never know what these storms are going to do. It may decide to miss us altogether.”

  “But what if it doesn’t?” Her head was spinning.

  “The good Lord will take care of us. We can’t worry about what might happen, we can only deal with what’s going on now.”

  Lizzie’s breathing slowed. “I know you’re right. I’ve been so tense with the busted pipe in the guest bath and not being able to find a stove to fit that awkward hole.”

  “You knew from the start there might be setbacks. Don’t let them get you down. You’ve made tremendous progress in a short time.”

  “Thanks, Emma. As usual you’re right.” Lizzie switched the television off and threaded her way through the piles of boxes scattered around the apartment. She reopened a box of kitchen supplies and dug through until she found a couple of pitchers, which she filled with water.

  She spent the next hour gathering hurricane supplies. She grimaced at the pathetic collection on the kitchen counter, frustrated so many things were packed away. She had managed to find one flashlight, two extra batteries, and two quarts of water, a can of tuna, one votive candle, and a weather radio. With a sigh, she turned off the light and retreated to her bedroom.

  On Friday, Lizzie woke to clear blue skies. Walking to the car in the cool air it was hard to believe a big storm was brewing two hundred miles away. Charley had developed into a hurricane as predicted and was sucking the heat and moisture into his growing ball of fury. Everyone was talking about this storm being bigger than Andrew twelve years earlier, a storm that had devastated Homestead in south Florida. Downtown Orlando was eerily quiet with many people taking the day off to prepare for the storm.

  “Morning, Lizzie,” Austin greeted her as she entered the back office. She was surprised to see him in so early. “Would it be okay for me to leave early today? There’re going to be some killer waves.”

  “Killer is right. Haven’t you heard all the warnings about surfing in this weather?”

  Austin just grinned. “So whaddaya say?”

  “Fine, I don’t expect it will be too busy today. We’ve had a lot of cancellations the past couple of days.” Lizzie settled into her chair and filtered emails, checked voicemail, and returned a few calls. She kept a small window open in the bottom of her monitor with a live stream from the local news station. All programming had been preempted for continuous weather coverage. The day was uneventful and a few minutes before five, Lizzie packed up her office, covering all of the computers in plastic, in case any of the windows were broken allowing rain to flood in.

  Wind buffeted her when she pushed her way out the service door. Heavy gray clouds pregnant with rain skidded across the sky. Pine needles and debris swirled at her feet. She slipped into her car and drove down I-4, alert for danger, fingers gripping the steering wheel as giant raindrops assaulted the windshield with a vicious splat.

  Arriving at her apartment, she struggled to open the car door into the howling wind. Within seconds, she was completely drenched. Keeping her head down, purse clutched to her chest, she pushed against the wind up the steep stairs to the second floor landing. Inside she leaned against the door catching her breath. The sound of wind and rain filled the apartment.

  She watched the news while preparing dinner, mesmerized by reports coming in from Punta Gorda and Port Charlotte as the hurricane made landfall. The cameras caught trees falling, roofs being ripped from buildings, and boats tossed like toys in a bathtub. She couldn’t decide if the reporters out in the storm were crazy or brave. Charley was headed straight for Orlando determined to do as much damage as possible.

  The windows rattled and the building shook with the force of the wind. Lizzie curled up in her chair, a flashlight within reach on the nearby table, unable to tear herself from the television. The power flickered several times before going out completely. Lizzie peered out at the downpour. Sometime after nine o’clock, the winds quieted. She grabbed the flashlight and stepped onto the landing.

  The night was pitch black and chilly. She rubbed her arms for warmth. Without the sound of air conditioning units, it was ghostly quiet. A shiver of fear ran through her. She slipped back inside and used her flashlight to search for her weather radio. The weatherman said the eye of the storm had reached Orlando.

  “The worst of the storm is behind us, but Orlando will be on the right side of the outer bands as they exit the state creating conditions conducive to tornados.” The weatherman sounded tired but still calm and reassuring. Lizzie dozed off in the chair dreaming fitfully of her little house being damaged by the wild winds, lifted off its foundation like something from the Wizard of Oz.

  “Hey, Wally,” Jeffrey called from the steps of the trailer. Wally looked up from the toolbox he had been stowing in the back of his truck. “Why don’t you head home, make sure Tim is alright?”

  “I’m sure he’s fine. I told him to board up the house before I left this morning.”

  “I’m sending everybody home. I don’t want anyone on the roads when this thing hits.” Jeffrey approached his friend and patted him on the back. “I’m sure we will have a lot of clean up so come in tomorrow if you don’t have any damage at your place.”

  “Will do.” Wally finished stowing his gear in the truck.

  Jeffrey wandered through the construction site sending the workers home and asking them to return in the morning if they could. He returned to the office where he and Jenny cleared the desks, stowing important papers in filing cabinets.

  “Drive safe, Jenny.” She pulled away as he began a final walk through the site.

