Hurricane Days

by Renée J. Lukas

  “No. Birth control.”

  My heart sank. “I didn’t know you took that.”

  “Only about a month now. Don’t tell anyone.”

  “It’s none of my business.” I looked away, feeling like a fool. The only saving grace was the fact that no one but me knew exactly how big a fool I was. It was a secret I’d take to the grave.

  “Oh my God,” Adrienne said. “You won’t believe what he did!”

  I purposely checked my watch. “Oh no! I’m late!” I exclaimed. “I’m sorry. I promised Carol I’d study with her.” I grabbed my bag and almost made it safely out of the room.

  Adrienne held my arm. “I was hopin’ you could party with us tonight.”

  “I promised Carol,” I repeated. The more I said it, the more it sounded true. “I really have to go.”

  But Adrienne wouldn’t let go. “Wait, please.” Her plea seemed so earnest, I stopped. “What is it?” she asked.

  “What’s what?” I had to give an Oscar-winning performance now.

  “You don’t like my friends.”

  “I never said that.”

  “You don’t have to.” The hurt in her eyes, the tone in her voice, was clear. “You can’t possibly have that much to study.”

  “You’d be amazed. Of course I know the concept of studying isn’t something you’re familiar with.” The haughty snob took over whenever I was threatened or embarrassed.

  “Fuck you!”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

  “C’mon!” she thundered. “Level with me. I can tell you don’t like Nancy. And I know you don’t like Becky.”

  I released my backpack. “You want the truth?”

  Adrienne nodded.

  “Really?” I repeated.

  “Yeah.”

  “They act really stupid when they’re around guys. I hate that.”

  “You’re so arrogant.”

  I flipped my hair and thrust my chin into the air. “Maybe I am. I don’t care. But I think girls have to show they’re just as smart and strong as guys, or we’ll never be taken seriously.”

  “You’re such a feminist.” The word slithered off her tongue like a snake.

  “Have you ever looked up that word in the dictionary?” I asked in a most condescending tone. “It means someone who advocates equal rights for women. What’s wrong with that?”

  “They want everyone to think like they do.”

  “You know, I don’t give a shit what you think.” My own words shocked me, and probably Adrienne, but they felt good. I decided to start saying “shit” a little more often. “I’ve seen corncobs back home with more sense than you.”

  “You wanna be an uptight bitch your whole life?”

  “If you’re the alternative!” I grabbed my backpack again and slammed the door behind me. I rushed down the hall, but I couldn’t outrun my tears.

  Chapter Thirty

  Rachmaninoff crackled on the turntable. The aroma of brewing hazelnut coffee floated in the air. Carol’s dorm room was a lot messier, but I could breathe here. I watched the needle bounce up and down on black vinyl. “I haven’t seen one of these in years,” I sighed. But my casual chitchat was eclipsed by the sadness in my eyes. And Carol saw it. Of course she would; she was highly perceptive, like some advanced life form—a life form whose fuzzy brown hair kept sticking inside her glasses, but advanced nonetheless.

  “You gotta really dig to find ’em now,” Carol replied, trying to straighten up papers to no avail.

  I stood in the middle of clutter—piles of Newsweek, papers, junk food wrappers. Rows of candles were lit under the window like in a church. And on every wall were posters of classic films—Dial “M” for Murder, Gone with the Wind, Casablanca, The Searchers. I looked up, trying to take it all in.

  “Want some coffee?” Carol asked.

  “Sure. Where’s your roommate?”

  “She’s usually sleepin’ over at her boyfriend’s. It works out, ’cause I’d rather live alone.”

  “What about Mr. Tight End?”

  “Uh…” Carol hesitated. “We had a little difference of opinion.”

  “Again?”

  “He’s always too aggressive after a game,” Carol explained. “He can’t admit that I’m right about everything, and he’s always wrong.” She smiled, seemingly undaunted by their rocky romance.

  “Well,” I said. “You’re lucky your roommate’s never around.”

  “You don’t like your roommate?”

