Page 1 of Wrong Number, Right Lion

1

ARLO

The looming black clouds confirmed what the weather app had told me. A huge storm was approaching.

My house was an older one, not sitting inches from neighbors on either side and not built on a flood plain or close to a river. It didn’t have a basement, and the attic served as my office and mini gym. So, I was confident it wouldn’t flood, though the garden might get waterlogged.

Racing outside before the huge raindrops drenched me, I removed a hose, watering can, and tools and locked them in the shed. If the wind speed was as the app predicted, I didn’t want a rake hurled through my window.

“You be safe now.” I waved and blew a kiss to my favorite tree, a silver maple. She was my favorite tree because one side of the leaves were silver, and when the wind blew, the green on one side and the silver fluctuated, giving a variegated appearance.

I’d read this type of tree was more prone to being felled by high winds, but my silver maple had withstood plenty of storms.

“I’m counting on you to be here after the storm passes.” After giving the tree a thumbs-up, I traipsed over the soggy ground and went inside.

I was supposed to meet with a client this afternoon but messaged him saying we’d do it online.

There were bottles of water in the kitchen, and I had canned goods in the pantry if the power went out, along with candles, a flashlight, and batteries.

“All set.”

The house, like the tree earlier, didn’t respond.

With a coffee in hand, I climbed the stairs to my office and started work, figuring I’d get as much done as possible before the storm hit. I enjoyed the dark sky being lit up by jagged lightning and the rain pounding on the deck. Not so much the cleaning up the yard after the rain had gone elsewhere. That’d be a pain, as I pictured the squishy mud and the ruined flowers and shrubs, the same ones I’d planted and tended from seedlings.

But the rumbling outside the attic window distracted me as the clouds blocked most of the light. My phone was beeping with warnings from the National Weather Service telling people twenty minutes from me to prepare to evacuate.

That got my attention, and with the phone in hand, I tramped down the stairs to the living room with its huge picture window. A previous owner had installed the huge window, a decision I agreed with because it let in more light and I could enjoy the view over the woods.

But now maybe knocking down the part of the wall facing the coming storm and replacing it with glass didn’t seem like a great idea.

It’ll be fine, I told myself. Not that I had any idea if it would be.

Cracking the porch door, I embraced the air crackling with the distinct scent of ozone. But the wind got hold of the door and slammed it, almost catching my hand. The noise reverberated around the room, ringing in my ears, and scared me a tad because the storm was stronger than I’d anticipated.

The wind gusted the branches of the trees, and the picture window was pelted with rain. The outdoors blurred beyond the glass as flurries of wind hurled sticks, stones, and leaves around, and the only sound was the thrumming of the rain and debris hitting the large window.

I shivered. Not only because the temperature dropped but because I was alone. Not just by myself in the house but because I wasn’t cheek to jowl with my neighbors. I’d never wanted to live in a modern house that was identical to thousands of others, but right now it sounded pretty damned good.

Slinging a throw from the sofa over my shoulders, I tried to read a book but couldn’t concentrate. The images on the weather app of the storm overhead were both fascinating and horrifying. The swirling angry mass of colors was addicting, and I couldn’t look away.

Or, that was, until a loud groan radiated from somewhere outside. With my face pressed against the glass, I squinted into the morass of water, mud, and broken branches.

I chewed on a nail, hoping whatever it was stayed put. But the creaking intensified, and I covered my ears while my heart threatened to beat so fast it’d break free of my chest.

Oh shit! Not my tree. I flung myself backward behind the sofa as a dark image crashed onto the roof. Cowering on the floor, I examined my face and arms. All intact. The house was still standing and hadn’t collapsed into a pulpy mess.

But a splotch of water hit my face. I didn’t want to look up, but I was an adult, and there was no one to hold my hand. While I couldn’t see daylight, there was a leak. Just adrip drip drip, so it could have been worse. I grabbed a large mixing bowl and placed it under the leak.

Miraculously, the picture window was intact. Hurrah! The universe was looking out for me.

But a stream of water was pouring onto the wooden floor in the kitchen, so maybe fate had decided to challenge me. Retrieving a bucket from the laundry, I placed it to catch the water. Right, I could do this. Tomorrow I’d call a handyman and have them fix the roof.

Except there was another leak and another, and I tore around with buckets and bowls, emptying water, and once I’d completed one round, I started again. The storm was easing or passing elsewhere, and in my frantic racing around, I glimpsed my tree, my beautiful tree, the ground beneath it shredded as its roots were ripped from the muddy earth.

Tears mingled with raindrops that were sneakily finding new crevices in the roof. I loved that tree and now it was no more. I’d have to get a cutting and shove it in a pot with soil, hoping Icould transplant it at a later date. That way I was creating new life rather than grieving over my fallen favorite.

But I put aside my sad thoughts because I was being inundated with leaks. Though many of the roads in the city and surrounding countryside were impassable, my cousin's handyman lived close by. I’d never met the guy, but my cousin, Stephen, recommended him, saying he’d come rain, hail, or shine. There was no shine outside, and I hadn’t seen hail, but rain we had.

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