Rushing Waters

by Danielle Steel

  The afternoon dragged as they watched the same images on the news over and over. Flooded streets in Tribeca, Red Hook destroyed in Brooklyn, Staten Island less decimated than the last time due to safety features they had put in place, New Jersey a scene of mass destruction, Coney Island leveled yet again, the Rockaways as vulnerable as before with the loss of many homes, and the East River and Hudson having flooded everything on their shores. It was tiresome and depressing watching it, and Grace took Blanche for a walk to get some air. She had just joined Ellen again when they both saw a tall man wend his way through the crowd toward them. It was Bob Wells, Grace’s neighbor, and he was clearly looking for them. He gave Grace a warm hug when he reached her, and she was thrilled to see him.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked with a look of surprise. It was a miracle that he had found them but he had been looking for hours. He was wearing rubber fishing boots that he said his agent had lent him, and rough clothes, but he was a sight for sore eyes in the noise and chaos of the shelter that had become their temporary home, along with a thousand others.

  “I can’t get through on your cell phone,” he said simply. “They said on the news a little while ago that the police are letting people through in some parts of Zone 1, among them Tribeca—not to move back in but to assess the damage in their homes, retrieve documents, and salvage what they can. Some buildings are still too flooded to enter, or too dangerous if walls collapsed, but in some cases, they’re letting residents go in. I want to give it a try, and I wanted to know if there’s anything you want me to bring back to you.” It was a kind offer and nice of him to stop by on his way. He had rented a large, solid SUV, and Grace gave him a grateful look.

  “I’ll go with you,” she said quietly.

  “I don’t think you should,” he said respectfully, glancing at Ellen, and she agreed. “It’s pretty rough, Grace, worse than last time. The water level is higher in some places, and the sewer lines have broken again.” The last time he and Grace had both found open sewage in their apartments when they went back, it had seeped into everything, and the stench had been sickening. He wanted to spare her that, and the shock of what they would see. But Grace refused to be convinced to stay at the shelter, while he went back to their building to observe the damage and salvage whatever he could.

  “If they’re letting people back into some buildings,” which they hadn’t heard yet, “I’m going, with or without you, Bob, even if I have to walk.” Grace wasn’t a woman to be daunted, by natural disasters or anything else, no matter how tired she looked, and her red hair, the fiery color it always had been, was a tangled mass, and she looked as big a mess as everyone else. Bob was neater and cleaner, staying in the comfort of his agent’s apartment uptown, and there was no way he would let Grace go to their building alone. He wanted to be there to help.

  “You’re sure?”

  “Of course.” She gathered up her things before he or Ellen could stop her, and looked like a soldier ready to march, as she clutched Blanche and put her back in the harness she’d worn. Bob smiled at her. He had always liked her, and had strong feelings of affection for her now.

  “You realize it will probably be pretty bad. Prepare yourself for a shock, Grace.”

  “I will,” she said, as they followed him out. They had decided to take their belongings with them, so they weren’t stolen while they were gone. It was much like staying at a homeless shelter, where the people might be good or bad.

  He had left the SUV he had rented double-parked with the lights flashing, and he helped Grace get into the high vehicle, for the ride to their building. The roads were so blocked by police lines, deep water, overturned cars, and debris that it took them an hour to travel the short distance to their building, and it was after four o’clock when they got to their block and were stopped by police. Bob explained that they lived in a building just down the street. He showed them the address on his driver’s license as proof. The police were keeping out journalists and the curious, and all three of them noticed two ambulances with firemen around them, which meant that they had removed bodies from the street. It was a sobering scene.

