Cathead Crazy

by Rhett DeVane

  “Yes she will.”

  “They’re admitting her into intensive care, probably for a couple of days. Her heart—” Missy took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “—her heart is very weak.”

  “She’s young. She’ll pull through.”

  Missy’s blue eyes sought hers. “I have to believe that.”

  They sat for a few moments. The drama of other people’s interrupted lives flowed around them.

  “Justine and I stopped by your house and packed some things for both of you.”

  “Oh.”

  “It was presumptuous of us,” Hannah said. “But I knew you’d be staying over here until she’s better.”

  Missy leaned over and hugged her hard. “You truly are a friend, Hannah.”

  “If anyone asks, I’m your sister.” Hannah held up her index finger and thumb. “A teensy fib to get me into the back.”

  “Since I’ve never had one and always wanted one, it’s perfectly okay by me.” The corners of her lips twitched upward. “I would consider it an honor.” A horrified expression washed across Missy’s petite features. “Oh . . . no. ”

  “What?”

  “You saw my closet.” Missy’s gaze darted around the waiting area as if she expected a news team to materialize.

  “We’ll consider it a family secret.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Hannah watched the latest report on the Weather Channel. The fourth named hurricane of the season bowled a path into the Gulf of Mexico and turned north. Not good for the Florida Panhandle. With Norman and Jonas securing the Olsens’ house, Justine and Hannah turned their attention to the Rodgers’s home, shifting plants beneath the porch and furniture to the front parlor. At Rosemont, Lucy Goosey donned a red rain slicker and matching bonnet. At her webbed feet sat a bag packed with a miniature flashlight, water, and AAA batteries. An airline ticket to Toronto protruded from her jacket pocket; the goose wasn’t taking any chances. She was much too highfaluting to flap her cement wings and flee under her own power.

  “Y’all ready for the storm?” Beth asked when Hannah entered the lobby.

  “As ready as we can get. Norman bought a generator last year after Ivan left us without power. It’s not that we can’t get along without electricity, but I’d hate to lose a freezer full of meat and vegetables. Not to mention all the fish Norman and Jonas have frozen.”

  “We have generators ready too.” Beth pointed to a rolling suitcase beside her chair. “I’ll be right here. We stay fully-staffed during hurricanes.”

  Hannah glanced around. “This place is a fortress.”

  “A couple of years ago, we had evacuees from an assisted living facility in Panama City here. They camped out in our dining room on cots.”

  Hannah imagined the chaos. “Nice of you to take them in.”

  “Judging from the news reports, you won’t be able to find a motel room for miles.”

  “Our house is brick,” Hannah said. “As long as the roof survives, we’re good. This far from the coast, it’s tornadoes I worry about most.”

  Beth nodded. “My father lost one of his barns that way. Picked it up and slammed it down a few miles off. They found things hanging from the trees afterwards.”

  Hannah signed in and turned toward the hallway. Mae was in a high rolling boil when Hannah entered her room. “Ma-Mae? Your door wasn’t locked.”

  A mountain of clothing and an opened suitcase littered Mae’s bed. “Reckon I forgot to turn the latch. I’m in a rush, I tell you, an absolute rush!”

  Hannah deposited her purse on the rocker and stood with her hands on her hips, watching her mother shuffle aimlessly from one point to another. “What are you trying to do?”

  Mae paused long enough to fire her daughter a dagger-look. “Pack an evacuation bag!”

  “Um . . . why?”

  “They told us to pack one—just in case—with a change of clothes, toiletries, and some money.” She dug in the bedside table’s drawer. “And a flashlight.”

  “I don’t think you’ll be going anywhere but here, Ma-Mae.”

  “If that storm heads in our direction, Lord only knows where I’ll end up.”

  “Want to come to our house?”

  Mae shot Hannah an incredulous look. “Why would I do that?”

  “I don’t know . . . you’re worried, and you could be with us?”

  Mae dismissed the idea with a swipe of one hand. “The nurses have all my medicines, and I’ll be with my friends, and besides you hardly cook anymore.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  Mae stepped over and rested a hand on Hannah’s shoulder. “Don’t get all sullied up. It’s nothing personal against you and Norman. But I’d rather take my chances with the Rosemont crew.”

