Feels like Rain (Lake Fisher Book 3)

by Tammy Falkner

  I look past her. “He most definitely is walking over here.”

  “Evening, ladies,” he says as he gets closer.

  “Evening,” Gran replies, but her voice warbles a little, which makes me giggle. She reaches over and pinches my thigh.

  “Jake went this morning and picked up some late-season peaches at the farmers’ market,” he says. “So I made some homemade ice cream. Was curious to see if you’d like to come and have a bowl with me.” He stares down at Gran. I’m pretty sure he’s inviting her and not me.

  “Well, if I wasn’t so far down on this dock and could get up without any trouble, I’d be happy to join you. But as it is, I’ll have to roll up so I can get up, which won’t be very graceful.”

  “Oh, come on now, Maimi,” he teases. “I’ve seen you look not-graceful before.”

  She huffs. “I clearly remember a few times I’ve seen you look not-graceful too, you old coot,” she tosses back.

  “You’re liable to see it again in just a few minutes,” he retorts. “Give me time. Happens a lot.”

  She laughs and tries to get up. She does, indeed, roll over, and then she, with no grace whatsoever, hauls herself to her feet. “You say there’s homemade peach ice cream, huh?”

  “Lots of it,” he replies with a wink.

  “I’ve always been a sucker for homemade peach ice cream.”

  He grins. “I am well aware. Why do you think I sent Jake to the farmers’ market for peaches?” He extends his elbow to her, and she giggles as she slides her hand inside.

  Gran just giggled. At a man. Oh, glory be. I’ll never let her live this down.

  “I’ll be back later, Abigail,” Gran says to me.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I reply, trying to bite back my smile. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

  Gran ignores me entirely, which makes me laugh out loud.

  “What’s so funny?” Ethan calls from the shore where he and Mitchell stand and look up at where I’m sitting.

  “My grandmother,” I reply. “She’s the best.”

  Ethan and Mitchell carefully pick their way up the side of the slope that leads to the dock, and Mitchell flings himself at me. I catch him against me and pull him into my lap. “Mr. Jacobson scares me,” Mitchell confides.

  Ethan laughs. “I think he likes it that way.”

  “Gran’s not scared of him, though,” Mitchell says. He started calling her Gran yesterday, when she’d insisted.

  “Gran’s not really scared of anything.” I tickle Mitchell’s sides until he’s a quivering, giggly mess in my lap.

  He flops back, his arms over his head as he gives up. Suddenly, he lifts his head and looks at Ethan. “When you two get married, can I call Abigail Mom then?”

  Ethan winces and sends me a sympathetic look. “We were just talking about stepmoms and all that,” he explains.

  “So, can I?” Mitchell persists.

  “That’s between you and Abigail,” Ethan tells him.

  I lean close to Mitchell’s ear. “After we’re married, you can call me whatever you want, as long as you don’t call me late for dinner.” I tickle him again, which sends him into peals of laughter.

  He sits up so he can hold my face in his hands, as he stares into my eyes. “You promise?”

  I draw an X over my chest. “Cross my heart, hope to die, stick a needle in my eye.” I grin at him. “Let’s go home. I’ll beat you at Go Fish.” I shove his butt off my lap, and he jumps to his feet.

  He walks ahead of me and Ethan, and Ethan threads his fingers through mine. “You okay with all the mom talk?”

  The tender spot in my heart that I thought was dead feels like he just poked it. It’s most definitely alive. “I would be his mom today if I could.”

  He nods. “He’d like that.”

  “How about you?” I tug on his hand and hold my breath while I wait for his answer.

  “If your divorce was final, I’d have already married you two or three times over.”

  “I’m going to need to find a job soon.” I look up at him. “Should I try to find one here?”

  “I’ll go wherever you want to go. Here. There. Doesn’t matter. Mitchell and I will follow.”

  I don’t even have to think about it. “I think the less upheaval for Mitchell the better. So I think we should stay here.”

  “We’ll need a bigger house.” He looks down at me. “You know, in case you want to get knocked up.” He grins.

