Page 7 of Adrian

I tip my head back and scream. The storm is so loud that not even small animals can hear me over the rumbling thunder and pounding rain.

Speaking of animals, I wonder what sorts of creatures inhabit this area. I should have researched that. I’m a total fool. I might actually die tonight from stupidity. I’m sure Mr. Fancy Jeans thought as much while he was here. He smirked enough to indicate he assumed I wasn’t playing with a full deck. I’m loath to admit he was right.

I had an idyllic view of mountain life that included cute little bunnies, skittish deer, beautiful sunsets, a garden full of all the produce I could possibly need, long, lazy days spent sitting on a porch swing, reading the latest novel.

I pictured sleeping late, singing as loud as I wanted because no one would be around to hear how bad and off-key I am. Talking to myself. Laughing at myself. I never imagined killing any animals because I would just become a vegetarian.

At no point in my glamorized visions of mountain life did I picture getting washed away in a storm and drowning. What the absolute fuck is this madness?

Another loud creak behind me causes me to step closer to the edge of the porch. If the awning collapses, I’m going to get buried under the debris. I don’t dare go inside. For one thing, it really does seem like it will cave in. For another thing, I’m not sure it’s any dryer or warmer in there.

I’m gripping this support beam on the porch with both hands as though I might get sucked up in a tornado and swept away. It’s just rain. A lot of fucking rain, but still, just rain. It’s not going to suck me into some sort of vortex and transport me into the next county.

How far is the next county, though? Six thousand miles? Seems like it about now. When a crash fills my ears, I scream so loud my head rings. Still holding on to the very post that Adrian proved wasn’t well anchored, I spin around in time to watch the entire house collapse, just as he predicted. It happens so fast that when it’s over, the only thing standing is the post I’m gripping. I assume it, too, would have fallen, except for the fact that I’m supporting it.

There’s nothing left. Just a pile of rubble. A lot of it has caved in underground, which doesn’t shock me since Mr. Fancy Jeans informed me there was a cellar. That’s where all the walls and two-by-fours have collapsed into.

This cannot be happening.

For long seconds, I continue to hold up the beam. It’s heavy. I’m behaving like a lunatic. All I can do is cry and pray to any deity who might be listening to help me live through the night.

Silently, I start promising to be a better person. To be kind and helpful. To make wiser choices. To do a lot more research before taking on irrational projects that are completely outside of my scope.

I’m not normally this foolish. I’m educated. I have a fucking master’s degree for fuck’s sake. I can do anything I set my mind to. I refuse to be held back by my gender.

Desperation caused me to make this life change, and I’ll be damned if it’s going to get the better of me. I’m going to win. I will live through the night. I will rebuild on my land. I will make sure the home I erect is deeply anchored to withstand a hurricane.

I don’t care that a hurricane would never happen this far inland or at this altitude. But that’s not the point. The point is that my new house will be able to weather any storm. It will have its own advanced electrical grid. Is that a thing? It will have a cell tower, too.

At that thought, I turn in time to see the Gallant Mountain cell tower just as the next lightning strike lights up the sky. Fuck, it looks far away. Adrian didn’t tell me how far the hike would be down the path he pointed out. He just said I could keep my eye on the giant pole with an antenna on the top as a guide, or something to that effect.

I’m all out of options. I might die trying to get to the adjacent property. But if I don’t try, I’ll surely die out in the elements, especially if this storm keeps up all night or gets even worse. Eventually, I will wash away and drown.

I glance down at my ridiculous outfit. My blouse is pale blue and plastered to my expensive lace bra. I look like a wet-T-shirt contest gone wrong. My boots are not meant for walking. They’re meant for pretty. They certainly don’t resemble anything close to fashionable now, but they’re not going to be comfortable hiking in a storm.

I don’t even have a jacket, because I’m a stupid idiot.

And yet, I must hike to the neighbors’ homestead with my tail between my legs and beg for a warm place to stay the night. I’m embarrassed and feel like a moron, but at least I’ll be alive.

The worst part is that I’ll have to live next door to these people for perhaps the rest of my life. The only person I’ve met so far is Adrian. He said there are six brothers. Five of them are married. That’s eleven people who will forever remember me as the foolish new neighbor who hiked in the biggest storm of the century to arrive soaking wet and broken on their doorstep.

At least I hope this is considered a giant storm. If not, I give up. I can’t “weather” this sort of thing on the regular. Not alone in the woods. Even if I were sitting in a perfectly sound structure with a raging fire and a glass of wine, I’d still be freaking out from the size of this storm.

I’m determined, though. I will survive this. I don’t care about material things. If my SUV gets swept farther away and I never see it or any of the contents again, I’ll live.

The truth is, even though I might not have fully functioning brain cells right now, I do have money. And money buys new stuff.

It doesn’t buy happiness. That’s for sure. But it does buy shit. And it keeps me from caring about my SUV or the contents.

When I finally release the post, it teeters for a moment before falling in slow motion to join the rest of the pile of rubble. Good riddance.

Time to hike.

Four

Adrian

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