  “I wouldn’t put it quite that way.” I squinted at the neon raspberry rug. “She thinks I’m uptight.”

  Carol poured the steaming coffee into a cup. “Yeah, well, she’s got too much hair. Stereotypes are for lazy people.”

  “Yeah, she’s lazy. God, she pisses me off.”

  “Look,” Carol said, handing me the mug. “Most people don’t get along with their roommates. It’ll be okay. You can come over anytime you want.”

  “It’s not that. Oh, God. Carol, I really need to talk to someone about something.”

  “Huh?”

  I started to pace across the raspberry rug, tightening my sweaty palms into fists and breathing rapidly like I was about to give birth. “I really hope it’s okay to tell you this. But if I don’t tell someone, I’m going to explode.”

  Carol eyed me suspiciously and lit up a cigarette. “You can tell me anything.”

  I watched the smoke float in front of my face. “Won’t you get in trouble for that?”

  “Oh, please.” She waved the smoke away. “Tell me.”

  “Okay. My roommate—”

  “Is a bitch.”

  “Sort of, but not really. Actually, that would make it easier. I don’t know. It’s me.” I threw my head into my hands and collapsed onto one of the beds.

  “What’s you? Speak English.”

  “I’m scared.”

  “What, she’s stashing weapons?”

  I laughed nervously, crouched over into the letter “C,” holding my torso. “No. I’m scared of how I feel.”

  First, Carol looked confused. Then a slow smile broke out across her face. “I get it! You got the hots for her!”

  My face filled with fear. To hear it aloud… Was I that obvious? I touched my cheek to feel it burning.

  “It’s okay,” Carol said. “I’m bisexual.”

  “What? You never told me that!”

  “You never asked.”

  “Oh please! You only talk about guys.”

  “Well,” Carol said, “your dad is a conservative Nazi, so I didn’t know how you’d take it.” I was greatly surprised at this new information. She continued, “It’s true. My fifth-grade teacher, Ms. Kessler. A dead ringer for Susan Sarandon.”

  “Really.” I sat in awe. I needed to process this.

  Carol stared off into space. “That was the only time I ever liked math.”

  “I wish you’d told me sooner.”

  “I even stayed after class.”

  “I feel like I’m going crazy.”

  “I’m the crazy one. I turned into a little stalker. I followed her home from school once.”

  “That’s sort of sweet. In a sick, twisted way.” I laughed.

  “So does she know?”

  I raised the coffee cup to my mouth with shaking hands. “It’s so screwed up. No. I wish I had the guts to tell her.”

  Carol pondered the situation a moment, slowly sucking on her cigarette. “I don’t know that I would. I’ve seen that gang of metalhead fuckers she runs around with.”

  “I can’t eat. I can’t sleep.”

  “You’re lucky. I gain thirty pounds.” Carol tapped ashes off into a Styrofoam cup. “Every time I like someone, thirty pounds. A really big crush, forty pounds.”

  I managed a smile. “I wonder how you know, how anyone knows. I mean, I’ve never slept with a girl.”

  “You don’t have to sleep with someone to know who you want to sleep with. It isn’t rocket science, kiddo.”

>   “I guess not. But God, Carol. I don’t know how I’m going to get through this year. I mean, it’s all I can do to just act normal.”

  “What’s normal, anyway?” Carol spat.

  “Acting like I’m happy while she dates this jerk.”

  “Well, in that case, normal sounds pretty fucked up.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Was Robin really willing to give up everything because this woman suddenly resurfaced in her life? As she tied her light blue scarf in the mirror, she was either not positive of her decision or simply too numb to feel.

  When she came downstairs, she was startled to see Tom with Jimmy and Abigail, having their coffee in the living room.

  She overheard her father saying to Tom, “You know what it’s about?”

  Tom answered, “No.”

  A hush fell over the room when Robin entered.

  “Hi, Daddy,” she said. “Abigail.” A polite nod. She could see the questions on their faces. She could hardly look at them, especially her father. She couldn’t bear his disappointment. A sick sensation came over her, as she began to doubt if she could go through with it.

