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 toNonc’sto 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 thanNonc’sold 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 atNonc’sfor 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 whistlingof 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.
“Dammit.” 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.
