Page 71 of The Sea-Mist Cottage Inn
My carnivore son smirked guiltily and nodded. “I don’t like to talk about it.”
The small laugh we all shared over my kid’s wry humor was the morning’s medicine.
“Thank you, Catherine,” I said reaching out for her.
She clasped my hand and squeezed. “You’re home, Leo. You’re not alone. You never were.”
Until that moment, I suppose I’d been too stunned and overwhelmed to cry. But Catherine’s kindness made my vision go blurry.
As Catherine and Bailey left the lot, they met a red pickup, and both drivers paused side-by-side to chat for a second. Then the pickup pulled onto the lot and parked next to Roman’s truck. Peter Greyfather and his mother, Rosemary, climbed down from the cab. Four strapping young Yurok men hopped down from the truck bed and starting pulling gear out as well.
Peter gave me a sympathetic smile and a wave as he went to help with the gear. Rosemary came over to me and Wyatt.
“Hey, Rosemary,” I said, trying to sound more neighborly than confused. I knew Rosemary wouldn’t be here to gawk or gloat, but I couldn’t imagine how she already knew about this trouble, or why she thought she and her band of young men could help.
“Hi, Leo,” she said and patted my leg. I probably should have jumped down from the hood, but I was still holding Wyatt and, well, it didn’t occur to me.
Lots of things weren’t occurring to me, apparently. I’d spent the better part of the night and all of the morning confronting the massive destruction of everything I owned in the world (except my 8-year-old hatchback); it had not occurred to me that there was any kind of help I could expect, or even ask for.
“Looks like you had a rough night,” Rosemary said.
“Yeah,” I said. “How’d you hear?”
“Catherine got the word out. I think you can expect more help than just us pretty soon.”
Of course. If Catherine knew of someone who had need, she was first in line to help, and on her way, she made sure everybody else knew they were needed.
However, I still wasn’t sure what people could do. How did one go about cleaning up after a flood?
“I don’t know what you can do,” was all I could say to Rosemary. “You shouldn’t have to clean up my mess.”
“Hey, Rosie,” Roman said, coming up from the other side of the lot.
I’d never called her Rosie in my life; I hadn’t even known that was a thing. I was still working on calling her Rosemary and not Mrs. Greyfather.
Rosemary smiled. “Hi, Roman. Long night, huh?
With a sigh and a nod, he took my hand. “Yeah.”
He was dirtier than he’d been before. We’d both gotten mud up to our knees as we walked the area with the sheriff, but now Roman was dirty head to toe. He looked to me. “I’ve got an idea where to start with the work. You mind if I show Peter and the others?”
“Start where?” was all I could think to say.
“The river floods pretty often on the rez,” Rosemary told me. “We get regular practice with cleaning up after. First we got to make sure to get the standing water gone—that’s the biggest health hazard. Actually—they cut the electric, the gas, as well as the water, right?”
I had no idea, but Roman nodded. “Yeah. That was done before we made it here.”
Of course it was. Otherwise we’d all have been electrocuted, wading through all that water. I felt like such an idiot, sitting here empty-headed and helpless. Useless.
That stopped right the fuck now.
I kissed Wyatt’s head—he smelled like bonfire smoke and sweat—and hopped off the hood. “Okay. I don’t have any idea what we should do, so I will follow smarter people’s leads.” I squeezed Rosemary’s arm. “Thank you. I am eternally grateful for the help.”
Wyatt hopped down after me. “I’m ready. Let’s work!”
JESSIE’S PURPLE PEOPLEEater was the next car on the lot, and, in addition to Jessie, it carried Erin and Daddy Ned.
“DUDE!” Jessie yelled as she strode over to the main cabin’s porch, where I was hanging throw rugs over the railing. “If you want a swimming pool, you’re supposed to dig a hole first!”
