sliding
doors, where dawn was beginning to break. “In that case, Guthrie
would have floated down the hall and been jammed against the front
door.”
Penny Sue dipped her hand in the ankle deep
water and tasted it. “It’s not salty. This is fresh water.”
“Rain,” Ruthie said sharply. “It ran down
the hill from the other condos.”
“Well, open the patio doors,” Penny Sue
instructed, zinging into her Martha Stewart mode. “If it’s coming
downhill, we have to let the water drain out. And stuff towels
under the front door so no more gets in.”
I opened the sliding glass doors. The water
rushed to the deck, leaving us big toe versus ankle deep.
“This doesn’t make sense,” I said. “There
were torrential rains all night—which would have drained down
here—and the hall was dry as an old bone when we went to bed.”
Penny Sue squinted at me. I could tell she
was flipping into Jessica Fletcher or Sherlock Holmes. “You’re
right. With all the rain, we’d have flooded hours ago if that’s the
source.” She glanced at her watch, six AM .
“When the sun comes up, we should go out and investigate. This
flood doesn’t make sense.” Penny Sue poured spring water into a
teakettle, and put it on the gas stovetop. “What we need is a cup
of strong coffee.”
“Coffee? The electricity’s off.”
Penny Sue smiled smugly, holding up a red
box. “There’s more than one way to skin a cat. These are coffee
bags, like tea bags. Let them steep in hot water, and voilà, fresh
brewed coffee.”
Guthrie, who’d made his way to the sofa,
raised his hand like a first-grader. “Far out. I’ll like some.
Sugar, if you have it.”
“How much?” Penny Sue asked, pulling mugs
from the cabinet.
“Three tablespoons.”
We all did a double take. “Tablespoons?”
Ruthie asked.
“I’ve already eaten all the brownies.”
O-okay, I wasn’t sure what that meant. Was
he addicted to sugar or something else? One thing I did know, the
tile floor was wet and slippery. If we didn’t mop it up fast, one
of us was going to break her neck—and with my luck it would be me.
Or worse, Guthrie. I had a momentary image of the three of us
waiting on him for life. Unh uh!
I headed to the utility room for a broom,
bucket, and mop. I held up the broom and mop to Ruthie. “Would you
rather sweep water out the back door, or mop up afterward?”
She took the broom. The floor wasn’t level,
and the water pooled in the back corner of the dining area. I
pushed the water out of the corner with the sponge mop, and Ruthie
swept it out the door. By the time our coffee was ready, we’d made
a good dent in the mess. While we rested and sipped our java, Penny
Sue took over with the mop.
“Like another cup?” Penny Sue asked, an
obvious cue for Ruthie and me to get back to work.
I took back the mop. “How about a bagel with
jelly?”
Penny Sue shook her head. “The oven’s
electric. Momma didn’t like cooking with gas, said it made sponge
cakes taste like chemicals.”
“Do it the old-fashioned way. Use the iron
skillet,” I said. “Grammy Martin made toast like that on the
stovetop. Like Ruth Gordon said in Harold and Maude , ‘Try
something new every day.’”
By now, we’d disposed of most of the water,
yet the floor remained slick. I was also tired of squeezing the
sponge mop. ‘Try something new every day.’ Old Maude was right. I
went to the utility room and returned with a stack of my half sets
of sheets. I dropped one on the floor and shuffled around.
“What are you doing?” Ruthie asked, in
shock.
“Drying the floor.” I tossed her a folded
sheet.
“These are the linens you’re saving.”
“Yeah, well, times change.”
We finished about the same time as the
bagels. Considering the electricity was out, we had a pretty good
breakfast. Hot coffee, toasted bagels with jelly, and oatmeal.
Sure, it was a tad heavy in the carb department, but after a dinner
of caviar and Vienna sausages, what
doors, where dawn was beginning to break. “In that case, Guthrie
would have floated down the hall and been jammed against the front
door.”
Penny Sue dipped her hand in the ankle deep
water and tasted it. “It’s not salty. This is fresh water.”
“Rain,” Ruthie said sharply. “It ran down
the hill from the other condos.”
“Well, open the patio doors,” Penny Sue
instructed, zinging into her Martha Stewart mode. “If it’s coming
downhill, we have to let the water drain out. And stuff towels
under the front door so no more gets in.”
I opened the sliding glass doors. The water
rushed to the deck, leaving us big toe versus ankle deep.
“This doesn’t make sense,” I said. “There
were torrential rains all night—which would have drained down
here—and the hall was dry as an old bone when we went to bed.”
Penny Sue squinted at me. I could tell she
was flipping into Jessica Fletcher or Sherlock Holmes. “You’re
right. With all the rain, we’d have flooded hours ago if that’s the
source.” She glanced at her watch, six AM .
“When the sun comes up, we should go out and investigate. This
flood doesn’t make sense.” Penny Sue poured spring water into a
teakettle, and put it on the gas stovetop. “What we need is a cup
of strong coffee.”
“Coffee? The electricity’s off.”
Penny Sue smiled smugly, holding up a red
box. “There’s more than one way to skin a cat. These are coffee
bags, like tea bags. Let them steep in hot water, and voilà, fresh
brewed coffee.”
Guthrie, who’d made his way to the sofa,
raised his hand like a first-grader. “Far out. I’ll like some.
Sugar, if you have it.”
“How much?” Penny Sue asked, pulling mugs
from the cabinet.
“Three tablespoons.”
We all did a double take. “Tablespoons?”
Ruthie asked.
“I’ve already eaten all the brownies.”
O-okay, I wasn’t sure what that meant. Was
he addicted to sugar or something else? One thing I did know, the
tile floor was wet and slippery. If we didn’t mop it up fast, one
of us was going to break her neck—and with my luck it would be me.
Or worse, Guthrie. I had a momentary image of the three of us
waiting on him for life. Unh uh!
I headed to the utility room for a broom,
bucket, and mop. I held up the broom and mop to Ruthie. “Would you
rather sweep water out the back door, or mop up afterward?”
She took the broom. The floor wasn’t level,
and the water pooled in the back corner of the dining area. I
pushed the water out of the corner with the sponge mop, and Ruthie
swept it out the door. By the time our coffee was ready, we’d made
a good dent in the mess. While we rested and sipped our java, Penny
Sue took over with the mop.
“Like another cup?” Penny Sue asked, an
obvious cue for Ruthie and me to get back to work.
I took back the mop. “How about a bagel with
jelly?”
Penny Sue shook her head. “The oven’s
electric. Momma didn’t like cooking with gas, said it made sponge
cakes taste like chemicals.”
“Do it the old-fashioned way. Use the iron
skillet,” I said. “Grammy Martin made toast like that on the
stovetop. Like Ruth Gordon said in Harold and Maude , ‘Try
something new every day.’”
By now, we’d disposed of most of the water,
yet the floor remained slick. I was also tired of squeezing the
sponge mop. ‘Try something new every day.’ Old Maude was right. I
went to the utility room and returned with a stack of my half sets
of sheets. I dropped one on the floor and shuffled around.
“What are you doing?” Ruthie asked, in
shock.
“Drying the floor.” I tossed her a folded
sheet.
“These are the linens you’re saving.”
“Yeah, well, times change.”
We finished about the same time as the
bagels. Considering the electricity was out, we had a pretty good
breakfast. Hot coffee, toasted bagels with jelly, and oatmeal.
Sure, it was a tad heavy in the carb department, but after a dinner
of caviar and Vienna sausages, what
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