  “We just want to go in to get a few things, officer. Some important documents we left behind and will need.” The young policeman hesitated, nodded, and waved them through. He was wearing heavy rubber boots himself, and there was evidence of sewage in the street even before they got to the building. Ellen tried not to be sickened by what she saw, so she could be fully functional and helpful to her mother when they arrived. This was not a scene for sissies—she knew she had to be strong. And her mother was, with her face set in hard lines, looking straight ahead as they drove past the policemen to her building, parked the car among the debris outside, and got out. Everywhere they looked were broken objects, shattered glass, overturned trees and shrubs on the sidewalk, and unrecognizable objects that the floods had carried along. There was a crane hanging crazily at the end of the street, and the area had been roped off. And all three of them were careful not to step on any electric lines—it was impossible to say which were live wires. Nothing was safe or secure right now.

  When they got to the entrance of the building, the familiar superintendent was standing outside with a devastated expression. He explained that one of their favorite doormen had died, drowned in the basement, and his body had just been removed. They sobered further at the news, as they entered the darkened lobby and made their way past a crumbling wall. All the lobby furniture had disappeared and had floated into the street the night before. It brought back instant memories for Grace and Ellen of their exit from the building in water past their waists. There were still several inches of water, to their ankles, as they walked to the apartment, and Grace took out her keys, while Ellen held her breath, and Bob stood with them to lend his full support. There was a short flight of stairs up to the apartment, so Ellen assumed the water would have receded, but there was still a foot of it inside. And once they opened the door, they waded through it between furniture that had been moved and overturned, couches and chairs that had become sponges for sewage and floodwater. The smell was evil and the destruction downstairs complete despite the pieces carefully wrapped in plastic, which had been torn off by the force of the floodwater. The apartment was dark with no electricity, and the three of them made their way upstairs, where broken windows had allowed the water to enter freely, but most of what they had put away upstairs was safe, except for the beds, which had turned into sponges as well, and all of Grace’s coats and furs were soaking wet. Most of the clothes in the closets looked like they could be saved, and the paintings high up on the walls were intact, but objects were found helter-skelter in every room. Some had even been transported downstairs, and most of what they saw looked unsalvageable. It was easy to believe that Grace could have drowned if she’d stayed there, particularly alone. Tears rolled silently down her face as she observed the scene, and touched favorite objects like people who had died. It was heartrending, and Bob and Ellen cried with her, as even Blanche hung silently in the little harness on Grace’s chest. For several moments Grace said not a word.

  “I think it might be worse this time,” she said simply, and Bob agreed. It was an overwhelming feeling of helplessness to see almost everything you owned upended and destroyed. Ellen suspected that like the last time, some favorite objects could be saved, with diligent restoration work, but it wouldn’t be easy. And most of what she owned was gone. Grace had always been a big believer in insurance, so Ellen knew that once again her insurance company would help, and they had been wonderful the time before. But there would be treasures and things of sentimental value that could never be replaced. And it would be hard to start all over again, and would take enormous energy and courage.

  Ellen hated what she saw around her for her mother’s sake, and knew how long it would take to restore and rebuild the apartment, repair what could be fixed, and replace so many things, and she’d have to find someplace else to live in the meantime for several mont
hs.

  “Well, it won’t be easy,” Grace said, drying her eyes, as she unconsciously patted the dog, “but we’ll get there.” She smiled weakly at Bob and her daughter. It was sad to see all that she had lost, and then they went next door to Bob’s, and it was even worse. Since his furniture wasn’t of great value, he had done less to protect it, and almost everything in his apartment had been demolished. He had left his clothes in the closets downstairs, and they were a sopping mess, and almost everything in the apartment looked unsalvageable. Only some of his books and manuscripts on a high shelf upstairs were intact. Nearly everything else in his apartment looked like it belonged in a Dumpster. Both Grace and Ellen knew from the aftermath of Sandy that there were companies that restored nearly everything. Special book restorers who froze volumes while still wet, then dried them page by page. Remarkable furniture restorers. Others who handled furs, although all of Grace’s had been irretrievable before. Dry cleaners who worked on leathers and fine fabrics. Her insurance company had helped Grace with all of it before, and it had taken months for the final results, but looking at the contents of Bob’s apartment, it was hard to believe that any of it could be saved, and there was the same stench of sewage as at Grace’s, and his living room walls were so saturated that they looked as though they might come down. There was little they could do now. They would have to do triage to figure out what had to be thrown away, and what should be sent to restorers, which was minute, meticulous, time-consuming work that would take months and cost the insurance company a fortune. Ellen had helped her mother with it before and would again, and Grace looked at Bob and patted his arm.

