wondered gently if the fog of her Nembutal wouldn’t be preferable to dwelling on the ever-expanding list of her concerns. No, she told herself adamantly. There’s simply too much to do. She needed to buck up, focus on the here and now, and leave worrying for later. She opened a new box, drew her mouth into a tight, determined line, and started stacking the canned applesauce atop the canned corn; though her hands trembled with the memory of packing up the big house in Tuscaloosa all alone after Mama died, with no big sister and no little brother to help. “You’ll get through,” Mama said on one of her last days in the hospital. “You always did; you always do.”
I hope you’re right, Mama. If I can just forget about the damn hurricane, get through this stupid show tomorrow, get Charlotte safely through homecoming next week…then the prom in the spring and graduation in June, and…and into Stetson instead of FSU…
“Mind of her own,” Wes had said, “just like her mother.”
Sarah shuddered. Oh, Mama, for the first time in my entire life, I haven’t a clue how I’ll get through.
—
A N HOUR OR SO later, Avery turned up the volume so she could hear the opening orchestral strains, the pop of the champagne cork of Lawrence Welk and His Champagne Music Makers.
When he heard the packing sounds in the shelter stop, he hoped for a moment that she’d join him, as usual, on the sofa. But instead, she strode past him and out the sliding glass door onto the screened porch. He saw the quick, familiar movements of her covering the birdcages for the night, then watched her let herself back in, walk past him, and return to her work in the center bedroom. He switched over to
Have Gun—Will Travel.
From there, he rolled into
Gunsmoke
and the comforting world of Marshal Matt Dillon and his faithful sidekick, Chester B. Goode.
At eleven, he punched off the TV and approached her once again.
“Coming to bed?” he asked.
“Not yet,” she said, intent on checking items off her list.
Reluctantly, he left her and padded down the hall to the master bedroom at its end.
Later, he heard Charlotte return home; heard Sarah and her talking urgently back and forth. Heard Charlotte take her final stand—“I’m
going
with him, Mama. Let’s just leave it at
that.
”—and firmly shut, without slamming, her bedroom door. He heard Sarah call quietly, tiredly, from the hall, “Tomorrow, Charlotte. We’ll talk this all out tomorrow.”
Still later, he heard her moving around inside the shelter, late into the rain-soaked night.
T hough thick clouds scudded overhead, the rain this morning had tapered off to a lackluster spit.
Avery woke at six to the sound of Sarah already in the shower. He lay there trying to recall what time she’d come to bed. Had she been up all night again? After a while, she emerged from the bathroom in an elegant knit suit, pale blue with silver buttons, slim skirt, and matching pumps.
“You look great,” he said, sitting up.
“Thanks. Think you can help me load up the car?”
“Sure. Right now?”
“Well, they open the gates at nine so I want to get there by seven to set everything up.”
Avery threw back the covers. “Need me to go with you and help unload?” He toed his feet into his slippers.
“No,” she said from her vanity, fastening her wristwatch. “General Betts promised Edith an entire unit of army reservists on hand to help.”
“Edith with an army of Weekend Warriors to order about? Hooah!”
Sarah was retrieving a pair of white gloves from the vanity drawer. She chuckled. “Poor lads have no idea what they’re in for.”
She strode out of the bedroom to “get some coffee going” while Avery, still in his pajamas, loaded her trunk with six large boxes of supplies from the shelter—each one coded in Sarah’s careful hand. He put the three boxes of folded brochures in the backseat, and returned to the kitchen.
Sarah handed him a steaming mug, then turned to the
I hope you’re right, Mama. If I can just forget about the damn hurricane, get through this stupid show tomorrow, get Charlotte safely through homecoming next week…then the prom in the spring and graduation in June, and…and into Stetson instead of FSU…
“Mind of her own,” Wes had said, “just like her mother.”
Sarah shuddered. Oh, Mama, for the first time in my entire life, I haven’t a clue how I’ll get through.
—
A N HOUR OR SO later, Avery turned up the volume so she could hear the opening orchestral strains, the pop of the champagne cork of Lawrence Welk and His Champagne Music Makers.
When he heard the packing sounds in the shelter stop, he hoped for a moment that she’d join him, as usual, on the sofa. But instead, she strode past him and out the sliding glass door onto the screened porch. He saw the quick, familiar movements of her covering the birdcages for the night, then watched her let herself back in, walk past him, and return to her work in the center bedroom. He switched over to
Have Gun—Will Travel.
From there, he rolled into
Gunsmoke
and the comforting world of Marshal Matt Dillon and his faithful sidekick, Chester B. Goode.
At eleven, he punched off the TV and approached her once again.
“Coming to bed?” he asked.
“Not yet,” she said, intent on checking items off her list.
Reluctantly, he left her and padded down the hall to the master bedroom at its end.
Later, he heard Charlotte return home; heard Sarah and her talking urgently back and forth. Heard Charlotte take her final stand—“I’m
going
with him, Mama. Let’s just leave it at
that.
”—and firmly shut, without slamming, her bedroom door. He heard Sarah call quietly, tiredly, from the hall, “Tomorrow, Charlotte. We’ll talk this all out tomorrow.”
Still later, he heard her moving around inside the shelter, late into the rain-soaked night.
T hough thick clouds scudded overhead, the rain this morning had tapered off to a lackluster spit.
Avery woke at six to the sound of Sarah already in the shower. He lay there trying to recall what time she’d come to bed. Had she been up all night again? After a while, she emerged from the bathroom in an elegant knit suit, pale blue with silver buttons, slim skirt, and matching pumps.
“You look great,” he said, sitting up.
“Thanks. Think you can help me load up the car?”
“Sure. Right now?”
“Well, they open the gates at nine so I want to get there by seven to set everything up.”
Avery threw back the covers. “Need me to go with you and help unload?” He toed his feet into his slippers.
“No,” she said from her vanity, fastening her wristwatch. “General Betts promised Edith an entire unit of army reservists on hand to help.”
“Edith with an army of Weekend Warriors to order about? Hooah!”
Sarah was retrieving a pair of white gloves from the vanity drawer. She chuckled. “Poor lads have no idea what they’re in for.”
She strode out of the bedroom to “get some coffee going” while Avery, still in his pajamas, loaded her trunk with six large boxes of supplies from the shelter—each one coded in Sarah’s careful hand. He put the three boxes of folded brochures in the backseat, and returned to the kitchen.
Sarah handed him a steaming mug, then turned to the
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