The Trouble with Andrew (8 page)

“Fine. Thanks,” Katie said lightly.

He left her and walked across the road, hailing Brandon Holloway. There was a big palm down in the middle of the road. Brandon helped Drew drag the downed tree off the street. She could hear them shouting to each other as they cleared the street of palms and debris.

“Want to try the house, Mom? Or maybe we should go help them clear the street.”

Katie shrugged, rising from her devastated lawn. “Maybe we'd better see if we have any clothes left at all, huh? We'll start losing these robes if we get carried away.”

Jordan grinned.

“And then everyone would laugh!” Katie warned him.

“They may laugh, and they may just go, ‘Hubba, hubba!'” her son informed her.

She tousled his hair. “At me? Or you?”

“Mom! I'm a kid. At you.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence. But then again, they may just laugh. Let's go see if we can't find some clothing.”

She started for the house, Jordan behind her. She warned him to be very careful of all the broken glass. Once they were in, she started to salvage the pictures that had survived in the living room. When they were piled up, Jordan left her and went to what remained of his room.

She went to hers.

It was so strange. The windows were caved in on her elegant bath. The tub was filled with mud.

The medicine chest above the commode—which carried a dead bird—hadn't been touched. She opened it and scooped the things they would need most into a little bag—Band-Aids, aspirin, antiseptic, toothpaste and toothbrushes.

She still had room, so she added some makeup, then some more. She had lost a great deal, but there were also pockets in her home where things had barely been touched.

Drew Cunningham was going to start to think that she was planning on moving in permanently.

A minute later, Jordan came hurrying into her room. “Mom! All my drawers are just fine, can you believe it. My Star Wars collection is fine, and my baseball cards aren't even damp!”

“That's great!” Katie said with forced enthusiasm. Then she lifted a brow. “How about clothing, Jordan? Have you got any of that?”

“Jean, shorts, T-shirt. The drawers were fine. The closet is soaked. The plaster is all caving in there.”

“Grab some sneakers out of it anyway. We'll have to find some way to rinse them out for you to wear until we can buy some. If and when we find a store that can open!” she added.

“Right. I have a duffel bag. Should I pack it?”

“Yep, sounds good.”

Jordan left her. She started to dig through her belongings.

Her nightstand had been whipped across the room. Her drawers—the top one odds and ends, the bottom one underwear—had broken out, and her books and notes, pens, papers, calendar and letters were all in wet muddy piles near the closet.

Undies, bras, slips and camisoles were strewn about, a negligee on the lamp on her main dresser, several pairs of panties at the foot of the bed. She squished through the carpeting in Midge's loafers and tried to collect what pieces were dry and in good shape.

She was just reaching for a black bra that hung on her downed curtain rod when she heard a throat being cleared.

Drew Cunningham was back. Looking absurdly handsome for a damp man covered in plaster and palm fronds, he grinned, his fingers on a pair of red silk panties. He tossed them across the room to Katie. “Those look good.”

She caught them.

“Are you done helping humanity already?” she asked him.

He sobered, the amusement in his eyes quickly gone. “Humanity, here, won't be helped for a long time. We've cleared the circle—it can be driven now, though I don't know what's beyond it. I've made some calls, and we'll have trucks out here tomorrow to start hauling away some of the heavy refuse. Florida Power and Light has already been out working, and aid seems to be pouring in from all over. But if you haven't noticed, it's almost dark. And we're under a curfew—most of the businesses down south on the highway were destroyed, and the thieves moved in right away. Perhaps you haven't noticed, but you haven't eaten all day.”

Eaten! She hadn't even had a drink. And she had a little boy. One who hadn't complained once today about anything.

“Aren't you thirsty?” Drew asked her. He smiled again, slipping a beige camisole from the corner of a broken drawer and tossed it to her.

She caught the camisole, staring at him, realizing that her throat was very dry and that her stomach was rumbling.

