I want to throw up.
I want to hide.
I want the winds of this hurricane to pick me up and carry me away.
Sally clears her throat, breaking the silence in the car. I force myself to look up. I expect to see her waiting to say something to me, but she’s looking at Ramon. We’re still sitting in our parking spot on the lot. Ramon is behind the wheel, but he’s staring straight ahead like a wooden soldier.
“Iris, Sally’s invited us to go to her parents’ house in Broken Bow,” Ramon says, still looking through the windshield. “I think we should.”
I let go a silent breath. So, Moira was right. They’re heading out of town.
I can’t say I blame them. I haven’t been watching the weather, but Ramon has looked stressed for the last couple of days. I don’t have to ask to know that this is bringing up a lot of shit for him.
Literally.
When he went home the first time after Hurricane Maria, Ramon helped his dad and brother-in-law dig an outhouse in their backyard because they had no running water. Nothing in my experience compares to that. Third World stuff, right there.
Sally’s still watching him with something a lot warmer than lust in her eyes. She rests a hand on his knee and squeezes.
I say nothing. I’m still reeling over Moira’s insane plan and the fact that she’s actually set it in motion. If I go with Sally and Ramon, I won’t even have to reply to Jonathan, but I sure as hell will still have to answer to Moira.
It would just be Saturday night, right? That’s when the storm is expected to hit. Could I stay sequestered in a guest room at my director’s house during the storm and then leave when it’s all clear?
Would the end result of that be the same thing? What would people say? What would happen if Moira posted something about it on my Insta?
I can just see it now: a screenshot of the radar showing the storm bearing down on Louisiana, and the caption, Thanks to my hero #HEXED director @jon_reynolds, I’m safe during #HurricaneAddie! With storm and heart emojis sprinkled throughout.
Even without saying more than that, she’d give the celeb gossipers enough fuel.
I don’t want to sleep with my director. And I don’t want people to think I’m sleeping with my director even if I’m not.
And I don’t want to piss off Moira.
Someone’s not going to get what she wants. Hint: It’s usually me.
Ramon shifts in the driver’s seat to look back at me. “My duty is to you, Iris. If you want me to stay, I’ll do it.”
I can see sincerity in his eyes. Ramon is my right hand. He handles everything I can’t handle, but right now, I don’t really think he can deal with this storm. I appreciate his offer and his loyalty, but I know he doesn’t want to be here. The only way I could give him what he needs while still letting him do his job would be to go with him and Sally.
And, yeah, that’ll solve the Jonathan dilemma, but Moira will go ballistic.
I can’t think right now. My head feels like it will explode.
“When are you leaving?” I ask, looking between the two of them.
“Tomorrow morning.”
I nod, unsurprised.
“And you’ll be back when?” I ask. “Monday?” The studio has set Monday as our tentative day to resume filming, provided that the storm isn’t too bad.
Ramon and Sally look at each other before Sally faces me again. “At home, we were talking to a few of the neighbors.” She winces as she speaks. “They said the last time they had a Category 2 storm, most people in town were without power for three days.”
Holy shit.
I am used to roughing it. I can go without power for weeks on end when I’m in the woods. But I can’t imagine being stuck in a house. Alone. Without electricity.
Without air conditioning.
For three days.
L.A. can get hot in August and September, yeah. But Louisiana heat is like taking a hot shower in your clothes. The humidity is relentless. You sweat, and it doesn’t have anywhere to go. When we’ve had outdoor, daytime scenes to film, we have to wrap up by ten a.m. or the other actors and I visibly start to melt. Especially the monsters in prosthetics and makeup.
Luckily, there aren’t too many scenes like that in the movie.
Which is set to resume filming on Monday. And it doesn’t exactly sound like Ramon and Sally plan to be back that soon.
If the storm passes without major damage, I need to be here, ready to work, first thing Monday morning. And I honestly don’t feel like making the five or six-hour drive there tomorrow, only to have to turn around and do it again Sunday.
