Anna's Guide to Getting Even

Chapter 3

Thick, heavy paper, part of something once much larger. The letters on the front now spelled “Colum—.” This could be either my diploma or Tara’s. It didn’t matter. Below it, I found a soggy mass of blue and red fabric. It took a minute to realize this wad of filthy sateen used to be horseback riding ribbons from my childhood. Shaking my head to ward off the onrush of emotions, I dropped everything into the rubble and continued picking my way toward the door.

Outside, movement caught my eye. Hermione dashed across the lawn, chasing a squirrel or something. Oh, no. I should’ve locked her in her carrier before doing this. Assuming I could find her carrier, which in my defense, was a pretty big assumption.

A wave of despair welled in my chest. A familiar old emotion I thought I’d long since conquered. I needed to get out of here.

If only I’d been wearing shoes when I went to hide in the basement the night before, escape would’ve been easier. I poked along the floor the best I could, trying not to step on nails or broken glass until I got to my “picking up the mail” slippers near the front hall. I slid on sunglasses I found dangling off the chandelier in the dining room, a pair Tara lost before she left. She’d be glad to know I finally found them. With a deep breath, I headed outside to assess the rest of the damage. I just needed a plan. First a plan, then I could be sad.

One glance at the trunk of my shiny red Infiniti sticking out from under a tree broke through my emotional barriers. I blinked back tears as if when I hit the hundredth blink, my car would magically be restored. My pride and joy was a total steal at seventy-two payments of four hundred fifty dollars. Two payments down, only seventy to go.

Random stuff covered the lawn: the lid to my cast iron skillet, what looked like an old prescription pill bottle, the remote for a window air conditioner I’d recycled years ago. Not knowing where to start, I bit my lip and forced my gaze toward the curb.

Across the street, the house belonging to my favorite elderly couple mirrored mine—half the front room lay in ruins, the garage decimated, but the other side more or less intact. Thankfully, my neighbors already left for Florida for the winter, so they would be fine, but I needed to call when the networks cleared to let them know. They unfortunately didn’t know how to text and didn't want to learn.

No one else was in sight, but I called out, looking for anyone trapped inside their homes or needing an extra pair of hands. Only my voice broke the eerie silence.

Downed power lines to the east and the storm-created swimming pool next door in what used to be Mrs. Everling’s living room persuaded me to head west, up the hill, toward a gas station on the corner. Walking past the house to the west, I marveled at the lack of damage. One front window was broken, the hole shaped suspiciously like a baseball.

The shouting match that had carried across the yard the day before and the sulking teenage boy who’d offered to mow my lawn for twenty dollars suggested the storm had little to do with the damage to my next-door neighbor’s house. That conversation felt like a lifetime ago.

Most of the other houses on this end of the street were fine, untouched. The sun still hovered near the horizon, filling the air with tinges of color. If I didn’t turn around, only the eerie stillness would give any indication a storm occurred. I couldn’t think about that. Focusing on the road ahead helped staunch the rising panic in my chest.

A week ago, the fact that the gas station owner still maintained a working payphone had been a running joke throughout Red Bank. Now, the archaic device reeled me in like a lifeline. Me and half the town, apparently. I stood in line with neighbors I’d seen a million times and never spoken to. Everybody wore the same sunken-eyed, slack-jawed expression on their faces. If I’d possessed a mirror, I suspected the same dead eyes would peer back at me. We were haunted. No one spoke above a whisper.

The woman behind me poked something in my back. I whirled around before realizing she held a crumpled granola bar. “You hungry, honey?”

My stomach rumbled, but the thought of eating didn’t appeal to me at the moment. I shook my head.

She shoved it into my hand. “I walked by your house, your kitchen’s gone. Take it for later.”

The woman’s sincerity touched me, even as I struggled to remember how she knew me. Finally, it hit me: a week after I bought the house, her dog got loose. We’d met when I returned him, exchanged pleasantries, and not spoken since. “Thank you. Are you okay?”

She laughed. “Ain’t nobody okay ‘round here, but I’ll live. I’m doing better than you, I think.”

The sun rose higher. Our voices dropped away as we each processed the extent of the storm. I inched closer to the phone, wondering if anyone was trying to reach me.

When I finally reached the booth, my fingers fumbled for a minute. Change. How had I forgotten I needed change? Once upon a time, Mamá made me memorize her calling card number for an emergency such as this one. If someone asked me two days ago, I’d have been hard-pressed to recall what a calling card was.

A voice rumbled behind me. “Make a call or get out of line, sweetie.”

I didn’t acknowledge them. Instead, I grasped at a distant memory and dialed the operator. “I’d like to make a collect call, please.”

Less than a minute later, my boyfriend’s voice filled my ear. “Anna, thank God! Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, but the house is a total wreck. No electricity or hot water. My car’s smashed. Phone’s dead. I can’t possibly get to work today. Or all week, probably. I can’t even get to my clothes.”

