Anna's Guide to Getting Even

Chapter 4

No puedes tapar el sol con un dedo, as Mamá used to say. You can’t cover the sun with one finger.

Unfortunately, now I possessed a perfect view of the mantel. The empty mantel where Tara and I once displayed our favorite pictures.

I got up and sifted through the stuff on the floor.

“Ahn? What are you doing?”

Ignoring him, I kept digging until I found what I wanted—the only gold-framed picture in the room. Mamá always hated silver, thought it looked cheap. Inside the frame, she and I stood before the house, with our identical long dark hair and smiles. Her white sundress made her seem half her age; I wore a light blue cap and gown. Glass showered onto the floor when I lifted the frame. Dirt and g**k streaked our clothes and faces. We gave the impression less of mother and daughter at college graduation, more like survivors of a disaster movie.

“This is the last picture of us together.” My voice cracked. “Now it’s gone, too.”

A tear dropped off my nose, making a clean spot on the snapshot.

“It’s going to be okay. Your dad probably took a hundred pictures that day, right?”

I nodded.

“We’ll call him when we leave here, tell him you’re okay, ask him to send you another one. Good?”

It wasn’t good. We hadn’t owned a digital camera back then, and Papá probably didn’t keep the negatives. Still, I nodded, knowing if I didn’t put on a brave face, I’d never get through the rest of the house. “Okay. Thanks.”

When the waning light made further work impossible, we walked into town to see if any place serving food was open. One of the sagging power lines had given way under the weight of a tree during the afternoon, blocking access via the route I followed earlier. Jay and I picked our way through fallen trees, soggy leaves, broken glass, and puddles until we reached the end of the street. The bistro at the corner now offered outdoor seating in the back, but I suspected the owners would’ve preferred to build a patio over losing the rear walls. Employees milled around, moving chairs and boarding up the broken windows. I waved, offered condolences, and kept moving.

We weren’t picky: restaurants, fast food, a gas station. Since my stove was in the kitchen, and the kitchen was no longer attached to the house, all foods requiring any preparation whatsoever were out of the question. Luckily, the nearby pizza shop used a wood-burning oven and a back-up generator. The line stretched for a couple of blocks around the corner, out of sight.

Jay pointed at a bench across the street, partially hidden from view by a green Acura stopped in traffic. “You’ve been on your feet all day. Do you want to rest?”

I hesitated. As much as I hated to show weakness, my left leg throbbed where the end connected with my prosthetic. The only thing I wanted more than my bed and my house back was to sit and remove the device. Jay touched my chin, forcing my gaze back to him. “Hey. You’ve had a rough day. There’s no shame in sitting down.”

Puddles littered the path between me and the debris-covered bench. Still, sitting seemed more appealing than standing in line. My heart warmed at his thoughtfulness. “You’re right, thanks. I’ll take—whatever they have, honestly.”

About an hour later, Jay returned with a large pepperoni pizza. Although the wind carried a bite, we ate on the bench, as if this were an ordinary day and we were just another couple enjoying a pizza for dinner in the middle of a disaster zone. We shared a tender, cheesy kiss under the stars.

Cars packed the center of town. As we tried to decide whether we wanted to fight traffic to get back to Jay’s, I realized the green Acura I’d walked past to get to the bench still idled at the end of the street, waiting to turn onto the main road. If this tiny town was gridlocked, trying to get to Jay’s house in midtown would take hours at best. Considering the amount of work left to us the following morning, we decided to unpack the rest of the camping gear and spread it out in the basement.

We picked our way up the hill, detouring around more tree branches. Two college-aged guys in a raft offered to take us up one of the side streets, but the road to my house wasn’t underwater, so we declined and gave them each a slice of leftover pizza.

Emergency crews hadn’t made it anywhere near my neighborhood yet. Between the rubble, the flooded areas, and the lack of street lights, walking home took nearly twice as long as the trip into town.

On the way back, I insisted we knock on a couple of doors to see how the neighbors were faring. The only one who answered seemed more concerned with feeding me than the tree lying across her living room. I asked her to keep an eye out for Hermione and convinced her that we had enough food for the night.

Although part of me wanted to take the scooter back to Jay’s, I hoped the cat would return if I stayed. On top of everything else, I couldn’t stomach telling Tara I lost her beloved pet. I couldn’t even call her with the news about the hurricane until Hermione was safe. Jay put bowls of food and water on what used to be the back porch while I scoured the house for usable pillows and blankets.

The next day passed in much the same way, except we finished securing the house before dark. Hermione remained out of sight. News reports told me that traffic into the city had lightened up, so I went to a neighbor whose house was mostly okay and offered him some free samples of our new product line in exchange for borrowing his truck. He agreed and even helped me load up a few boxes.

“You ready?” Jay asked after he loaded the last of the stuff.

I shook my head. “I can’t leave without Hermione.”

“I’m sure she’s fine. You know how cats love to hide.”

“I do,” I said, “and she’s probably in the basement. But I’m not going anywhere until I’m sure.”

Jay surveyed the resolute line of my mouth, the determination in my eyes. He’d seen it before at many a board meeting, and he knew what it meant. After a long moment, he sighed. “I’ll pack up the food and kitty litter, then find the carrier. Check the basement again, and if you don’t see her by the time I’m done, we’ll go for a walk.”

“Thank you. I really appreciate it.”

He nodded and disappeared into the house. After a moment, I followed. Hermione did love to hide in the basement when Tara or I opened the door to do laundry. With luck, I’d find her squished behind the water heater.

Ten minutes later, I’d scoured the entire basement and determined that if the cat hid there, I would never figure out where. With a sigh, I grabbed a bag of cat treats from a drawer in what used to be the pantry and went outside. Jay and I walked up and down the block, shaking the treats and calling her name. Finally, a meow answered us.

“Hermoine?”

The fat cat bounded out of the bushes, absolutely soaked, and catapulted into my arms. I’d never been so happy to see another living creature. I snuggled against her, cooing until Jay pointed out that it was dark and we’d need close to an hour to get home.

We didn’t have a towel, so I dried Hermione off as best I could with my sweater before bundling her into the carrier for the trip into the city.

By the time we reached Jay’s apartment, I barely had the presence of mind to plug my phone into the wall before I collapsed into his bed, exhausted. Nearly three days of emails, texts, and unanswered calls awaited, and I didn’t possess the strength to even turn the device on. It could wait until I got to work the next morning. Even Tara didn’t need an immediate call. She shouldn’t have heard about the hurricane, tucked away at her mom’s, and I’d better be able to convince her everything was okay in the morning once I believed it myself.

A good night’s sleep did wonders for my health and mental well-being. Jay and I arrived at the office in high spirits. I was halfway through the door of the ladies’ room before I remembered my phone had been off for almost three days. Funny how, after years of treating the phone as an extension of my hand, a few days without power or service made me almost forget it existed.

When I turned the phone on and finally got my three days of messages, I wished I’d never remembered it. A flurry of notifications flashed across the screen, blurring together. My voicemail beeped, and then a text popped up on top of everything.

Slut.