Mom placed her hand on my forearm. “Stop, Allie.”
“Why?” I stopped, pulled away from Mom, and crossed my arms.
“My dear, sweet daughter, you are helpful in many ways, but washing dishes is not usually one of them. What’s up?”
Mom motioned for me to sit down on the dreaded barstool, but I stayed right where I was and began rinsing out a cup.
Mom sighed. “Allie, where’s the folder? Your dad’s coming home for just a few minutes, and I need to show it to him.”
I finished rinsing the cup and then clunked it into the dish drainer. Thankfully, we use a lot of plastic around my house.
“It’s in the laundry room.”
Mom threw up her hands and headed to the laundry room. In seconds, she returned, pulled up a barstool, placing that horrible “folder of doom” in front of her.
“I shredded the first page,” I said quietly, as she opened it.
Mom looked up. “You what?”
Here’s when the wind really picked up.
“I shredded it. I’m sorry.”
Mom’s mouth dropped open, but she said nothing. She rifled through the folder, and then got up to pull the shredded ball of paper strips that used to be the “Joshua plan” out of the trash.
She threw the ball on the counter. “Tape it back together, please.”
“What?”
“I said, tape it back together. You had no right to destroy my personal papers.”
“I think I have every right when your personal papers have to do with me moving to Arizona. Why does everyone else know everything about me but me?”
Mom pulled a roll of tape from the junk drawer and flicked it over to me.
“Start taping.”
I grabbed the tape dispenser and the strips of the shredded paper.
“Are you serious?”
“As a heart attack,” she said.
“Or a mold allergy?” I pulled out a piece of tape and tried to connect some of the strips, but it was impossible to make them match up.
Mom didn’t say a thing. She just sat there and read the contents of the folder while I taped. It took me a while, but I got the job done.
I handed the unreadable paper back to Mom.
“Here. I’m sorry I ruined it.”
She reached over and patted my hand. “Thank you.”
“For the record, I don’t like cactus.”
“I don’t like it either.”
“Then why are we moving to a cactus town?”
“Who says we’re moving?”
“Everyone! I told you, everyone knows everything about me but me!”
Dad walked in the door just then and looked like he had seen a beaver in the middle of the kitchen table or something.
“What’s goin’ on in here? Why all the yellin’?”
“Allie thinks we’re moving to Arizona without telling her,” Mom said.
Dad came over and put his arm around me.
“Now, you know we would never move and leave you here all alone without some kind of warnin’.”
I pushed him away. “Not funny. You know what Mom means.”
“Yeah, I do, but I’m not real sure why you’re all worked up. If we were plannin’ on moving we would let you know before we told anyone else.”
“That’s what upsets me. You would just ‘let me know,’ not ask me what I think about it.”
“Allie, you’re twelve, you shouldn’t be worryin’ about this stuff.”
“Dad! Twelve-year-olds worry! A lot!”
“Well, you should stop worryin’ and trust your parents to do the right thing for you.”
“It’s not that easy. Especially when you’re talking about moving to Arizona.”
“We haven’t even talked about that yet.” Dad put both hands on my shoulders and looked me in the eyes.
“But I do want you to understand this. I’m your father, and I love you more than anything in this world. So, if a doctor tells me tomorrow that we have to move to Timbuktu in order to save you, then you can bet that we’ll be movin’ to Timbuktu— lickety split!”
“And I would have no say?”
Dad sighed, took his hands off my shoulders, and went over to sit next to Mom.
“If I gave you a say, what would you say?”
I looked at him and thought a moment.
He waved his index finger in the air.
“And before you answer that, think a minute. If staying here in Louisiana would make you sicker, but moving somewhere else would make you well, then what would you say? What if you were the parent? What if we were talkin’ about one of your brothers or one of your cousins? Would you choose to stay here and watch them get sicker and sicker?”
I looked down at the floor. A sob threatened to emerge from my throat. I wiped a tear from one eye before it could drip and ruin my argument.
“Allie.” Mom’s voice was gentle and soft. “We’re just doing some preliminary research. We have a creative God, and we know he’s up to something with this situation. There are all kinds of options. Many of them don’t even involve cactus, or Arizona.”
I looked back up and spied a tissue box. I had to get to it before more tears spilled from my eyes. My nose was threatening to leak too.
“Can I go outside for a while?”
Dad glanced out the window. “Take an umbrella. Those clouds look ready to let loose any minute.”
“Don’t go far,” Mom said. “We’re having an early dinner since your dad is filming tonight.”
“I’m just going to the Diva,” I told them.
“That’s fine,” Dad said. “Just give what we talked about some thought. You’re my princess, you know, and I’ll do anything to rescue you when you’re in distress.”
“Bleah. I hate being called princess.”
“That’s fine. But you are a daughter of the King.” Dad pointed up to the ceiling. “And he loves you more than I do. So think about that.”
I ran to the coat closet and put on my hooded raincoat and some rain boots.
Then I ran out the door, wiping my escaping tears on my arm.
