Page 1 of Higher Ground
Chapter 1
Emory
Dark storm clouds rolled in from the horizon, matching the heavy feeling of defeat that lingered in Emory’s bones. The bright red stamped letter hung loose in her hand, and she so desperately wanted to just let it free. Maybe the wind would catch it and carry it away. Maybe it would get caught in the rain and washed down the gutter. Maybe she could pretend she never saw it. Maybe they could stay a little longer.
It would never work, though. They’d sent an email too and left a voicemail after she dodged the property manager’s call. And even if by some slim chance it did, she’d only be delaying the inevitable.
In hindsight, Emory should have known they wouldn’t be able to stay here forever. The warning signs should have started flashing six months ago when her baby daddy turned landlord switched the lease to a month-to-month contract. It was only a matter of time before he decided to kick her out.
So, okay, it wasn’t a surprise when the email hit her inbox a few weeks ago, but she wasn’t ready then, and she definitely wasn’t ready now.
“Clayton, buddy, let’s go, time to go inside.”
Emory’s three-year-old son did his best to ignore her, running instead towards the back gate. Most days, she’d let him. He would play outside on the second-hand plastic slide she’d found at an op shop, and she’d watch from the kitchen window while cooking dinner. Some quick, mid-week, kid-friendly meal she’d found on the internet whilst doing her meal prep over the weekend. Or they’d play together until their stomachs growled, and she’d carry him inside for a dinner of toasted sandwiches and frozen vegetables. She might not have been a perfect mother, but she did her best.
But today was not like most days. Today, the rain was coming. She needed to cook a quick dinner and start making sure the house was safe from flooding, just in case. The water levels had never risen so high that this part of town went under, but in Gardner Creek, with a storm as big as this one? You could never be too sure.
The checklist had been running through Emory’s thoughts all day. All the little things the State Emergency Service warned residents to be aware of. Make sure anything personal, valuable, or irreplaceable is placed on high, secure shelves. In the attic space or the cabinets above the kitchen bench. Pack emergency go bags, one for each family member. Download the Emergency Response app and set up the notifications. Be ready to watch the water rising and know when, not if, it’s time to leave. It all pounded against the inside of Emory’s temples, building into a headache she knew would stick around for days.
“Play, Mumma,” Clayton called. He hung on the rickety old gate, adding just enough weight to its wooden frame to pull down on the handle. It swung open with a screech, taking the little boy with it. He cheered as he kicked his legs in delight.
Emory huffed under her breath, her deep brown eyes narrowing as she turned away from her son to hide herannoyance. If she had a free hand, she probably would have pinched the bridge of her nose. She definitely would have tied her long mane of mousey brown hair into a ponytail to stop the wind whipping it against her cheeks. Everything was beginning to hurt, exhaustion finally weighing her down after her long day. The bags hanging from her arms started to slip. Groceries, her work bag, her laptop bag, Clayton’s backpack, and the tote full of academic texts she picked up from the small community library all threatened to empty onto the dusty gravel path that led to the front porch.
“Not today, Clayton, the rain is coming.” She turned back to him with a smile, hoisting the bags back into the crook of her elbow and doing her best to keep her voice chirpy. It wasn’t Clayton’s fault she was in such a sour mood.
He whined, though, stamping a foot and attempting to hold his ground. Which was just about all Emory could take.
“Three.” This time, Emory’s tone was sharp and authoritative, but with an edge of the exhaustion that had washed over her. “Two …” she dragged out the word until Clayton finally responded.
He plodded over to her, shuffling his feet through the dry, ankle-high grass. Emory had been meaning to mow it, truly, but between her shifts at the local café and looking after Clayton on her own and the three final assignments she had due, she just hadn’t found the time. Then the weekly forecast had been announced.
Rain.
Everywhere.
A lot of it, for a long time.
What was the point in mowing the grass if it was just going to get covered with floodwater anyway? Emory had reasoned with herself, as though the imminent flood was the only reason she wasn’t out mowing the grass over the weekend.
Shifting the weight of all the bags onto one arm, Emory pushed open the big wooden door to her tiny weatherboard cottage. The hinges creaked their disagreement. Clayton, finally having picked up a little speed, pushed through her legs to get inside.
“Shoes!”
He ignored her.
“Clayton, shoes!” she called, a little louder this time.
Loud, stomping footsteps echoed through the house as the little boy made his way back. Emory cringed at the thought of his dusty footsteps scattered through the house. She would have to mop. But then again, maybe the house would flood along with the yard, and it all would have been for nothing. Maybe mopping wasn’t worth it right now.
“Bluey?”
If she’d been looking down into Clayton’s deep blue puppy dog eyes, Emory would have said yes to any question he asked. But she wasn’t looking at him. She was too busy dragging the bags into the small kitchen space.
“How much TV did you watch at Papa’s?” she called over her shoulder.
Clayton, now with bare feet—although where on Earth had his socks disappeared to? Emory would have to find them later—came skipping into Emory’s space with a wide grin.
“We watched O-naughts and Play School and Spider—” With wide eyes, Clayton slammed both his hands in front of his mouth, gasping.