  My heart trips a beat in my chest. “Do you want to knock me up?”

  He grins even bigger. “Do you want to be knocked up?”

  “I don’t know,” I admit. “But I’d be willing to think about it.”

  “It doesn’t have to be right away,” he says. “We’ll have time.” He brushes a lock of hair behind my ear.

  I hear the screen door slam and Mitchell runs out onto the porch, holding a deck of cards. “I’m going to beat you so bad,” he says.

  “He’s an even worse loser than you are, I’m afraid,” Ethan supplies.

  “I am not a poor loser! I just like to win, that’s all,” I mutter more to myself than to him.

  He laughs and walks over to where Mitchell is already dealing cards at the picnic table. “Did you stack the deck again?” he asks. Mitchell says nothing, just continues to deal out cards.

  I sit down across from him. “There shall be no cheating,” I declare to no one in particular. “And no stacking the deck. Those are the rules. Anyone found to be breaking the rules is out of the game.”

  Mitchell grumbles and picks all the cards back up, passes them to his dad, and Ethan reshuffles them.

  “My God,” Ethan breathes near my ear. “It’s like you’re his mother or something.” He elbows me in the side, and I pick up my hand, organize my cards, and get ready to beat them both.

  Gran doesn’t come home until around midnight. I know the time because I hear the gravel crunch under the wheels of the golf cart. I watch from my window as Mr. Jacobson helps her out of the golf cart, tucks her hand into his elbow, and walks with her to the front door. He takes her hand and lifts it to his lips for a kiss as Gran titters nervously.

  She goes inside and closes the door. I walk out onto Ethan’s front porch and sit down on the top step. She comes out again, walks over to where I’m sitting, and settles down next to me.

  “Have a good night?” I ask with what I know she would think a cheeky grin on my face.

  “The ice cream was delicious.”

  I glance down at my naked wrist, as though there were a watch there. “You ate ice cream for four hours?”

  “Yes. And we talked.”

  I gently bump her shoulder with mine. “He kissed you, didn’t he?”

  She snorts. “Some lines are not to be crossed, Abigail,” she says. She gets up and dusts her butt off.

  “You mean he didn’t cross any lines?”

  “No, I mean you shouldn’t cross those lines, Abigail. Good grief.” Then she stomps off and calls “Go to bed, Abigail!” at me.

  “Yes, ma’am!” I call back.

  Ethan holds the front door open for me when I turn to go back inside.

  “Sorry. Did I wake you?” I ask.

  “Your side of the bed was cold,” he admits. “It didn’t feel right.” He looks toward Gran’s cabin. “She okay?”

  “I was trying to get her to tell me if Pop put the moves on her, but she stopped my prying.” In a way only Gran can do.

  “You think Mr. Jacobson tried something with her?” He looks appalled at the idea.

  “I know she’d like for him to.” He looks even more appalled.

  He scratches his chin. “Maybe we should tell him.”

  I laugh. “Oh, I’m pretty sure he knows.” Gran’s about as subtle as a heart attack. I step up onto my toes and kiss him. He isn’t wearing a shirt, so I can see all his muscles. “You sure are pretty,” I say quietly.

  He rolls his eyes, scoops me up into his arms, and takes me to bed. “You do
n’t have to flatter me into sex.”

  “What do I have to do, then?” I ask as he pulls my shirt over my head.

  He grins wickedly. “Just breathe.”

  But I lose my breath with what he does next, and that’s quite fine with me.

  36

  Abigail

  “I’m beginning to think this rain is never going to stop,” Gran says from her spot at the kitchen table where she’s shelling peas. I have never understood why anyone would want to shell peas when you can buy a whole can for less than a dollar, but she enjoys doing it. When she’d found them in a bushel basket at the tackle shop, she’d been overjoyed.

  “It’s supposed to stop later today,” Ethan says as he walks in. He had to go and move some things around for Mr. Jacobson, but he has been inside most of the past three days, while the hurricane has stalled on the coast exactly the way Mr. Jacobson said it would. It was a category four when it hit the coast, and it has sat and churned, which gave us a little wind and pouring rain that hasn’t quit yet.

