Hurricane Days

by Renée J. Lukas

  “Hey,” he coaxed. “It can’t be that bad.”

  “Oh yes, it can.” I got up to check the hallway, making sure no one was nearby. Then I locked the door. I came back to the head of my bed and took a deep breath. “It’s my roommate.”

  He nodded. I could tell from his blank stare, he had no idea where I was going with this.

  “I think…” I couldn’t look at him and say it at the same time. So I looked at the floor. “I have a crush on her.” I practically whispered it.

  He looked surprised, but not in a horrified way, as Mom and Dad would have. “Wow.” That was all he could say.

  “That’s it?” I snapped. “Wow?”

  “Well…” He considered the situation thoughtfully. “You’re not the kind of person I’d expect to…you don’t seem like you’ve ever had a wild thought in your life. Remember when I’d want to go exploring some barn, and you’d say it was trespassing, and we’d get in trouble? That’s how I see you, I guess. So…wow. What’re you gonna do?”

  “I already did.” I looked away.

  I heard a quiet chuckle. Maybe he was merely impressed that I’d done something wild.

  “You…slept with her?” His eyes were wide with surprise.

  “Yeah, but just once. Swear you won’t say anything.”

  “I won’t.” After a pause, “Cool.”

  “No, this isn’t some male fantasy thing. I think it’s the real thing.”

  He looked strangely at me. “Does this mean you’re queer?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know what it means. But you can’t say anything. Ever.”

  He crossed his heart. “I’ll take it to the grave.” As he started for the door, my throat swelled as if I’d soon cry. He turned around and said, “Whatever you are, you know I love you no matter what. You’re my sister.”

  I jumped up and gave him the biggest hug. This was unusual for him. Kenneth had never been one for long or important conversations. Usually he’d grunt and I knew what he meant. I assumed most boys weren’t big talkers until I met Marc. But I hadn’t been around Ken in so long, maybe his girlfriend Sheila had forced him to talk more.

  “I won’t say a word, but you know,” he continued. “It wouldn’t kill Mom and Dad to wake up a little. I know a girl who got pretty pissed at something Dad said about unwed mothers. It was in the newspaper.”

  “Yeah, I guess. It’s…so scary.” Before he could leave, I said, “Give my best to Sheila.”

  “Uh, since we’re tellin’ secrets…” He seemed awkward, as he came closer. “I kinda said she was sick so Mom and Dad wouldn’t get all…you know how they get.”

  I nodded. “Yeah.”

  “We’ve been havin’ some problems. We’re havin’ a separation for a while. But we’re not broken up or anything.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not.” He wouldn’t look at me.

  Kenneth and Sheila had been in a relationship since high school. It was hard to imagine them not together.

  “I don’t know if she’s the right one. But don’t say a word.” His intense plea was understandable. Sheila’s family had a lot of money, and they were considered a perfect match as far as our parents were concerned. So I could see why he was reluctant to share this with them. “We’ll probably get back together soon.”

  “Don’t do it,” I replied. “Not unless you really want her. I mean, this is your life. You had no trouble telling Dad you didn’t want to stay at the farm.”

  “This is a little different.”

  “Make sure you’re really happy, or don’t do it,” I repeated.

  He nodded in a way that I could tell he wasn’t really going to pay attention. I worried for him. I stared at the closed door a while after he left. A sinking, anxious feeling overcame me. School would be starting in a few days. I wondered if, living in the same world of limitations and expectations, Ken or I could do what our hearts really wanted.

  I settled back into my pillows. I could hear the agitated voices of my parents downstairs, especially my father’s because it was the loudest. The cold, hopeless sensation returned to my stomach. It was a nice dream while it lasted.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Ann DeMarco was too sharp a reporter to let go of a story when her instincts told her it was good. No doubt rumors had been flying that Adrienne paid a visit to the Georgia state capitol right before Governor Sanders’ somewhat strange press conference. Robin suspected that Ann would be investigating more than anyone, to see if this affair was a misunderstanding as Adrienne Austen had portrayed it or if it was something more—a real love story.

