“Hey, look, the master of the painfully obvious has arrived,” I laugh, moving forward to hug her.
Susannah starts to tuck one of the towels under the slight space between the door and the floor, but I ask her to stop. Now that everyone is here, I can shove some rolled up plastic grocery bags into the space to repel some of the water. The rolled up towel can go behind that. Sam is vigorously toweling off her short hair while Olivia opens the carrier and brings out her little mutt. I’m not sure what kind of dog it is, though I’m pretty sure it has some Chihuahua and perhaps some rat in it. It’s small and yippy and it shakes all of the time. Frank is staring down at the dog with disdain. He looks at me as if to say, “Really?”
“I know. Right?” I pat his head as I walk past, but he turns his back on all of us. Climbing up onto the counter, he walks over to the wall and lies down facing it.
Olivia’s dog is running around at her feet, whining. The wind is continuing to pound the rain against the shutters.
Roxanne takes the last of the cookies out of the oven and turns it off. Sam looks pensive. “Do you think we should disconnect the propane tanks?”
“No, I don’t. They’re sheltered pretty well in their little shed. And I want to have access to the stove after the storm.”
“Fair enough.” She drags her cooler across the floor to set it next to the other coolers. “More ice,” she explains. “Can’t have too much, in my opinion.”
“Especially in those super solid cold coolers.”
“Totally. Should we put this in the freezer until the power goes out?”
“Without a doubt.”
Thomas and Sam and I load all of the ice into my drop down freezer. I’ve already frozen several gallons of potable water. I figure we can use them to cool food and as they melt, we can drink them.
“What else?” Thomas is looking to move around.
“Well, I thought it would be best if we hung out in here. The windows are solid. I have the radio and the cases of flashlights and portable lanterns in here. The coolers are here and there isn’t a lot of crap to trip over. Plus, we’re close to the bathroom. So, maybe we could drag in the couch and a couple of the chairs from the living room.”
“Solid.” Thomas and Sam head off to start doing that.
“In the meantime, Olivia, pick up your dog and let’s make sure the doors to the other rooms are all closed. That way when the storm gets going, we’ll know the animals are in here with us.”
“I’m pretty sure Muffin won’t leave my side,” she says.
Muffin. Roxanne and I exchange glances and smile. Olivia and Esmé move to close the bedroom and bathroom doors. Sam smiles as she and Thomas bring the couch in. “Anyone that has to poop better do so now!”
“Classy, Sam,” Roxanne says.
“All the way, baby.”
The door slams open again, scattering plastic bags everywhere. The wind whips through the house, carrying water across the counters.
“Close the door,” Roxanne yells, as I scramble for the plastic bags. Looking up from the floor, I freeze in a squatting position, staring at the new arrival. “Hey Karen,” I yell over the wind.
She wrestles the door shut as Roxanne comes over with a mop to soak up some of the water.
Karen is standing in the doorway, soaking wet. I get up from the floor and drape a towel around her. “What on earth?”
“Rick and I are right on the beach,” she says. “When the news changed the prediction to a cat three, we figured we better head up here. I tried to call, but there was no answer.”
“I probably didn’t hear my phone over the rain and wind,” I say.
The doorknob turns and Roxanne opens the door quickly, closing it as soon as Rick gets in the door. Grabbing a couple extra towels, I toss one to him, and throw one on the floor. He towels his head, smiling at me. “I’m sorry for busting in. We brought supplies, though.” He holds up two big reusable grocery bags. “I’ll take them,” Roxanne says. She places them on the counter and starts digging through, looking for perishables.
“Do either of you want dry clothes?”’
“Yes, please,” Karen answers.
Esmé stands up. “Do you have something in particular you’re offering them, or just anything in your closet?”
“I have a bunch of extra shorts, t-shirts, and sweatshirts in the spare bedroom,” I tell her. “Anyone can help themselves.”
“You’re the best hurricane party thrower ever,” Sam chirps as she drags in another chair. Thomas is right behind her with another.
“It’s just a bunch of stuff that I haven’t gotten around to taking to the thrift store,” I say, smiling.