“Don’t worry about that. My place is fine; the storm passed right over it. I’ll come pick you up, we’ll pack your stuff together, and you can stay with me until you get everything settled.”

A three-thousand-pound weight lifted off my shoulders. “Thanks, Jay.”

“Where are you calling from? I’m on my way.”

“Just come to the house. I’ll be sifting through the rubble.” I thanked him again and hung up.

My homeowner’s policy could be anywhere on the East Coast by now. The spare was in my office at work, currently unavailable to me. Not knowing what else to do, I trudged back home. The insurance company would send people to help with clean-up eventually, but I needed to do something to keep busy. I couldn’t just sit here and stare at the mess. The scope of the damage overwhelmed me. For a long time, I stood in the kitchen doorway, just staring and hoping Hermione would bound across the lawn.

Deep breaths, Anna. One thing at a time. Just do one little thing. Then do one more little thing. That was manageable.

All those leftover magazines from the basement turned out to be useful, after all: I used them to divert water away from the main hallway, back into what used to be the kitchen. I spent several seconds watching the water seep into my image on the cover before flipping the top one over and dumping more slick pages on top. Not quite as good as a door, but at least Hermione could hop over the stacks when she returned to get into the house. My treasured ribbons, memories of a lost youth, went into a trash bag with chunks of plaster, broken picture frames, and something furry that might’ve been a drowned rat. Sniffling, I added the now-beheaded, one-legged ceramic horse Tara made me when I gave up riding to the trash pile.

I wiped my eyes. “Goodbye, Sir Maxwell.”

The last time I saw the horse was twenty years ago, and I hadn’t been in a saddle since. But saying good-bye to the figurine hit me almost as hard as the day I quit. Tears flowed freely down my cheeks. Ignoring them, I continued to sift through the rubble, looking for anything that could be salvaged. Tara’s favorite Blu-ray, our picture from prom, both of us sporting “the Rachel”. I sniffled again, wondering if a bit of music could lift my spirits.

The lack of a phone, computer, router, or electricity made streaming music impossible, but I rooted around in the basement until I found an old battery-operated CD player with my other camping stuff, along with some tarps that could come in handy.

“Hello? Anna?” Jay’s voice emanated from the general direction of what used to be the kitchen.

The moment I saw him, my facade of bravery broke. An armload of tarps tumbled to the ground. My chin quivered, and a sob escaped me. He held me, the boom box cradled awkwardly between us, for a long time. “I’m so sorry. It’s okay. We’ll rebuild together.”

“Thanks,” I sniffled. “How did you get here? And what time is it?”

“I borrowed a scooter from my neighbor. I couldn’t leave you to deal with this alone. Traffic is backed up all the way into the city. You don’t want to go out there if you don’t have to. Trees blocking lanes, power lines down, flooding everywhere. About three blocks over, water’s up to people’s doorsteps. But I’m here now.”

I smiled up at him and leaned forward to kiss him, drawing strength from the touch. “Thank you. Te amo, mi vida.”

“I love you, too. Let’s get to work.”

Eventually, everything would need to come out while contractors did the repairs, but at least I could try to avoid more water damage until I got a truck and a storage unit. I turned on the boom box while we got to work. We needed to move as many of my belongings as possible to the basement, since I could lock that door. Tarps would hopefully protect things we couldn’t move and what used to be the kitchen entrance from the elements for a few days. At least we might be able to keep out the local wildlife, although I hoped Hermione would come back.

“Just out of curiosity,” Jay said as Ace of Base filled the room, “When was the last time you listened to your boom box?”

I thought for a minute. “A little over a year ago, maybe? Tara and I went camping around the time I met you.”

“Not that I don’t love ‘The Sign,’ but do you have anything more recent than, say, 1993?”

“Nope,” I shot back. “When was the last time you bought a CD?”

“Touché. I don’t even own any CDs anymore. Donated ‘em all years ago.”

I gestured toward my room, swallowing a lump in my throat. “I had some yesterday.”

A heartbeat later, Jay wrapped his arms around me. “Hey, it’ll be okay. I’m here with you. We’ll both take a couple of days off work to clean this mess up. They’ll manage without us. The whole office is closed. You can stay with me until this place is rebuilt. A few weeks, several months, it doesn’t matter. Okay?”

I nodded, trying to quell the growing panic inside me. Everything I lost was stuff. It wasn’t me. Stuff could be replaced. Breathe in, breathe out. “Thanks.”

We moved to the living room and sat on the couch. From this angle, with the wall blocking my view of the blue tarp, I could almost pretend things were normal if I didn’t let my eyes wander toward the pile of debris Jay’d swept into one corner. Perhaps any light in the room would’ve helped the illusion. Or maybe it would’ve made everything worse.