Libby
Two Weeks Later
Libby sat in the office. She had set up in the vacant retail space next to Hope’s Table.
The office Dean had set up for her across the street was wrecked. The tornado had blown away all the initial work Dean had done to start rehab on the south side of Manitou Lake Road.
Libby had to admit things did look better as she looked out the front window and across their little downtown.
It was a much-improved scene along Manitou Lake Road in downtown Irish Hills. Utility companies had repaired lines. Volunteers gathered debris. And broken windows had either been boarded up or replaced. That was a lot of work in the two weeks since the tornado.
It should comfort her to know that they could rebuild. This town had nearly been wiped off the map once before. This time, it fought back, fast.
In fact, Mayor Eastland continued to check with her. He wanted assurances that she wasn’t quitting. That she wasn’t going to leave town like so many did in 1989. Libby had bailed then. But then again, she was a teenager. She wasn’t in a position to do anything.
The mayor was in her face the day after the tornado hit. When she was still helping bail boats with Keith and picking the glass up at Hope’s Table. When they were taking shifts sleeping on J.J.s couch. Before her sons got into town.
“We gave up millions from Stone Stirling. If your plans don’t move forward, we’re all screwed. Do you understand that?”
“I know, we’re okay. We’re going to be okay. This is a setback, not the end.”
“You better be sure of that.”
She knew Mayor Eastland wasn’t the only one who had misgivings about going with Libby’s renovation versus cashing out with Stone Stirling while they had a chance.
She felt an undercurrent of regret, even anger, directed straight at her. They should have gotten out while they could. Libby reassured them, she cajoled, and she worked to help raise funds for repairs for things insurance didn’t cover. All the while checking in with J.J. Viv had been a godsend in that department. She was coordinating food and visits and the mass of people who wanted to be with J.J.
She barely had time to mourn with her friends. Maybe when things settled down a little.
“Things are insured. We’re okay. We can rebuild,” she reassured the mayor, the town council, and whoever asked. And everyone asked.
Libby looked at her policies for the buildings. It had actually been hard to get them insured. She’d tried several companies and got a lot of rejections. Eventually she’d found Granite Insurance, another godsend. They’d stepped in to offer a policy over a year ago when everyone else was either too expensive or flat-out said no.
The value of Irish Hills was on paper. It was in her plans.
But she’d managed. That was one thing she was able to tell the mayor confidently.
They could start rebuilding. And they were already.
Libby wanted to be relieved about that. But it was cold comfort.
Her best friend has lost her husband. Libby herself lost Dean, too. He was a friend. A rock.
She was also devastated for the Barton family. And while she was no friend of Clyde Brubacher, her heart went out to the people who worked for him over at the golf club. His sweet grandmother Rose was friends with her Aunt Emma and kept asking why Clyde didn’t visit. It was heartbreaking.
Everyone in Irish Hills was bruised but moving forward.
Irish Hills was hit, but so was nearby Brooklyn. The steeple of St. Joe’s was ripped off. They had injuries too, but no fatalities.
Irish Hills had three, thanks to what experts now categorized as an F4 tornado that formed somewhere in southeast Washtenaw County, skipped down into Lenawee, and landed on the shores of Lake Manitou before hitting Brooklyn, veering north, and dissipating south of Jackson.
It was fast and ferocious.
Irish Hills had the worst of it.
Libby’s phone rang. It startled her. She’d been in her head, trying to make sense of the next steps. She was trying to manage guilt. She knew that. She lured people here. She made promises. She was responsible.
Aunt Emma.