  “It’s all over the papers.” Jimmy’s voice boomed.

  “Your blood pressure, dear.” Abigail patted his leg.

  “Front page story about you talkin’ with that woman last night.” Jimmy set his cup down. The frown lines between his eyebrows deepened. “I can’t imagine what in Sam Hill possessed you to talk to her. It doesn’t look good. And at this late date…”

  “I’m holding a press conference shortly,” Robin replied.

  “So Tom tells us,” Jimmy said. “What’re you saying?”

  “I can’t talk about it,” she said firmly.

  “That’s just great,” Jimmy exclaimed. “A surprise press conference.” He patted his chest. “The old ticker can’t take any more surprises, Robin.”

  “With all due respect, Daddy, it’s my career.” She folded her arms, refusing to let him make her feel guilty.

  Abigail’s eyes shifted back and forth. She was a bundle of nerves, but sipped her coffee quietly as the drama played out.

  “Promise me one thing,” Jimmy said, gesturing to Robin and Tom. “Y’all are stayin’ married.” Seeing Robin’s puzzled face, he added, “It looks like you’re my only hope for more grandchildren.”

  “Stop that,” Abigail scolded him. “She’s too old for that. She’s in that age group where the risk goes up.”

  Jimmy seemed confused.

  “For things…not goin’ right.” Abigail blinked.

  “She might not be the sharpest tool in the tool shed,” Robin said, glowering at Abigail. “But she loves you, Daddy. She’s a keeper.”

  “Excuse me?” Abigail was offended.

  Robin had no filter this morning. With everything that had transpired, she was too fatigued to keep up pretenses anymore.

  “Dear, sweet Abigail,” she continued. “I’m sure you weren’t trying to call me old.” If there was one thing Robin couldn’t abide, it was any commentary about her age.

  “Well of course not, dear.” Abigail tried to smooth out her ruffled feathers.

  “Now, Daddy, what do you mean about grandchildren?” Robin asked, taking a seat across from her father.

  “I’m afraid we got some unpleasant news,” Jimmy said. “Kenneth and Sheila are callin’ it quits.”

  “What?” Robin rubbed her temples.

  “You got your migraine pills?” Tom asked. He was always very solicitous of her.

  She nodded. “How can this be?”

  “It’s true.” The crease over Jimmy’s brow was now a crater. She could tell he was sad and anxious.

  “It can’t be,” she said. “You know Kenneth. He just likes to stir the pot.”

  “Afraid that’s not the case this time.” The way Jimmy didn’t look at her, the way he rubbed his knees nervously…it was true.

  She couldn’t believe it. Kenneth and Sheila had been inseparable since their first day of high school. There was nothing in the world that would tear him away from the waif-like girl with fudge-colored hair who wore a ton of foundation to cover her freckles. She doted on him, adored him. If it had been another century, she would have followed him into the throes of some medieval battle. What could possibly have happened?

  Jimmy finished his coffee with one final gulp and set it down roughly against the fragile china dish. “Would you believe he blamed me?” He drew shapes on his knees with nervous fingers. “As if it’s my fault!”

  “What do you mean?” Robin asked, her eyes darting to the somber-faced Abigail, who waited quietly for him to tell the story.

  “It seems he always liked this other girl,” Jimmy said helplessly. “Said she wasn’t someone he could bring home to us. He said he married Sheila ’cause me and your mother liked her! Can you believe that? I thought that boy had more of a spine than that.”

  Robin stared at him a long moment. “Well, Daddy, you were very strong in your opinions. I’m not saying this is your fault, but would you have approved of this other one?”

  “I didn’t even know her!” he insisted. “Your flaky brother never gave me a chance. You didn’t keep stuff from me ’cause you were afraid what I’d say, too, did you?” He asked the question, but didn’t really want an answer.

  “Course not,” Robin lied.