  “We’ll help you, Bob,” she said gently. “It may not be as bad as it looks.” He sighed and smiled at her, and wiped a tear from his cheek. It was upsetting for him too, and would have been for anyone.

  “It’s worse than I thought,” he admitted. There were framed photographs of his children underwater, and all of his books other than his own. “I guess we have our work cut out for us, don’t we?” He smiled at his neighbor, and after a few more minutes of the depressing scene, they left and made their way through the lobby and back to the SUV. Ellen was particularly grateful that they had gone there with him—it had been comforting to share the shocking first sight of the damage with him, and they supported one another.

  Ellen assumed he would drive them back to the shelter, and he looked at them as soon as they were in the car again.

  “Won’t you come uptown with me? My agent has an enormous apartment on Central Park West. He would love to help out, and he’s a nice man. He told me to bring you with me if you were willing. At least you can get some rest, instead of at the shelter with all that noise and all those people. I’m going to stay there for the duration, and you can stay as long as you want.”

  “I would hate to impose on him,” Grace said, looking uncomfortable, but the shelter was undeniably exhausting, and she had barely slept since they got there. “Maybe for a few days,” she hesitated, “until we can get a hotel room, or I can find a temporary furnished apartment. It took me almost four months to set everything to rights last time,” which was too long and too costly to stay at a hotel.

  “Seriously, he won’t mind. I think he enjoys the company. He’s a widower with no children, and he likes to help his friends.” But they were strangers to him, which Grace found embarrassing. Ellen was willing to do whatever her mother wanted. At this point, it was unlikely they would find a hotel room, or even a furnished apartment, anytime soon. And she thought it might be a relief to stay with Bob’s agent for a few days, even though Bob wasn’t a close friend. But they were all in the same boat now, and Bob was a kind man, and obviously fond of Grace, and Ellen by association.

  “All right,” Grace said in a soft voice, still overwhelmed by what she’d seen. She had lost her home again. “We’ll go uptown to your friend. But we won’t stay too long, I promise,” she said, looking apologetic. And both Ellen and Bob were relieved. They didn’t want the shock and hardships she was enduring to impact her health, and they easily could.

  It took them two hours to reach Forty-second Street in the chaos of downtown, having to make constant detours, and getting stuck in traffic, as people tried to get to or from their damaged homes, on streets that were impassable or destroyed. And it went more quickly after that, once they were in the unaffected part of town. It was nearly seven o’clock when they pulled up in front of a well-known building on Central Park West, with a uniformed doorman waiting outside. It was like being transported from hell to heaven, as Grace stepped out of the car looking tired, and Bob and Ellen followed. Bob handed the doorman the keys to the car and asked him to put it in the garage. The doorman recognized him immediately. He had the keys to James Aldrich’s apartment and said that Mr. Aldrich was expecting them. They were familiar with Bob and knew he was staying there.

  Bob let them into the apartment, and it was like stepping into another world. It was enormous and handsomely decorated in a masculine style. He had beautiful antiques, important paintings, and it was obvious that both an architect and a designer had worked on the apartment, which looked more like a house and occupied two floors. Grace recognized immediately that she had seen it in several architectural magazines over the years, but didn’t know who it belonged to. And its owner had collected unique treasures and works of art on his travels. Like bedraggled victims of a shipwreck, Bob led them into the library, while Grace suddenly hoped Aldrich wouldn’t mind the dog. This was a very impressive home, and she and Ellen both felt lucky to be there. Jim Aldrich was the most important literary agent in New York, and his art collection was famous in the art world.