She calmly folded the camisole and added it to her stack of things. “What are you suggesting?” she asked sweetly. “Should we send out for pizza?”

“No, we need to go to my house and cook some food that is quickly unfreezing,” he told her. He shrugged. “Well, we'll have some nice room-temperature red wine to go with our steaks and Spaghettios!”

She found herself smiling, even when he discovered a forest green wraparound nightgown, sheer, soft and still silky. She started to take it from him. He held tight for a moment.

“Pretty piece,” he teased.

She swept it from his hand. “Thanks.”

“Is that all you've managed to salvage?” he asked, looking at the pile of undergarments on her bed. “If so, you're going to make for an interesting neighbor. Housemate, actually.”

“Oh, I don't know,” she managed to say smoothly. “You do seem to be a connoisseur, so I imagine that you've had your fair share of women walking around in such garments.”

He smiled, shrugged and lifted his hands. “Just what is a fair share?” he asked.

More than I've had, Katie thought, but she was determined she could play this sexual game casually and with nonchalance.

“More than you probably deserve,” she assured him.

“How do you know what I deserve?”

“I'm just thinking about that poor lovely woman who was so concerned about you earlier today. Remember her? When she finished speaking to you, I distinctly heard you say, ‘I love you, too.'”

“Hmm. You do pay attention,” he told her.

She shrugged, trying to make a neat pile of her things. “I didn't have much choice. You more or less dragged me back across the street.”

“I protest. I didn't lay a hand on you.”

“I protest. You most certainly did.”

“Only in the house. This house. And only to try to keep you from getting hurt.”

“You were—most noble,” she assured him quickly. “And still,” she murmured, feeling a flush coming to her cheeks again, no matter what her determinations, “I'm wondering if I ought to be sleeping in the Holloways' weight room.”

“Jordan can have his own room at my house with a Nintendo and the works,” he reminded her. Serious again, he added, “And I told you. If you're uncomfortable, I can go somewhere else.”

“Don't be absurd. I couldn't let you leave your home.”

“Oh, but you could,” he said, and he sounded weary and somewhat bitter again.

“All right,” she said frowning. “I wouldn't. But I would appreciate it if you would refrain—”

“From handling your clothing?”

She sighed. “Would you see if I have anything decent in my closet?” she asked him.

The door had blown away. He stepped into the huge walk-in closet, then stepped out.

“Half and half,” he told her. “North wall drenched, south wall all right. Your suitcases are a disaster. Got any garbage bags?”

“Yes. Well, I did. If they didn't blow away.”

Jordan had come to the door. “I'll try the kitchen!” he offered cheerfully.

A moment later, he was back. The toaster was gone, so was the coffee machine. But the paper plates, cups, napkins and garbage bags were just fine.

The three of them set to work packing her things to take them over to Drew's. Katie's stomach began to grumble. “We should give this up for now.”

“In a minute,” Drew told her. “It could rain again,” he explained when she looked at him. “Let's get what we can.”

They did, making several trips across the circle. The Holloways saw them and came out to help.

Darkness had fallen when they finished. They bid the Holloways good-night, then started lighting candles in Drew's living room.

He produced a gallon jug of water that they half emptied almost immediately.

When everyone's thirst was slaked, Drew looked at Katie across the rim of the water bottle. “It really is steak and Spaghettios. Want to turn the meat over the Sterno or check out the refrigerator for vegetables and fruit?”

“I'll take the steaks,” Katie said.

They moved into the kitchen, bringing the little television with them. They were in the middle of the disaster, and naturally, they were interested in every word about the storm and its aftermath.

Katie got the Sterno going on the corner of the island in the kitchen. The house was beautifully designed, with more custom touches than her own. The kitchen was equipped with everything from a subzero freezer to wonderful cherry and glass built-in cabinets. Though the kitchen was expansive, it seemed very warm and intimate in the candlelight.