  “How bad is the flooding?” I ask him.

  “Pretty bad,” he says. “The campground is under water. Mr. Jacobson is glad he had me go tie down all the picnic tables before the storm hit, or we’d find them at the bottom of the lake when all this is over.”

  He pulls his hat off and brushes his wet hair back from his face. “Mr. Jacobson is monitoring the police scanner. Five Mile Bridge is under water.”

  “All the way under?” I ask, aghast. Five Mile Bridge, a bridge whose name is not appropriate at all since the bridge is only about half a mile long, usually has about fifteen feet of clearance between it and the water.

  “Like, you can’t see the rails of the bridge under,” he clarifies.

  He walks to the bedroom to get a dry shirt. He has a few things here, but most of his clothes are at his cabin which is where we sleep. We seem to have fallen into a rhythm of eating at Gran’s every night after he gets off work. For the past three days the schools have been closed because of the storm, so Mitchell has stayed with me during the day.

  Right now, Mitchell is sort of upside down on the couch, reading a comic book. His feet rest on the back of the couch, and his hair hangs down off the seat cushion to touch the floor. I have learned over the last few weeks that Mitchell is almost never still. Even when he’s standing still, he’s moving something. He might be standing on one leg, or he might be upside down, but he is always moving.

  “Did you call your mom?”

  He grins. “I did.” He leans toward me and says quietly, “A man answered the phone.”

  I lay a hand upon my chest. “A man?”

  “A real live man,” he whispers vehemently.

  “Who was he?”

  He shrugs. “No idea. He said his name is Shawn, but I don’t know anything else about him. But when I asked to talk to her, he told me she was in the shower.”

  “Oh, so that’s how it is?” I arch my brows at him and grin comically.

  He shoves his fingers into his ears and sings out, “La la la la la la la! I don’t want to know!”

  I try not to laugh. “I’m glad she’s happy.” I nod toward Mitchell. “He looks pretty happy too.”

  Ethan grabs me and pulls me against him. “How about you?” His eyes run up and down my face. “Are you happy?”

  “Couldn’t be happier,” I reply. I stand on my tiptoes so I can kiss him, and Mitchell makes a gagging noise, but he’s still engrossed in his comic book so I’m not too worried.

  Suddenly, Ethan’s phone rings. His brow furrows. He hits the button to put it on speaker. “Hello,” he says.

  “Ethan, the boys at the rescue squad just called. They need some help, so Jake and I are going to go down.”

  I shake my head at him. “No,” I mouth.

  He ignores me. “What’s going on, Mr. Jacobson?”

  “There’s flooding down by Big Belly Creek, and some trees are blocking the road. They need a few men with trucks and chain saws to come and pull them out of the way.”

  “No,” I mouth again. He still ignores me.

  “I’ll meet you there,” he says. He’s already putting his hat on his head. “Is it on the north side or the south side?”

  “Both. Jake and I can go to the north side if you want to take the south.”

  “Sounds good,” Ethan replies. “Call me if anything changes.”

  He hangs up the phone and pulls me against him again. “I’ll be back in a little while.”

  “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

  “No, but I’m going anyway.”

  “Glutton for punishment,” I mutter.

  He gets Mitchell’s attention. “I’ll be back in a few minutes, son. Behave yourself, okay?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Mitchell mutters, but he doesn’t look up from his book.

  “Sorry,” Ethan says. “I know I just got here.” He looks worried.

  I shove him toward the door. “Go so you can get back sooner.”

  He leaves, his shoulders hunched against the rain that’s still falling. I watch him through the window as he backs out. He hesitates, staring toward the screen door for a moment, so I raise my hand. He raises his too, and I watch him back out and leave, the rain still pouring so hard that I can barely see his outline in the truck.

  “He’ll be fine, Abigail,” Gran says from her spot at the table. “Come help me shell these peas.” She shoves a tall stack of peas toward me, and she puts the bowl between us.