The rain was just starting to fall when I reached the Diva. I squeaked open the gate and flew up the stairs. I didn’t raise the awnings since I didn’t want the wind blowing all that wet stuff in. The awnings were a fairly new feature at the Diva—Dad had added them last year when we told him what a pain it was to try to dry everything out after every rain.
I wondered for a second how much rain they get in Arizona.
I fumbled around to turn on the two battery-powered lanterns we have sitting on tables for dark times such as this. The glow from each light cast my shadow on the walls as I walked around reading Bible verses.
Weeping may last for the night, but joy comes in the morning. Psalm 30:5
I wrote that one up there when my favorite dog, Pokey, got hit by a car and died last year. He should have been faster, running across that street! I cried so hard that night, and I never thought I’d feel joy again. And then Dad brought that licking-machine Hazel Mae home. And ever since then, she has licked me on the cheek to wake me up in the morning, and I laugh.
The thunder rolled outside and the now heavy rain plunked on the roof and against the awnings.
“Hey, who’s up there! Don’t you know it’s gonna flood soon?”
A familiar voice rang up through the rumbles and pitter-patters.
Hunter.
Since the awnings weren’t open, I couldn’t just lean over and look down, so I made my way down the stairs.
There he stood at the gate.
“Gator Buster,” he said, and then he grinned that funny grin. He wasn’t wearing a raincoat, and his short blond hair was wet and curling up on top of his head. His glasses were fogged a little, and his clothes were drenched.
“What are you doing here?” My mind was still a little mushy from holding back the tears. I stared down at his bare calves. “And why are you wearing those basketball shorts in this fr
eezing weather?”
“I always wear shorts if I have a choice. So, is the temporary password still good? Or is that just a one-time use thing?”
It dawned on me that he wanted me to let him into the Diva.
“Oh. Well, I don’t think we’ve ever had someone come for a return visit. Let me think.” I tapped my cheek with my index finger.
“Think fast,” Hunter said. “It’s gonna pour in a minute.”
Water sprinkled down upon us through the tree branches. A big drop landed on Hunter’s forehead and ran down his nose. He opened his mouth and caught the moisture on his tongue, which made me laugh.
“Come on up, Gator Buster,” I said, and we made it up right as the clouds let loose.
“Whoa, good thing I brought snacks,” Hunter said. “We could be here a while.”
He took the top off the white bucket he was carrying and pulled out a tube of barbequed potato chips, a sleeve of mini-powdered donuts, a bag of chocolate chips, and a bottle of green Gatorade.
“Wow. You don’t mess around when it comes to junk food.”
Hunter ripped open the chocolate chips and poured some into my hand.
“Yeah, good thing you aren’t allergic to chocolate.”
“Yes. I’m very grateful for that.”
I poured a few of the cold, hard chocolate pieces into my mouth and chomped.
“I wish we had some hot chocolate right now.”
“And marshmallows,” Hunter added.
“What else you got in that bucket?” I hoped Hunter would say a hot bowl of mac and cheese. I needed a little comfort food at the moment.
“Just duct tape,” Hunter said. “It always comes in handy.”
The wind pounded the awnings, and I got up and pulled a couple of fleece blankets out of a light purple cabinet that Mamaw Kat had bought at a garage sale.
“Here,” I handed one to Hunter. “Dry yourself off with this. You can sit over there in that saucer chair. I know it’s pink, but it’s super comfortable.”
I plunked down in my usual turquoise-glitter beans.
Hunter peeked over at the chair and hesitated.
“I prefer to stand.” He opened up the folded blanket and wrapped it around his shoulders, then began mulching on the chips. Not munching. Mulching. The sound was deafening.
“Allie,” Hunter took a break from the chips to take a swig of the Gatorade and swallowed. “I hesitate to divulge this kind of information to you—the chairman of the Duck Diva initiation committee—but since you’re going to be my cousin and all—”
“What is it? Is something wrong?” I didn’t think my stomach could take anymore bad news today.
“I guess I should just confess.”
I sat up straighter.
“Confess? What? You didn’t share your password with anybody, did you?”
“Password? No! I would never betray the committee.”
“Then what?”
Hunter paced a little and mulched some more. I just watched and hoped he would land soon. He did, finally in the pink chair.
“I’m gonna fail the initiation. I just know it. I’m not cut out to be a Carroway. I’m not like any of you. It’s written all over my face. ‘Not. A. Carroway.’ See?”
Hunter swiped the back of his hand across his face. He positioned his fingers in the shape of an L for “Loser.”
He went on.
“I’m sure Kassie and Wayne are thinking the same thing. I wouldn’t be surprised if they change their mind about the adoption and next week instead of becoming your cousin, I’ll be back in the foster system hoping some other family will take me in.”
“That’s crazy talk.” I walked over and looked in his bucket. “How much junk have you consumed today? I think you’re on a sugar low.”
“This is my first snack of the day. And it’s happened before,” Hunter said.
“What are you talking about?”
“This is my third time being ‘considered’ for adoption.”
“Well, those people were nuts to send you back. They didn’t deserve you.”
“Oh yeah? How do you know? Maybe a loser is what they really did deserve.”
“Hunter! I think your mood is being affected by the weather. It happens to me a lot. The truth gets crowded out by the clouds.”