  As Robin rehearsed for the debate, she caught the end of a nightly news program with Ann DeMarco. Ann ended the broadcast with the teaser: “Did Governor Sanders come clean about her alleged college affair? Contact us on the ‘Tweet Line’ anytime. We’d love to get your tips. We’d especially like to hear from former college friends who can tell us if there’s more to this story than meets the eye. Until then, have a great night.”

  Ann flipped a page on her desk and smiled a twinkling smile.

  Robin was angry. Of all the top news reporters, Ann had never pandered to the ratings machine. This “Tweet Line” tip line was a new thing, however, and everyone on her network had begun to promote it. They were trying to be “more interactive.” So Ann may have had no choice. Even so, Robin believed she had no friends in the media. They were all wild animals, looking to make their next kill.

  Then in one loud exhale, Robin said, “Carol.” She was the first person to come into Robin’s mind, especially with her lack of a censor switch and habitually rude bluntness. There was no way to predict what Carol would say if reporters got to her before Robin had a chance to talk with her.

  * * *

  Lara accompanied the governor to a small psychiatric facility in Montgomery, Alabama.

  “What are you not saying?” Robin asked after an unusually long silence on the private plane.

  “I’m not saying that I think you’re overreacting,” Lara said. “I’m not saying that I think you’re making everything too goddamn personal and that it’s going to affect your standing in the polls. And I’m especially not saying that you should be focused on the biggest debate of your life in just a few fucking days. Not saying!” She held up her hands.

  “They’re sniffing around where they shouldn’t,” Robin snapped. “Carol hasn’t done anything to anyone. She’s in an institution, for God’s sake. How dare they!”

  “They haven’t,” Lara said.

  “Not yet,” Robin corrected.

  Robin felt very protective of Carol. She was saddened that her career as a public figure could compromise the privacy of all her former friends.

  “Honey,” Lara said, “you’ve got to get your priorities straight. You of all people know it gets ugly at this stage.”

  “Not if I can help it.” She heard how naïve she sounded, but for a moment, she remembered the spark of idealism she had when she first sought a career in public service. She smiled bitterly to herself. She used to think that her soul was a small price to pay in order to do some good.

  * * *

  Once inside the facility, Robin was left alone to visit her old friend in her room. She was first shocked at Carol’s appearance—her unkempt, long and frizzy gray hair, cascading down her shoulders like a sixties’ folk singer. She still had a nose ring, but no makeup. Her tired eyes had deep bags under them, and her dramatic weight loss left her cheeks slightly sunken and her arms like twigs. She knew that Carol’s medications had terrible side effects, and her appearance was probably the result of years of those drugs. Even so, she felt a heaviness in her heart at the circumstances.

  “Carol,” Robin said, closing the door behind her. She was dressed in her designer suit and coat and looked very conspicuous in such a drab, depressing environment.

  Carol was staring out the window, not looking at her.

  “I’ll tell you anything for a cigarette,” she
said.

  “I can’t do that,” Robin replied.

  “Then I don’t know shit.” Carol turned and saw that it was Robin. Her eyes widened. “Wow, if it isn’t her majesty, the Nazi governor!” Carol always had a way of bringing Robin down to earth, and Robin was relieved, and a little worried, to see she still hadn’t lost her edge.

  “So you do recognize me!” Robin sat in the only chair available. It was a sterile, hospital-style room with a single bed, a nightstand and not much else. “Do you live here?”

  “Hell, no.” She sat against the metal headboard. “I’ve been in and out for counseling.” She made air quotes. “They’ve put me on every kind of drug. I’m the rat they like to experiment on.”

  “I understand.”

  She appraised Robin in one brief glance. “My head’s always been fucked. But not as much as yours.”

  “Okay…”

  “You’ve made a career out of self-loathing.” She laughed a sinister laugh.