  “Maybe you could throw us a line if you see us floating by.”

  “You’re funny with your ways sometimes, child.” She kissed Hannah on the cheek. “If you want to help me, get this blasted bag packed. I can’t think straight long enough to decide what to take.”

  “I can do that.”

  “Good. I don’t want to miss the ’50s party up in the sunroom at three. Then that singing fellow, Randy, is coming to play for us at four. He bangs on a guitar and bellows this one song about a purple cow that tears me up every single time.”

  A row of flashlights with new batteries lined the kitchen counter. Both bathtubs and a large plastic jug held water.

  Hannah clapped. “Okay, troops! Let’s review our battle plan one more time.” She pointed to Jonas.

  “Get Snooker on the leash and rendezvous in the hallway,” he said.

  “Check! You sure you can perform your designated duties with the use of one arm?”

  Jonas nodded emphatically.

  “And Justine?”

  “Mom, we’ve been over this twice already. Aren’t you being a little, like, anal?”

  “Humor me, will you?”

  Justine puffed out a breath. “Cram Slug in the cat carrier and meet you guys in the hall.”

  “Check! Norman?”

  “Run around like a banshee and totally lose it.” Norman looked amused with himself.

  Hannah’s left eyebrow lifted. “How can I expect the kids to take this seriously if you don’t?”

  Norman’s shoulders rose and fell. “Sorry, hon. Okay, I should come running from wherever I am, make sure I have my cell phone in my pocket, and meet y’all in the hall.”

  “Very good.”

  Jonas grabbed the notepad from his mother’s hands and stood military straight. “And you, Master Sergeant, what’s your duty?”

  Hannah saluted and snapped a crisp reply, “Grab the comforter from the daybed in the study and meet the squad in the hall, Sir!”

  “From the sound of it,” Norman said, “the storm’s aiming away from us, toward Pensacola and Mobile. I doubt we’ll get much more than rain and a little wind.”

  “Tornadoes spawn in those outer feeder bands,” Hannah stated, “waiting to reap destruction.”

  “You’ve been watching way too much Weather Channel, Mom,” Justine said.

  “It’s a category 4, at one hundred and thirty-five mile-an-hour sustained winds and the pressure has fallen several millibars in the past hour. The storm’s strengthening.”

  Justine’s lip crimped on one side. “Like I said . . .”

  Outside, blue skies held a few scattered clouds scudding on a mild, warm breeze. When she stepped onto the back deck, Hannah noted the eerie silence. Animals always seemed to know when to shut up and hunker down.

  Jonas stood beside her. “Where do the birds and squirrels go during a hurricane?”

  “I imagine the squirrels hide away, somehow. If I was a bird, I’d fly to where it felt safe.”

  “Remember last year after Ivan when Snooker found the three baby squirrels?”

  A dog that normally chased and tormented squirrels, Snooker had tenderly carried them one by one to place them on the deck, unharmed save a ropey layer o
f saliva. The newborns looked like little hairless rats, their eyes not yet open. Hannah and Jonas packed them in soft cloth in a shoebox and took them to St. Francis Wildlife Association, where they joined forty-plus orphaned squirrels.

  Hannah patted him with affection. “You and I will make sure to check around and see if any of the babies got knocked from the nests, when it’s safe for us to come out.”

  Hannah and her family camped out in the den, glued to the storm updates. Overnight, the hurricane turned north and aimed toward the heart of the Florida Panhandle. In Chattahoochee, a hundred miles from the massive storm’s center, fierce winds whipped the treetops, sending an ominous keening through the air.

  “They always have some poor reporter standing in the wind and sheeting rain. I feel sorry for those weather people.” Norman grabbed a handful of popcorn. “Remember that one storm a few years back— was it Andrew?— where Dan Rather was hanging onto a pole for dear life?”

  “His hair was longer then,” Hannah said. “I remember it blowing straight out to one side.”

  Jonas’s eyes lit up. “I think it’d be cool to be there in the middle of it all. I wanna be a storm chaser.”

