Page 35 of We Redeemed the Rain

Quiet laughter almost made my humiliation worth it. “Uh, that won’t be necessary.”

“Surely, there are bears in these woods.”

“Nope.” Keys jangled. Another quiet laugh. “You know what, before I waste my time…maybe I should confirm. You’re inTexas, right?”

“I think so?”

“Back up a little then and tell me what direction you drove through Comfort.”

I explained my journey as best I could.

“I know exactly where you are.” He must’ve stepped onto a covered porch or something because I heard the tinny, echoing sound of rain on his end. “Our neighbor's property. And the mud situation is worse than it looks. The only truck I got that can get back there to pull you out is at the shop in Comfort. I can’t pick it up til ‘bout seven tomorrow morning.” He sighed. “I won’t be able to get your car out tonight.”

“Oh, okay.”

“I’m gonna come pick you up, but we have to leave your car for mornin’.”

I remembered the nude heels I’d kicked into the floorboard and mentally slapped myself. It wasn’t a long walk until you added in torrential rain, mud, a slim fitted skirt, a thin baby blue blouse, andheels. Why did I put my suitcase in thetrunkand not the backseat?

“Alright. I’ll be there in a couple minutes.” He hung up.

I glanced through the back window and squinted toward the road. So far away. Tromping through the mud and rain looking like the CFO of Microsoft wasn’t in my plan for the evening.

I shoved my wallet, keys, and phone into my tiny purse, zipped it tight, and positioned the strap around my neck and across my chest so there would be no chance of dropping it. My travel cardigan lay wadded in the passenger’s seat. I canopied it over my shoulders in a ready-to-launch position.

My legs bounced with nervous energy. I was about to see him. Myheart didn’t know what to feel. Even though I knew my hair was about to get doused, I checked it in the rearview mirror. Looked okay, I guessed.

Headlights flashed through my back window.

Breathe. Try to breathe.

My phone rang.

“Hey.” I said.

“You’re really tucked in there. I can barely see you. What’re you drivin’?”

“A Prius.”

There was silence over the line. A suppressed laugh. “Did—did you just say aPrius?”

“Yeah.”

His “alright” was strained. “You good with walkin’ out?”

“Are there other options?”

“Not really. Do you need help?”

“No. I got it.” I double-checked my purse zipper, lifted the cardigan over my head, threw open my door with feigned courage, and charged into the downpour. Expensive shoes be damned.

Water pelted me in the face. The cool droplets shocked my system and I sucked in a breath, effectively filling my mouth with rain. A garbled shriek escaped my mouth as I began my journey.

My long, slow journey.

Thick mud clung to my every step, my three-inch heels instantly disappearing into the soggy ground. Water blurred my vision. In a matter of mere seconds, I was drenched to the bone. The cardigan turned into a heavy water reservoir over my head, the sleeves batting me in my face as I ran—utterly useless against the monsoon. I picked up my pace, jerking my feet out of the mud. I lost one of my heels. The wet Texas earth pulled it clean off my foot.

Did I turn back to get it?

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