  “I need to ask you something,” Robin said.

  “Of course you do. Why else would you be here?” She could smile at her in a way that told her not to mess with her; she could see through everything and everyone. Unfortunately, she had little interest in anyone who wasn’t there to talk about her. As far as she was concerned, she was the most important person anyway.

  “I see how little it would take for you to divulge information about me,” Robin said.

  “The cigarette thing? Nah. They won’t let me smoke anyway.” Carol smiled tiredly; her eyes were glazing over. She was either heavily medicated or bored. Robin had to make sure that Carol wouldn’t say anything to cause serious damage to her reputation. “Have any reporters visited you? Ann DeMarco?”

  “No, and don’t worry. I don’t tweet.” Carol was obviously still an avid watcher of news networks. “You really are a piece of work. I don’t see you for decades, and now I can see the fear in your eyes…” She widened her eyes in a way that sent chills down Robin’s spine. “Fear that I might say something about you and that heavy metal chick in college.”

  Robin shook her head. This wasn’t looking good. Either she would say something to get revenge or be so drugged, it wouldn’t matter. Of course, she could dismiss anything that was said by someone in a psychiatric hospital. The wheels began to turn. Yes, she could probably spin this. Part of her visit had been to evaluate Carol Munson’s condition. If she’d seemed sharper, Robin would have been more concerned. But she could handle whatever came now.

  “If someone like Ann DeMarco asked you whether or not I had an affair with another girl in college, what would you say?” Robin asked.

  “I’d tell her it’s none of her fucking business.”

  Robin exhaled. “Really?” She knew she must look visibly surprised.

  “Really. Even though I should hang you out to dry…Hmm. Maybe I should say, if you get in office, we’re screwed.”

  “If you feel like that, why would you protect my privacy?” Robin asked.

  “Hey,” Carol barked. “I might not like who you are, but I have ethics. Do you?”

  “Right.” Robin nodded politely. There was a long, uncomfortable quiet. They were obviously strangers now.

  “I can’t believe you found me,” Carol said. “I’ve been off the grid.” She gave Robin an explanation filled with a strong paranoia about the Internet and anything that became public information. “I pulled the plug on every social website, thinking no one could track me down.”

  “I have…people.”

  “Holy fuck.” Carol laughed. “Who knew you’d get so big you’d ‘have people’?”

  Robin smiled in spite of herself. Something about being back in Carol’s presence brought her immediately back down to earth. “It is kind of weird,” she said with a smile.

  Carol tucked her hand under her chin. “You know, I could tell ’em how you liked to go dancing.”

  “Dancing,” Robin repeated. That seemed harmless enough, although Robin couldn’t remember what she was talking about.

  “Remember Andrew?”

  “Oh, right, yes.” That information wasn’t too bad; many people had friends who were gay.

  “Did you hear about him?” Carol asked.

  “No.”

  “Of course not. You’re too busy judging everybody. ‘Being gay is unnatural’…give me a fuckin’ break! Who the hell do you think you are!” Carol’s anger was getting so loud, someone might come in.

  Robin tried to calm her down. “I know. I haven’t been…truthful.”

  “You think?” Carol shook her head. “Go on your computer and look up Andrew…what was his last name?”

  “Bennington.” Robin hadn’t forgotten.

  Carol was surprised at her memory. “Yeah, look him up. See what happened to him.”

  “Why don’t you tell me?”

  “Don’t remember.” She was obviously lying.

  “All right then.” Robin smoothed a single wrinkle across her skirt. She had to keep her clothes as tidy as possible, especially if she was seen in a place like this.

  * * *

  All the way back to Georgia, Robin refused to let Carol get inside her head and make her feel guilty about her success. She’d always been jealous of her and Adrienne anyway, Robin rationalized. How funny it was… Robin could forget where she put her phone, her keys, but she’d never forget the name of the boy with the laugh. Somehow he held a special place in her memory. Maybe she should get in touch with him too, make sure he still had her back.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Crossing the Florida state line, I wasn’t the same girl who came down a few months before. I was resolved to remain cool when I saw her again, although my stomach did flip-flops with each highway sign that said “Tallahassee.” Palm trees emerged on the horizon, frosted from an unexpected deep freeze.