  The power flickered. The Olsens gasped. The power stayed on.

  Slug slept in Jonas’s lap, oblivious to the excitement. Snooker took turns begging for treats and cleaning up anything dropped on the carpet. A loud crack sounded outside, followed by a jarring thud in the back of the house. The family jumped up. Snooker barked. Slug’s coat puffed up to full volume, then he dove beneath the couch. Everyone talked at once and the family emergency plan bit the dust.

  “You and the kids stand back!” Norman’s voice stopped them dead. The lights went out. Norman dug in his pocket for a small flashlight and followed the beam down the hall. The sound of dripping water and wind sounded from Jonas’s bedroom. Regardless of Norman’s warning, the others crept behind.

  Jonas and Justine huddled behind their mother. “See anything, honey?” Hannah asked.

  Norman blew out his breath in a long whistle. A large oak tree branch protruded through the ceiling like King Arthur’s sword. Rainwater sluiced down the bark and puddled on the carpet.

  A second crash jarred the house, this one from the opposite end. Snooker took off into the dark, barking. “That sounded like it came from the backyard,” Norman said.

  The group scurried to the large window over the kitchen sink, led by Norman the Fearless.

  “Can’t tell for sure, but I think something hit the fence.” He trained the beam of a larger flashlight to the far corner of the yard. “Probably the tree that got struck by lightning end of last summer.” Norman sighed. “I was going to have it cut, anyway. Nature saved me the trouble.”

  “Snooker, good boy. Hush now,” Justine soothed.

  “What’ll we do about that huge freakin’ tree in my room?” Jonas asked.

  “Nothing for now,” Norman said. “I’ll get a tarp up there soon as I can. Meanwhile, we’ll drag a couple of mattresses into the living room.” He checked his watch. “I’ll give it an hour before I crank up the generator for the fridge and freezer. In the morning, I’ll call Hal over with his chain saw as soon as the worst of the storm’s over.”

  Jonas’s eyes twinkled in the flashlight’s illumination. “Cool.”

  Men and their beloved power tools. Hannah shook her head. What the heck. We need a new roof anyway. It’s only money.

  Mae answered the phone after four rings.

  “Mom? You okay? I’ve been calling all morning. ”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “No reason, I mean, I know it didn’t get too bad here.”

  Mae sniffed. “Are you all right? Your voice sounds strained.”

  “I’m fine,” Hannah said. “We lost power for a bit and we have some limbs down.” No need to bring up the oak tree in Jonas’s room, the pine that had taken out a good portion of the fence, or the untimely demise of Mrs. Keats’s cement yard manatee, two doors down. “What’ve you been doing?”

  “This and that. They plan things for us here. I’ve been up in Josie’s room talking a blue streak.”

  “You weren’t upset?”

  “Why would I be upset?”

  “The hurricane, Ma-Mae.”

  Her mother hesitated. Hannah could envision her walking over to the window to peer outside. “Oh. That. Well, it’s nearly passed now, hasn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m going to sit in the living room for a while. They’re showing some Disney flick. Was there something you needed?”

  “Suppose not. I’ll stop by to see you on the way home from work tomorrow.”

  “I might not be in my room. You’ll have to find me.”

  Hannah smiled. “I’ll hunt you down. Don’t worry.”

  “Goodbye, then. Remember Ma-Mae loves you.”

  The disconnect click sounded on Mae’s end.

  Hannah cradled the silent phone set in her hand. “Night, Ma-Mae. I love you, too.”

  Chapter Thirty-one

  “You’ve outdone yourself, this time,” Suzanne walked around Becky and gave a low whistle.

  “Did you make that outfit?” Hannah asked.

  Unlike her mother, Hannah viewed sewing as a tedious, time-warping, energy-sucking black hole. Hannah’s deluxe Singer machine stood idle, providing convenient overflow for Norman’s papers and flux from other areas of the house.

  Becky beamed. “Sewed every little dangle on by hand.”

  Scarlet rhinestones covered the bra top, with longer hanging strands at the midriff. The harem pants were filmy silver chiffon with an overlaying handkerchief-hem tribal skirt and hip belt. On Becky’s feet, ballet slippers sparkled with the same red faceted stones. Wristlets and a headband in glittery silver completed the ensemble.