And I don’t want to ask Sally and Ray to do that either.
“I’m going to stay put,” I say, definitively. “You guys go and take your time.” I smile at my best friend. “Give Colleen and Jeff my love.”
Sally gives me a careful smile, but Ramon’s not convinced. “You sure, Iris?”
I nod. “Yeah. I’m not sure what I’m going to do yet, but I need to stay in town.” I don’t have any doubts about this. It’s everything else I’m uncertain about. “I’ll be fine. I promise.”
“We won’t leave until we’ve made sure you have everything you need—food, water, batteries. Shit like that,” Ramon says. “I’ll drop you two at the house and hit the grocery store.”
“I’ll go with you,” Sally says, her eyes on him.
These two. What they have has taken on a life of its own. Sally won’t leave Ramon to face any of this alone.
I inhale slowly, trying to will away the ache watching them gives me. I’m happy for them, really. Truly, I am. But witnessing this relationship that’s unfolding between them only makes the sting of my solitude that much more potent.
I should just go to Jonathan’s. At least I won’t be alone. And it does sound like the safest and—let’s face it—most comfortable option. Maybe if I take charge, I can control the narrative on social media. Post my own pictures of me, alone, at Jonathan’s.
I shake my head. I can’t make a decision now. Waiting until tomorrow might be best. But I shoot Jonathan a text just to keep my options open and leave the other two dozen or so messages unread.
Chapter Twenty-One
BEAU
I spend Friday buying and cutting plywood and then boarding up my tiny house. There’s only the two side windows, the one door, and a skylight, but the job takes all morning—mostly because the lines at the Northside Home Depot check-outs were at least six customers deep.
I picked up a few sand bags while I was there, but I hope I don’t need them.
I just make it to Camelia Court in time to join Mom for her favorite “Catfish Friday” lunch, and unlike most Fridays, the place is packed. Nearly each table holds a visitor. We all know we won’t be able to come visit this weekend, and even with the safety protocols, the caf buzzes with a nervous energy.
“I won’t be able to take you to Riverside on Sunday, Mom,” I tell her. We’ve talked about the storm, not that talking has done much good.
“Why not?” she asks, giving me a soft frown.
“Because of the hurricane.”
She looks embarrassed, but not surprised, so she must remember something about it. “Will the restaurant be closed?”
With the storm hitting Saturday night? Yep. I nod. “It will.”
Her frown etches deeper, her eyes widening with worry. “Will you still come see me?”
I reach across the table and cover her hand with mine. “If I can, I will.” I refuse to make promises I can’t keep. Even with forecasts, no one knows exactly how bad the storm will be. The last direct hit Lafayette took was just a Category 1, but the storm produced so many tornadoes, thousands of trees fell, pulling down power lines and blocking roads. Life wasn’t normal for weeks. “I’ll come as soon as I can.”
That’s a promise I can keep.
When I leave Camelia Court, I take a detour to Cherry Street to check on Iris and her crew. I’ve been worried about them—a
bout Iris—since she had to cancel class last night. It doesn’t make sense, but I don’t want to go until some time next week without seeing her. But when I turn onto her block, the Range Rover isn’t there.
Maybe she and her buddies are still battling crowds at the grocery store, stocking up on supplies.
I texted her yesterday after Ramon cancelled our class, just to make sure she was okay ahead of the storm—and, yeah, I could have just as easily texted Ramon to ask, but I wanted to talk to Iris—and she never responded.
I haven’t messaged her again. I don’t want to be that guy, but I keep wondering if Iris and her friends have any idea what to expect.
My worry is grounded. I brake in front of the house and can’t help but notice that all the porch furniture and plants are still outside. So are wind chimes and bird feeders. That shit needs to be put away before the winds pick up.
According to the radio, Hurricane Addie, as of noon today, is packing winds of eighty-one miles per hour and strengthening. A Cat 2 storm clocks in with sustained winds anywhere between ninety-six and one-hundred-ten miles per hour.