  “I do not like shelling peas,” I say with a frown.

  “Well, I don’t like sitting idle,” she says. She glares at me until I start to shell the peas.

  We shell peas together quietly for about a half hour, until Mitchell calls my name.

  “Hey, Abby?” Mitchell says. I don’t correct him. I kind of like that he shortens my name. It’s kind of our thing. He’s standing at the front door, staring out.

  “Yes?”

  He turns toward me and there’s the oddest look on his face. “Is my dad all right?”

  “He’s fine,” I say. But the boy looks like he doesn’t quite believe me.

  “Abby? Are you sure?”

  I lift my brows at him in response. “Of course. What makes you think he’s not all right?”

  He turns slowly back around to stare out the screen door again. Now I’m a little concerned. Is it just nerves at being separated from his father, or—

  Suddenly, I notice the flashing blue light that’s shining off the door as it goes around and around. The moisture from all the rain reflects the light, making it seem to penetrate everywhere.

  My heart is immediately in my throat. “The police are here,” I say to Gran and I clutch her hand.

  She walks over and takes Mitchell by the shoulder, guiding him away with some excuse as I step out onto the porch.

  Little Robbie Gentry runs up my front steps, his state trooper hat dripping water. “Robbie?”

  I know immediately, because he won’t look into my eyes.

  “Robbie!” I say louder.

  Finally, he looks at me. “Abigail,” he says, “I’m so sorry. They sent me to get you.”

  “Get me for what?”

  “It’s Ethan, and it’s bad.”

  37

  Ethan

  When I arrive at Big Belly Creek, which is one of the smaller branches of the system that feeds the lake, I see that the small bridge there is flooded, and I can easily identify the trees that are blocking the road.

  I stop and get out my tow straps, and I get ready to tie up to the trees so I can pull them out of the road at least. If I can get them out of the way, I can come back tomorrow and cut them up, when the rain isn’t so bad. But as I bend over to attach the straps to the trees, I hear the screams.

  It sounds like the howling wind at first, so I dismiss it. But then I hear it again.

  I look up and don’t see anything but rushing water over the main road that leads to Big Belly Bridge. The bridge is completely flooded,
the water high up on the road. Then I see it. I see a car stalled out in the water. On the top of a little white Honda, a lady stands with two small children. One is clutched in her arms, and the other holds tightly to her legs.

  She screams and waves her free arm. Water rushes around her feet, and the child she’s holding loses his footing and she catches his arm, pulling him up to rest on her hip. The water rushes fiercely past her legs, and it looks like it’s getting deeper and deeper.

  I walk out into the water, the rush of it against my own legs fierce and unyielding as it tries to knock me over. I pump my arms as I run to the car, and I trip as I get close. I get shoved hard by the roiling water, smashing my arm between my body and the car, but I don’t stop. I can’t.

  “Give me the kids!” I call out. I make a come-hither motion with my hands, and she looks down at me skeptically. “I can do it!” I yell. “But you have to hurry! The water’s still rising.” It’s battering my shoulders now, and I can feel splashes in the back of my hair. She squats down, bracing herself against the pull of the water. She hands me the larger boy, who wraps himself around me. I try to take the baby too, but the car moves under her, propelled by the force of the water, and she nearly falls. I hold the boy to my front, letting him wrap his legs and arms around me.

  “Hold on tight. As tight as you can,” I warn. He grips me like one of those spider monkeys you see on nature shows as they cling to their mothers even when dashing unheeded through the treetops. I turn around and call out to the mom over my shoulder, “Give me the baby!” The car shifts again, and I can see the railing bend, the only thing that’s keeping the car from rushing right over the side of the bridge. “Now!” I yell.

  She leans down, passes the infant to me as I still hold her older child with the other hand. The I turn and yell, “Hop on! Hurry!” She jumps, grabbing my neck as she holds on to me, and I feel her legs wrap around my waist. I hold tightly to the children, as her boy holds on to my front, and I jump against the force of the water, trying to get back to the shore. I see headlights up ahead and blue lights right behind. Thank God.