  “You look like an Arabian Nights’ MTV parody,” Hannah said.

  “Wait!” Becky dug in her gym bag and pulled out a scarlet silk veil edged in silver thread.

  Suzanne ran her fingers over the buttery material. “Dang, woman!”

  The instructor walked in and stopped when she spotted the costume. “Woo! You’re a diva.”

  Becky smiled seductively and swiveled in a wide hip circle. “You like?”

  “With that outfit, you’ll have some rich sheik’s Mercedes parked in front of your tent by nightfall,” Amy said.

  “My sheik drives a Dodge Hemi pick-up.” Becky’s eyes twinkled. “You’ve given me a great idea for this weekend.” She fanned her hands through the air. “Our bedroom set up to look like a desert oasis tent. Pillows, billowy draperies hanging from the ceiling, low lighting . . . ”

  Amy laughed. “You go girl!” At her signal, the class lined up in three rows, many wiggling in anticipation of the music. “Tonight, we’ll do a quick review of the moves we’ve learned so far. Then, I’ll teach you a new rhythm for the zills.”

  “Love those,” Hannah said. “Can’t move and play them at the same time, but I love them anyway.”

  “That’ll come.” Amy swiveled a few times, then led them through the warm-up moves. “Would you like to learn to zaghareet?” Twin dimples formed at the corners of her wide smile.

  “Zah-what?” Suzanne asked.

  Amy placed her hand in front of her mouth and emitted a loud high-pitched trill. “That’s what they refer to as zaghareeting.” She demonstrated the quick tongue movements. “It’s lah-lah-lah—done really fast.”

  The students echoed.

  “Sounds like some kind of demented banshee call to me,” Suzanne commented.

  “Now, place your hand demurely over your mouth and do it. That muffles the sound.” Amy continued, “This is a woman thing, sometimes used as a greeting. Or to say ‘hey, look at me’, or ‘hey, look at you!’ ”

  “I’ve heard it before in movies,” Hannah said. “And at the Hafla.”

  “If you’re somewhere and there’s a belly dancer performing, and you’d like to cheer her on, you can do a more subdued
zaghareet. This tells her that you know something about her moves—a form of praise and appreciation for her dancing.”

  “I feel like I’m dripping in culture each time I leave this class,” Becky said.

  An hour and a half later, the three tired dancers made their way to their cars. Becky waved goodbye from her parking spot, then Hannah and Suzanne walked together to their vehicles.

  “I like the shimmy movements,” Suzanne said. “Feels like I get a good workout.”

  “I always have to go home and ice my butt.” Hannah laughed. “By the way, Norman called me on the cell as I was on my way to class. Said you and Hal are taking Ma-Mae out to eat on Friday night.”

  “Uh-huh.” Suzanne hit a button on the van’s keyless remote. “We’re leaving Sunday on vacation, remember? Branson, Missouri, for a week. Your brother’s particularly excited about seeing the musical shows.”

  “Oh yeah, I knew it was coming up soon. Anyway, Ma-Mae’s a bit confused. She wants us to go with you on Friday too. I’ve told her at least three times this week that I’ll be in Jacksonville for a training meeting, not home until Saturday afternoon sometime.”

  Suzanne pitched the gym bag into the passenger seat. “My mama’s the same way. It really is like second childhood. You think about it. When your kids were little, you’d tell them the same thing over and over and over until you turned blue in the face. Still, they wouldn’t get it. Unless,” she held up her index finger, “it was something they really focused on long enough for it to stick—like going to Disney World or getting ice cream. Then, they’d remind you fifty jillion times a day.”

  “You’re right.”

  “Then, as it continues— this whole circle of life thing— people get to the point where they’re dependent for everything again. Wearing diapers, maybe not being able to communicate, or walk, or even eat.”

  Hannah located her keys in the duffel bag. “The idea of having a hit man take me out when I get to that point sounds better and better every day.”

  “Maybe there’s a lesson in all of this, about living in the moment. No past, no future, only the now. No worries.”