Lafayette is about fifty-miles inland of Vermilion Bay, so the town won’t get the same punch as folks in Cypremort Point or even Delcambre, but winds will still be hurricane strength with gusts nearing one-hundred-miles per hour—strong enough to send a bird feeder through a window.
I’m tempted to pull into Iris’s driveway and pick up all of this myself, but what would she think? I’m not supposed to be here. Would it startle her if they drove up and saw me hauling patio furniture to the garage? Would it be undeniably obvious that I think about her all the time?
I opt to shoot Ramon a text instead. As Iris’s assistant and protection detail, he should be the one taking care of that—even if I’d feel better doing it myself.
Me: Just passed by your house to check in. Y’all should store the porch furniture, plants, etc. before the storm hits to be on the safe side. Let me know if you need help.
Iris’s friends and I didn’t start off on the best terms, but after about a dozen classes and getting to know each other a little better over snacks and dance lessons, I think we’re okay. Hopefully, okay enough for me to offer well-meant advice.
I head over to Nonc’s to help secure his place. With his bum elbow, moving lawn chairs and crap isn’t so easy to do. But at least he doesn’t need to board his windows. My tiny house is more exposed and a lot more vulnerable to high winds than Nonc’s old house situated in the middle of downtown. Sure, his yard will be a mess after the storm, and he could lose a crepe myrtle or two, but short of a tornado, the old house that is both the studio and his home should be fine.
It’s late afternoon when I finally head back to my place. The winds have shifted but conditions won’t start deteriorating until tomorrow. No need to sleep on the sofa bed at Nonc’s for longer than I have to.
My phone almost never rings, and when it does, it’s usually Val. So when it goes off when I’m a mile from home, I answer blindly, expecting my sister. But the voice on the other end is male. Accented. And flustered.
“Hey, man, thanks for your message,” Ramon rattles off. “Sorry to take so long getting back to you, but Sally and I had just arrived at her parents’ place, and you know how that is.”
Sally’s parents’ place? In Oklahoma? Confusion assaults me. “You mean, y’all aren’t in town?” I frown, not liking the sudden tightness in my gut. “Is Iris with you?”
“No, it’s just me and Sally. Iris stayed back so she wouldn’t miss production,” Ramon says in a rush. “But she’s staying at her director’s place for the storm. She’ll be okay.”
My stomach cinches even tighter. I know from our day spent hiking that Iris’s director is someone named Jonathan. She’d said he’s young and he’s a decent guy. It irked me then, and it irks me even more now.
I try to let this news wash over me and remind myself of the facts. It’s not my place to be jealous. Iris likes her director. She’s safe.
I want to know why Sally and Ramon aren’t with her, but I don’t ask. I do wonder why he’s telling me this. “Is there something you need?”
“Yeah. I fucked up.” I can almost hear him cringing over the phone. “My head was all over the place before we left this morning. I didn’t even think about picking up all that crap outside. Would it be too much to ask you to help us out?”
Damn. I should have trusted my gut and put away all that stuff outside Iris's house when I had the chance. “Yeah, no problem,” I say instead. “I’ll do it in the morning. I’m headed back to my place for the night, but I’ll be riding out the storm at my uncle’s. I’ll get it done before the weather gets bad.”
Ramon lets out a relieved breath. “Thanks, man. You’re a life-saver.” I hear Sally’s voice in the background, saying something I don’t catch. “Oh, yeah. There’s a spare key hooked under the top porch step on the right hand side. You can use that to get in the house and open the garage to put stuff away.”
“Got it,” I say, picturing the spot. “I’ll lock up and put the key back when I’m done.”
“Thanks again. I owe you one.”
I want to tell him he doesn’t owe me anything because I won’t be doing it for him. I’ll be doing it for Iris.
The whistling of wind through the boarded up skylight is my wake-up call Saturday morning. Usually, this space is full of natural light, but with the side windows and skylight boarded up, the tiny house feels like a mausoleum. I sit up in bed and take in the gloom and the eerie shriek of the wind. I switch on the reading lamp and climb down from my sleeping loft to check the weather.