  Bob preceded them into the library, and strode across the room to a man quietly working at his desk. Their host looked up as soon as they arrived, and came to greet them with a welcoming hand and a warm smile. He looked thrilled that they were there, as though it were a long-awaited visit and not an imposition, and he went straight to Grace, thanked her warmly for coming, and patted the dog.

  “I had an English bulldog I adored for thirteen years. I lost him two years ago, and I miss him dreadfully. I haven’t had the heart to get another one. I’m so glad you brought yours—it will put a little life in the place. Thank you so much for coming.” He smiled warmly at Grace as she stared at him. They were intruders, and he was treating them like greatly anticipated, welcome visitors, and was even nice about her dog. Jim was obviously as kind as their mutual friend. He chatted with Ellen as he showed them to their bedrooms, both of which were elegant and as beautifully decorated as the rest of the apartment, and Ellen felt as though they had landed in some kind of fairyland after what they’d been through at the shelter, and just seen at her mother’s apartment. And in the elegant atmosphere of comfort and discreet luxury, Grace looked and sounded more like herself again and not like the victim of a disaster.

  “We have food for you in the kitchen whenever you’re ready,” Jim told them. He was anxious to ask Bob how things were in his apartment, but was afraid to do so in front of Grace, in case she had suffered terrible damage in hers. A few minutes later Bob filled him in, that both apartments had been destroyed and very little could be saved. He said it had been a terrible blow to Grace, and he thanked Jim for letting the two women stay with him.

  “I’ve always been an admirer of her work as an architect,” Jim said candidly, looking relaxed. “And I’m happy to do whatever I can to help. From everything I see on TV, downtown looks like a nightmare. I’m glad you’re all right at least. You can always get another apartment. But there’s only one Robert Wells,” he said warmly, and Bob smiled.

  “I think this one did me in,” Bob admitted. “It’s too traumatic living down there, if this could happen again. I made a decision when I saw my apartment today. I’m going to move uptown.”

  “There’s an apartment for sale in this building, if you’re interested,” Aldrich said easily, and Bob looked doubtful.

  “This is a little grand fo
r me. I like the bohemian side of Tribeca, but not the risk of natural disaster. Maybe a small apartment somewhere, even in this building, but not as big or elaborate as yours. I’d get lost in it, and my kids hardly ever come to New York, so I don’t need a huge apartment,” Bob explained to him.

  “Neither do I,” Jim admitted, and he had no children or family at all. “But I like it anyway. I guess it’s the show-off in me. But I’ll ask if there’s something smaller in the building for you. I think you’ve made the right decision to move, and I’m relieved to hear it. Drowning in a hurricane in lower Manhattan would be such a stupid way to die.” And it could easily have happened, and had to others. The hurricane had turned out to be far more dangerous than many people had wanted to believe.

  Jim and Bob talked about business for a moment then. Jim had had an interesting offer for him that afternoon to sell another of his mystery novels for a film in L.A., not to write the screenplay, which Bob never did, but simply to sell the book for a major movie with first-rate stars in it, and Jim thought he should agree. The two men had become good friends in the twenty years Jim had represented him and initially launched his career. And Bob attributed his considerable and very impressive success to him. Jim had unfailing judgment in the business, was a master negotiator, and had represented Bob well, with rewarding results for them both. Bob had recently turned forty-nine, and Jim was twenty years older than Bob, although he didn’t look it. But over the two decades he had represented him, Jim had gracefully shifted into the role and appearance of a distinguished older man. He was as tough as ever in business, but a little mellower privately than he had been in his youth, when he had been known as something of a firebrand. Bob loved that about him too, and had a profound respect for him as an agent and a friend. And he was very touched by his offer to let Bob’s neighbor and her daughter stay with him in the aftermath of the storm, which was so typical of Jim, who never failed to help a friend, even someone he scarcely knew.