  Jimmy kept rubbing his hands together. “He says he loved Sheila, but was never ‘in love’ with her. Doesn’t that beat all hell?”

  Abigail took Robin’s hands. “We hope this doesn’t hurt you in any way.”

  Robin glanced at Tom, who was obediently silent. “Of course not,” she said.

  “I think she’ll be fine,” Jimmy told Abigail, “as long as it’s not her gettin’ the divorce. It’s only her brother.” He didn’t hear how the words sounded. “You can understand the concern, though,” he added, facing Robin. “Divorces don’t happen to good Republicans.” He half-smiled, but it was clearly no joke to him.

  “Everything will be fine,” Robin said as much to soothe herself as them.

  “Thank God you and Tom have each other,” Jimmy said. “You can be strong for one another, no matter the outcome of this damn election.” He stood up and hugged his daughter a long time. “Elections come and go, but your husband, the one who stands by you, that’s all that matters.”

  She heard his words as the eighteen-year-old girl again, being strongly advised about how to live her life. This made the looming press conference now even more ominous.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Governor Sanders took her place behind a podium that seemed to shrink as she stood there. She wished it could shield her from the flashing cameras and expectant faces. Among them were the wealthiest endorsers of her campaign. They would feel betrayed. This was political suicide…

  It was time to begin. The press room fell silent.

  “Ladies and gentlemen of the press,” Robin began. She looked down, which was uncharacteristic of her, and gripped the podium as a life raft. The room began to spin, she was about to hit the floor…was she fainting?

  She abruptly raised her head and looked around her quiet office for a moment. The press conference hadn’t yet started, but her visions of it seemed frightfully real. In this darkest of times, she had no idea how she was going to say the words that would end what could have been a brilliant career. With a bitter smile, she thought to herself that maybe it was karma.

  The state capitol was buzzing with reporters and frantic staff, who were preparing the North Wing for this highly unprecedented event. All morning long, the media had been speculating that this press conference may or may not be connected to Governor Sanders’ meeting with Adrienne Austen the night before.

  Lara Denning burst into the governor’s office and made sure the door was closed and locked behind her. She marched toward Robin’s desk and began with something it seemed like she’d rehearsed: “Look,” she said, “I know you like this off-the-cuff, unrehearsed thing you
do…” She paused to collect herself. “And it’s been good. It’s made you popular, but…it’s too late in the campaign to surprise everyone. At least I should know what’s coming. Can you throw me a bone here?”

  “I know you’re concerned.” There was that calm Robin from earlier this morning. She was going to give another patronizing response.

  “You’ve got a staff out there that’s really nervous. No, scared! You’re scaring the fuck out of me too.” Her voice revealed her panic. “We’re so close, we can taste it. But if you’re not going to work with us…what’s the point in us being here?”

  Robin folded her hands. “That question is about to be answered.” Her stare was distant, unfocused. She seemed a shell of herself, with none of the fighting spirit Lara expected to see.

  “What’s with these cryptic comments? Is this the goddamn Da Vinci Code?”

  There was a soft knock. Lara went over to unlock the door. It was Peter.

  “No luck,” Lara told him.

  But Peter had other news. “Governor? You have…a visitor.”

  Adrienne Austen pushed her way past Lara and Peter into the office. Robin’s eyes were wide with surprise. “Leave us alone,” the governor told her staff.

  They angrily ambled out of the room, waiting as long as they could before closing the door. There was muffled conversation outside the room. No doubt everyone thought there was a connection between this woman’s appearance and the press conference.

  “Your security people like their pat downs,” Adrienne said. “I should have had ’em buy me a drink first.” She brushed off her jeans, which were slightly faded, and a rust-color shirt was tucked inside, the top two buttons undone.

  The governor rose to her feet and came around to the front of her desk. “How dare you show up here! You want to destroy me. You’re getting your wish. Is that not enough for you?”

  “I don’t want to destroy you,” Adrienne said. Her voice was softer; the tension from the night before was gone.

  “Get out.”

  “I came to apologize.”