Wind buffets the right side of the house, but I don’t hear rain. When I open the door, the draft catches me off guard and sucks the door closed again. I chuckle at myself for spooking, but I’m damn glad I have somewhere else to stay tonight. It’ll be rough out here.
I built this house, and I expect it to hold together, but I’m not taking any chances with wind or flooding rain.
Turning the knob a second time, I’m ready for the wind’s tug-o-war, and heave the door open. My ears were right. It’s not raining. The porch is dry, so I know I didn’t sleep through any outer bands, but I have no desire to be caught in any of them on the two-lane highway back to Lafayette. The sky is leaden, and the rain will start hitting soon.
I decide on a quick shower before tossing everything I can’t live without for a day or two into a bag and putting it in my truck. To be on the safe side, I disconnect the propane tank and store it in Paula’s barn. Then I line up the plywood I cut to fit the door, snap in the Z-clips, and test the hold of my makeshift storm window. It’s solid, and a quick check of the two side windows proves that nothing came loose during the night.
I set the sandbags outside the door and think about Iris and her deck of cards. “I have them, so I won’t need them,” I say aloud. Then I take one more look at my little shoebox of a house and send up a prayer that it’s still standing and water-tight when I return in a day or two.
The drive to Iris’s takes about twenty-five minutes, and in those minutes, the skies go from leaden to iron gray with the approach of an outer rain band. The color matches my mood. All I can think about is Iris spending the night under another man’s roof.
“It’s not like she could stay under your roof,” I mutter aloud as I drive. “You can’t even stay under your roof.”
I snort, realizing this is the first time I’ve ever regretted living in my tiny house. And it makes me feel ridiculous because it wouldn’t even matter what kind of house I lived in. Iris isn’t for me. She’s made that clear, and I should just be grateful she has somewhere safe to stay. With some other man who’s already part of the world she inhabits.
But reasonable thoughts are no comfort, and by the time I get to her street, I’m as full of lightning as the clouds overhead. When I pull into her driveway, the first fat drops have started to fall, splatting on the roof and windshield of my truck.
“Dam
mit.” I grab my rain jacket from the backseat, but with this wind, I’m about to get soaked in spite of it. Still, even from the inside of the cab, I can hear the windchimes hanging on Iris’s porch making a clanging racket. The winds aren’t even thirty miles an hour yet. The chimes have to come down and the rest of the stuff out here has to be put away, or Iris is going to come home to a yard mess at best—if not broken glass and rain damage in the house.
No matter what, no matter if she’s spending the night with someone else and I don’t have a chance in hell with her, I don’t want trouble for her. The truth is I’d do anything to help her. And it’s that thought that chases away some of the bitterness.
I want what’s best for Iris.
I leave the truck running with the headlights on and dash for the front porch just as the rain starts to pour in earnest.
Dropping to my knees on the bottom porch step, I run my hand under the plank of the top step as rain splashes off its surface and into my face. I find the key, cross the porch, and open the squeaking screen door.
As I fit the key into the lock, I calculate how long this mission will take and how badly Nonc is going to ride me when I show up at his house looking like a drowned raccoon.
It’s only when I push the door open that I hear the barking.
I reel back as Mica charges, teeth bared, eyes wild. “Whoa, boy!”
Chapter Twenty-Two
IRIS
I have to stop crying. Jonathan will be here to pick me up any minute. But the text on my phone makes me feel like I’m holding a hand grenade.
Moira: Take a picture of him when he gets there. Post it to IG. Tag J and give him credit for keeping you safe. We’ll go from there.
This is going to be a disaster. Why did I accept his invitation? Why did I let Moira push me into this?
I can’t do this. I can’t do this. It’s wrong. My director has no idea what he’s walking into. I can’t face him, knowing I’m part of a plan to manipulate him.
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