Jordan set the table, Drew made a salad. He hadn't lost his water, but he used bottled water to wash the lettuce. The news reporter had warned that the water had been contaminated.

“At least it will be fine to shower in,” Drew murmured.

“And we do need showers again,” Katie agreed. Maybe they should have showered first—they were both a bit wild looking, half damp, half plastered. But by now, hunger was the driving force.

“Cold showers,” Drew said.

“Cold will feel great!” Jordan told them. “It's starting to get awfully hot!”

“It's going to get hotter in the days to come,” Drew said. “The temperature will rise, once all the wind and cloud cover are completely gone.”

Katie flipped the steaks over the Sterno. They seemed to be coming out amazingly well. In a few minutes she had them on plates.

And the Spaghettios were warmed through, as well.

“Ready on this end,” she told Drew.

“Ready on this one, too,” he told her.

In a few minutes, they were all seated at the small kitchen table. Drew had taken down the boards and opened the doors that had once led out to his patio.

The screen that had stood over his pool was in it, but the darkness covered the disaster, and the breeze that moved in was pleasantly cool. Drew had produced a vintage red wine, and they were drinking out of beautiful wineglasses.

Jordan was drinking warm Gatorade from one of the wineglasses, and he smiled all through dinner, as if he was having fun.

It was fun, Katie reflected. They had all worked well together. And it was warm and very comfortable to sit down together, to eat together, to comment on the warnings the television gave, to sit back wearily and realize that they had survived something more traumatic than they had realized at first.

“First night. The National Guard is in, the curfew is on.” Drew lifted his wineglass toward the television where lights were streaming onto darkened streets to show damaged houses. Signs were already painted on those houses.
You loot, we shoot!
There was the very simple and profound,
Andrew sucks!

“I could take that one personally,” Drew murmured. Katie flashed him a smile.

“I imagine you might have some ribbing coming your way in the next few days,” she told him.

He shrugged and poured her some more wine. She was certainly unwinding, feeling very relaxed. The steaks had been good, his salad had been simple but filling, and even the Spaghettios had tasted good. She was very tired and oddly content.

Especially considering she hadn't much of a house left. And practically no personal effects at all.

She had Jordan. And she had seen enough on television to realize just how many people had lost their homes, and just how many of them were now sleeping in the tent cities that had begun to spring up in the afternoon.

“I think we've lost Jordan,” Drew commented softly.

Katie looked at her son. He had pushed his plate away, set his head down on the table and fallen asleep.

“Poor kid, he must have been really exhausted,” Drew said.

“I'll bring him up, and then I'll come right back down to pick up the dishes.”

“I'll take him up for you,” Drew told her.

“But I—”

He was already standing, lifting Jordan. “You're very defensive, you know,” he told Katie. “I'm bigger. It's easier for me to take him upstairs. Just say thanks and let me do it for you.”

She had started to rise. She sank back, shrugging. “I'm not defensive!” she told him defensively. “I'm just—capable.”

He smiled, picking up Jordan. “Very capable,” he told her, and disappeared into the shadowy corridor, sliding a flashlight from the counter as he did so to guide his way up the stairs.

When he was gone, Katie started to clear the table. She scraped and rinsed the dishes quickly, and soaped them liberally since she had nothing but cold water to wash them in. She was just about finished when Drew came into the kitchen and leaned against the counter, picking up his wineglass and sipping at the inch of burgundy that remained.

“Tired?” he asked her.

“I hadn't thought about it until I saw Jordan crash into the table. But I am. Very.”

He shrugged. “No one has slept in at least thirty-six hours. And those have been some hours.”

She nodded, finishing the last of the dishes and wiping her hands on a towel. The kitchen suddenly seemed small. She barely knew him; she was staying with him. No, she couldn't say that she barely knew him. Perhaps she didn't know a whole lot about him, but in the hours they had been together, she thought she had come to know him. She felt as if she knew him ridiculously well.

“By the way, thank you,” she said softly.

“For what?”