  He cursed under his breath each time he found tools and pipes left lying around. He picked up these odds and ends, dumping them in the office before locking up. With the clouds moving in, he slipped behind the wheel of his truck and headed home.

  At home, he placed masking tape in the shape of an X across his windows to keep the glass from shattering if something was blown into it. He stacked his plastic lawn chairs and table in the small bungalow and sat down with a couple of bottles, one of rum and one of Coke. He filled a glass with Coke about three quarters full before adding the rum. He swirled the liquid around and took a drink. The phone rang and he checked the caller id. It was Ian. He took another drink and flicked on the television, ignoring the phone.

  He’d called every few days since their scene downtown. Jeffrey’s blood boiled thinking about Ian’s self-righteous attitude reinforcing all the reasons he had stopped speaking to him after Camylle’s death.

  Jeffrey filled his glass again. He’d always been a social drinker; hard not to be with his family either hosting a round of parties or being celebrated at some gala. Since Camylle had died, though, he found himself drinking rum or whiskey, disguised as a harmless soda. He went to more bars and clubs on the weekends, staying out till the last one closed. His tolerance grew and it took more drinks
to numb the pain within his heart, to silence the recriminating voices in his mind.

  Ian was a meddler, he thought he was helping, but Jeffrey didn’t need help. He had things under control. His work never suffered and his pain was kept in check. He grew to resent that Ian didn’t seem to care Camylle was gone. His life went on without skipping a beat.

  Within an hour, Jeffrey’s bottle of rum was half empty. He surfed through the channels finding nothing interesting on television. He pressed the power button and loaded several CDs into the stereo. The wind had picked up outside causing a large gardenia bush to beat on the window. Jeffrey turned the stereo up to drown out the scratching branches.

  He returned to the couch with his laptop and went online to his favorite poker site. He entered his credit card number and purchased five hundred dollars worth of chips. He paused a moment before hitting the ENTER key to complete his transaction, remembering all the times he had tried to teach Camylle how to play. She’d given it a valiant try, knowing how much he enjoyed it, but had never been able to grasp what constituted a winning hand. He smiled and hit the button.

  As the storm intensified, Jeffrey played on. His body flushed with the alcohol coursing through his veins and the excitement of several prosperous rounds of poker. He had increased his pot to a thousand dollars and was feeling lucky. He doubled his next bet, certain he couldn’t lose. Everyone else folded, leaving Jeffrey alone with one other competitor who called his bet and the final card was turned.

  His face fell when the credits went to the competitor. He lost eight hundred dollars in an instant. He spent a minute debating his next move and decided to play one more hand. Before the final card flipped, he went all in, confident this time he had the winning hand. He needed the ace of clubs; a king of hearts was revealed. Hotrod101 took the hand, leaving Jeffrey wiped out. He logged off in disgust and pounded the drink he had poured in anticipation of his victory.

  Restless, Jeffrey wandered from living room to bedroom, to kitchen, the walls closing in on him. Unable to remain inside any longer he opened the front door and stepped into the storm. The wind blew the door out of his hand, slamming it into the wall. The palm fronds thrashed, like a drowning person waving for help. Bullets of icy rain beat on his bare arms.

  A metallic noise drew Jeffrey’s attention. He stepped out from the relative shelter of the entryway in search of the noise. The wind pushed against him, slowing his progress. As he rounded the corner toward the main house, he noticed the back porch roof rising and falling, three or four inches. He stood entranced by the impending destruction, until a large tree branch crashed to the ground at his feet. All the warnings about being outside in a storm like this came flooding back to him; the images of pine needles piercing boarded up windows like nails in a coffin, live power lines flapping, and road signs ripped from the ground were enough to restore his senses and send him back inside.

  Jeffrey returned to the couch ignoring his wet clothes and poured another drink, draining the last of the rum. He threw the drink back in a single gulp as the power flickered and died. He fumbled through the living room stubbing his toe on the coffee table before finding a flashlight in his nightstand. He depressed the on switch but nothing happened. Twisting the cap off, he swore upon finding the battery compartment empty.

  “What the…” A flash of lightning illuminated the room and cut him off mid-thought, revealing a pack of batteries in the open drawer. Jeffrey pulled them out only to find they were the wrong size. He dropped the batteries and flashlight into the drawer and threw himself onto the bed. In a matter of minutes, he passed out.

  CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

  Lizzie awoke with a crick in her neck, stood, and stretched her tight limbs. Sun streamed in the front window and drew her attention. She turned on the television, grateful the power had returned, and found a news report on the damage around town, trying to take note of road closures as she brushed her teeth.

  Lizzie ambled down the stairs enjoying the cool morning. She crossed the parking lot and pulled fists full of pine straw off her windshield, thankful there was no damage to her car. When she left I-4 for the smaller streets of downtown, she found oak trees and power lines blocking her path. She parked at a convenience store and walked the remaining distance, anxious to see how her home had fared in the storm.

