Not a second after she put her hair dryer down, a loud bang made her scream, and the lights went out.
She opened the drapes, hoping to get a little of the afternoon light, but the clouds were so thick that it was like dusk.
She saw her bird feeder half-submerged near the fence. Water rushed like a rocky creek down the driveway and past Tara’s, almost circling her house like a moat.
I hope this rain slows down soon.
It was too dark to read, so she grabbed a pillow and blanket from her bedroom and settled in on the couch. The sound of the rain was soothing in a strange way, so loud that no other thoughts were able to settle on her brain. She grabbed her phone to call and check on Tara, but the battery was dead. She wished she’d thought to charge it this morning.
Night came, and there wasn’t light for as far as she could see. The lightning and thunder had finally subsided, but the rain still fell in a steady, drenching hurry.
32
On Saturday morning, the skywas brighter, and the rain had slowed to more of a menacing drizzle. She got up, put her raincoat on, and walked outside to survey the damage. A tree had fallen on the fence, and the water was so deep that it covered Tara’s porch.
Leaves and debris were scattered everywhere.
From there, she could see the lower pasture at Adam’s. Usually, there weren’t any horses down there, but today there were three, and they were up to their bellies in water in the gully. A huge tree had fallen across the paddock, blocking them in.
The horses were pushing through the water, trying to find high ground. They seemed afraid and frantic, and she tried to think of a way to help. She put on her swimsuit, knowing she’d be sopping wet, then put on a pair of yoga pants and her rain jacket. She glanced around, wondering what she might take with her to get down to them. She headed outside.
The ground was soft, and in some places, the water hit past her knees. She fell in the slippery mud.
She went back up to the house, but her heart ached for those horses struggling below. If she could just get down the hill, she could open that gate, and the horses could come upthe hill. It was better for them to be loose in her yard than in that deep water.
This wasn’t oceanfront property when I moved in.
That thought triggered an answer. She ran through the house, almost slipping on the glossy wooden floors before she grabbed the back door and started dragging the boat down the steps.
I hope this thing is seaworthy.At least if it tipped over, the water wouldn’t be over her head. As long as she kept her cool, she’d be fine.
The boat was easier to drag once it hit the water. She took off her belt and hooked the boat to the fence pole, then waded over to her driveway gate and closed it.
She unhooked the boat, then lifted one leg and put it inside and threw herself headlong into it. The boat slid forward, and she felt like one of those bobsledders in the Olympics as she floated downhill.
Except I don’t have a clue what I’m doing.
The boat skimmed through the water, and she didn’t really have any way to steer except to lean, which she wasn’t entirely sure was even working. It could have just been the luck of the terrain, but she made it almost all the way down the hill before the boat came to a stop on a flat ledge. She got out and dragged it over right in front of the red pole gate. The horses whinnied and threw their heads.
I’m coming.
She didn’t take a running start, instead setting the boat close to the edge and stepping into it. Cherry tomatoes and leaves and stems were squished into a messy gazpacho at the bottom that looked like a bloody mess. She sat and scooched her weight forward until she was moving again. It took awhile to make it the rest of the way down. By the time she was within fifty feet of the gate, her legs were burning.
She climbed out of the boat and walked the rest of the way. “It’s okay. I’m coming.”
Unlatching the gate was almost impossible. Her hands were cold and soaked.
Come on! I didn’t come all this way not to be able to do this.She switched hands and then pressed as hard as she could to get the clasp to open and slide over the link. The gate finally swayed. She walked it open, having to push it past all the debris that had been swept in its path.
She called as she’d heard Adam do that day, “Hee-yah! Over here. Yah! Yah!”
She waved her hands in the air. “Horses, this way! There’s drier ground up here. Please!”
Tara called from across the way, “Merry Anna! What are you doing?”
“Are you okay?” she yelled back.
“Yes.” Tara stood there in water up to her calves where the porch was. “Power’s out and the house is on spin cycle, I think, but I’m fine.”