  How different the panhandle of Florida was from the rest of the state. It could actually get cold here—down to the thirties in winter. Fortunately, I’d packed as if I were still in Georgia, with what seemed to be a suitable number of jackets for various occasions. I remembered the night before the holiday break. The oatmeal sweater. I distracted myself on the tedious drive down the highway with thoughts of which clothes I wanted to wear—and in what order. Somehow, order gave me peace, especially when nothing else did.

  The dorm room was empty. So, unfortunately, I had plenty of time, which wasn’t good for someone like me. Too much time could turn my thoughts to monsters. I had to keep myself busy. I had enough time to buzz around, unpacking, fussing with my hair in the mirror, sipping a soda, fussing some more with my makeup, going to the bathroom because of the soda, coming back to the room to fuss even more.

  Lydia, the RA, banged on the door, and I jumped out of my skin before answering it. She shoved a flyer at me. “Tips on hurricane preparedness.”

  “I thought the season was over.”

  “We, uh, had a little trouble getting everyone organized,” Lydia explained. “So we want to do better preparedness drills.”

  “So these are tips for next season.”

  Lydia was defensive. No one had questioned her hurricane flyers before. “You goin’ to a party? You look all made up.” She must have decided to be less socially awkward this semester. But her attempt to make small talk only came off as creepy.

  “No,” I replied.

  “Wait. Don’t tell me. You’re expecting some guy. That’s it, isn’t it?”

  “You guessed it.” I smiled as I closed the door.

  I spent a couple more grueling hours waiting to hear the key in the door. “Hey!” Adrienne came crashing in with more suitcases than she had before.

  “Hey! Need some help?”

  “No, I got it.” She dragged in one that seemed bigger than she was.

  “You got a dead body in there?”

  Adrienne caught her breath. “I forgot about your weird sense of humor.”

  When she was successfully inside with the door closed, she turned to
hug me with more force than the one before the holiday, the one I remembered all December long. I was filled with joy at the sight of her.

  When we finally pulled apart, she said, “It’s so great to see you! It feels like it’s been forever.”

  “I know, right?” I smiled shyly, often disarmed by her directness. “How was your Christmas?”

  “It sucked. Don’t ask.”

  “Okay.”

  “My dad had his new girlfriend over…the whole time.”

  “Oh. Sorry.”

  “How was yours?”

  “It was okay.”

  “Did you get anything good? Like clothes without flowers on them?” She laughed hysterically.

  “Bitch.”

  We were immediately at ease with each other again, almost comfortable. Then she said, “I really missed you.”

  “No, you didn’t. You missed making fun of me.”

  “Well, that too.” There was an awkward pause. “You know,” she said. “I almost called you.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. I don’t know why, but I wasn’t sure you’d wanna talk to me.”

  “Why not?”

  “I thought you were mad at me, because of that last night.”

  “No,” I assured her. “Not at all. Whatever I said, and I don’t really remember, it was probably just because I was drinking.” I’d rehearsed that on the way down. “How is Sean?”

  “We had a fight.”

  “I’m sorry,” I lied. “Hey, I got something for you.”

  “Me too!” Adrienne tore into her suitcase and dug around. “I know we said no presents, but I got this little thing…”

  I pulled my gift for her out of the top drawer, the underwear drawer, of my dresser, where I’d hidden it underneath what she’d called my “granny briefs.”

  “Present time!” she exclaimed. Sometimes she got so excited, she sounded like a little kid.

  When she handed me a crookedly wrapped, small rectangular present, her grin reminded me of a school picture she’d shown me once. In her smile I could still see the young girl with OshKosh clothes and uneven bangs grinning back at the camera.