  Her jaw dropped when she reached her front yard. A massive tree limb protruded from the roof, shingles dotted the yard, and one corner of the porch had collapsed under the weight of a leaning telephone pole. She scanned the rest of the neighborhood finding similar damage, but when she glanced toward Mae’s house, she was heartened to see it appeared unscathed. She returned her attention to her own home and picked her way up the front walk.

  Water trickled over her feet when she opened the door. She slogged through the living room assessing the damage. With the windows boarded up, she could see little and chastised herself for not bringing a flashlight.

  Lizzie attempted to call Emma, but got a recording stating all circuits were busy. She hung up the phone in frustration and jogged across the street to meet Mae who had come onto the porch. She gave Mae a warm hug and they sat in the rockers.

  “Did you have any damage?” Lizzie asked.

  “Nothing major. A bathroom window cracked, but didn’t break, and a tree came down in the back, but it missed the house by a couple of feet.” Mae looked at Lizzie’s house and shook her head. “I’m sorry about your place. Have you been inside?”

  Lizzie nodded. “I don’t know how I’ll get the water out, the floor must be ruined now, and after all the work Ian did too.”

  “The homeowner’s insurance should cover most of the repairs.” Mae gave her an encouraging pat on the hand.

  “I will try to get in touch with the property manager so he can let the owner know. I’m glad I haven’t moved anything in. I was supposed to do that today.” A wave of panic overcame Lizzie. “What am I going to do? My lease is up Monday.”

  “I have an extra bedroom if you need a place to stay,” Mae offered.

  “That is so kind of you.” Lizzie squeezed her neighbor’s hand and smiled. “I’ll let you know.” Her cell phone played “Praise You in the Storm,” the tone designated for Emma.

  “I’m glad you called. I have been trying to get through, but couldn’t get a signal.”

  “Are you okay?” Emma asked.

  “The apartment is fine, the house on the other hand…” Lizzie filled her friend in on the damage.

  “I’m so sorry. We’ll be over in half an hour to help you clean up. I think Ron has a large broom we can use to push the water outside. Does the neighborhood have power?”

  “No, and by the looks of things it will be out for some time still.”

  “Okay, you sit tight. We’ll get there as soon as we can.”

  “Thanks, Emma, see you soon.” Lizzie relaxed some knowing help was on the way.

  “I suppose I should start pulling boards off the windows,” Lizzie said, pushing herself out of the rocking chair. “If there is anything I can do for you please yell.”

  “I’m fine,” Mae assured her. “I think I’ll just sit out here and watch all the excitement.” More people were out now, wandering the neighborhood, taking in the damage. The buzz of chainsaws filled Lizzie’s ears as the residents started the clean up efforts, and mothers called for their children to stay away from the power lines trailing across the yards and street.

  Lizzie grabbed her toolbox from the car, picked out a hammer, and started prying boards loose. The large plywood squares were heavy and awkward. She left them on the ground underneath the windows once she freed them, waiting for Ron to help move them. Her hands were red and blistered when she pulled the last nail out. She carried two of the smaller boards from the bathroom windows around the house and leaned them against the porch. She brushed her palms together and sank onto the front steps.

  Neighbors mingled around a large tree that had toppled across the narrow street. Several men held chainsaws
at the ready while others searched for any electrical wires. When it was determined there was no danger of electrocution, the men revved the saws and attacked the tree, shearing branches off into large piles. Lizzie watched their progress for several minutes before turning to see Emma and Ron strolling down the sidewalk three houses away. She jogged out to meet them, her waterlogged shoes making a loud squishing sound.

  “What a mess,” Emma exclaimed.

  “How was your drive?”

  “We had to make a dozen detours, but I suspect the roads are the least of our problems,” Ron replied. “Getting all the homes repaired is going to be a long process.” He let out a long whistle as they approached the house.

  “Everything is going to be fine, girl,” Emma said giving Lizzie a squeeze. They entered the dark house and Ron set up a pair of lanterns on the kitchen counters. Emma started pushing water out of the living room onto the front porch with a large broom while Ron went in search of a ladder to borrow.

  “Check with Mae, across the street,” Lizzie called as he left. The women worked in silence, the only sounds came from saws, cracking limbs, and the crash of branches falling to the ground. Even the birds seemed to have left town in the wake of this storm.

  With the water swept from the floors, Emma and Lizzie ventured outside to find Ron on the roof circling the protruding tree limb. Two men finished stacking enough wood for an ice age and looked around for a new task.

  “Excuse me, would you guys be able to give me a hand?” Ron called. The men looked around in bewilderment trying to locate the source of the entreaty. Lizzie waved at them and then pointed to the roof. They smiled and nodded. One man was tall and thin as a beanstalk with silky brown hair that fell to his shoulders. The other was also tall, but broad like a linebacker, with massive shoulders and cropped black hair. They mounted the ladder to join Ron.