“Truth?”
“Yeah. The truth is, you’ve already been chosen by all of us to be in our family. So that means you are. Case closed. Nobody’s gonna change their mind. Even if you fling a thousand frogs in my hair.”
“But I could fail the initiation.”
I thought about the four events we had planned for this poor boy. Mud and frogs, singing, hunting and cooking, and hanging out in a haunted storage shed. I figured he might be able to get two out of the four.
I suddenly felt bad for making this agreement with the girls. Kendall for sure wouldn’t give up the Diva if Hunter didn’t pass.
I grabbed a donut out of Hunter’s bucket and chewed on that a minute. The wind continued to beat on the awnings, and the rain came down heavy now. A stream of water began dripping from a leak in the roof—right on top of my beanbag.
Hunter noticed the drip, emptied his bucket, and placed it under the leak.
“Thanks,” I said.
“You’re welcome. You know, this is a really old structure.”
“Yeah, it’s ancient! Our dads used to play in here when they were kids.”
Hunter sniffed. “It also smells weird. Have you ever noticed that?”
I laughed. “That’s just Kendall’s perfume.”
“Possible.” He looked around some more, pushed on a couple of support beams, and surveyed the ceiling. “I think we can do better with this place. In fact, I’ve been working on some architectural drawings that could add square footage without putting anymore stress on the tree . . .”
“You want to add on?”
“Yeah, why not? You never know, Kassie and Wayne might decide to adopt another foster child. Or your parents might.”
“I doubt that. They seem to have their hands full with me and all my problems.”
“Either way, we should plan for the future.”
“Hunter, I might be moving.”
I couldn’t believe I blurted that out. It came just as some thunder roared, so I hoped maybe he hadn’t heard it. But then, when I saw his eyes widen, sending a shocked look my way, I knew he had.
“Moving? You mean to a different house in the neighborhood?”
“No. Somewhere drier. Like Arizona. Or Timbuktu.”
“Timbuktu? Is that a real place?”
“I don’t . . . uh . . . I never . . . I don’t know.”
“But what about the TV show?”
Carried Away with the Carroways was my only hope at this point. Maybe somewhere in the contract it said we had to live in Louisiana or get sued.
“We might just have to be the Arizona Carroways who come back home to visit from time to time.”
“That’s not good.” Hunter slammed his chip tube on the teacart. I worried as I watched Kendall’s giraffe wobble.
“No, it’s not.”
Hunter turned, and slouched.
“This is a horrible, gloomy day.”
“I know.”
“And I’m going to fail the initiation.”
“Maybe. But it could be fun, right?”
“Sure! Just like you moving to Timbuktu could be fun.”
Just as Hunter said that, lightning must have hit the ground right next to us. The place lit up like Christmas, and the rumble practically knocked us to the ground.
“Allie!” Dad’s voice, followed by his shrill whistle, cut through the pounding rain. “Time to get back in the house!”
“I gotta go, and you better too,” I said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Hunter wrapped the junk food and duct tape in the blanket and left the bucket to catch the rain.
“Okay, tomorrow. Any insider tips for me? Is that fair to ask?”
“Okay.” Hunter’s face froze looking at me.
“Practice singing,” I said.
“Singing?”
“Yeah. Singing.”
Thunder cracked again.
“Allie!” Dad’s voice was closer now.
“Coming!” I shut off the lanterns, and Hunter and I scrambled down the steps of the Diva. Water rushed down the branches and spilled all over us on the way down.
“I hope the river doesn’t rise too high tonight,” Hunter said.
“You never know,” I said. “This place gets a lot of water. We’ll just have to wait and see what happens.”
“Yep, we’ll see.”
Hunter flew up and over the hill toward his house, gone in a flash.
“Allie, come on, girl!” Dad had reached me and grabbed me by the arm. “Even the bullfrogs are taking cover. Let’s get in the warm house.”
We both started a jog toward the house, but it felt like a sprint to me. I was out of breath in seconds. When I got in the house, I didn’t even have the energy to take my coat or boots off. Mom had to peel them off, and while she did, Dad grabbed a blanket, wrapped me up in it, and carried me to the sofa by the fireplace.
“What’s going on, Allie-girl?” Dad looked scared as he stroked my cheek.
I couldn’t talk. All I could do was concentrate on grabbing my next breath. And every time I tried to exhale, I felt like something was clamping around my chest, producing that high-pitched whistle that was becoming a daily companion.
Dad stood up and walked over to Mom, who was on the phone with someone.
“We’ve gotta get a handle on this, Maggie,” he said.
“We will, Jake. We will.”
CHAPTER 14
Doctor Shocker
Allie, I want you to take a deep breath and then blow into this device until all the air is out of your lungs.”
I took the air-flow device from Dr. Snow, said a quick prayer, breathed in, and then blew out with all my might. That high-pitch whistle made an appearance again.
“Nice wheeze,” Dr. Snow said, and he took back the device and held it up to his face to read the numbers on the side.
“You’re not getting a lot of air these days, are you, Allie?”
Allie's Bayou Rescue Page 6