Chemistry Lessons

by Rebecca H Jamison

  “Thanks.” She put the container from her mom in her oversized purse and then slung it over her shoulder. She carried a box of beakers that had arrived the day before out to her grandma’s old hatchback. The rain had let up, and her cat followed her, mewing loudly. “You can’t have any bacon, you crazy cat.” She opened the trunk and slid in the box.

  She started to close the trunk door but saw that Mike was on his way with another box. “Thank you!” she said as he slid the box into the trunk.

  Azalea came out after him. “Are you sure you don’t want a ride? We can milk the cows after we get back.”

  Rosie hugged her mom. “I’m sure. I hate being at the school without a car.”

  Azalea shook her head. “You always were too independent.”

  Mike came back with the last box. “Just like your mother,” he said, placing the box inside the car and then closing the door.

  The rain pounded down, pelting their heads. Azalea shielded her eyes with her hand. “Drive safely.”

  “I will,” Rosie promised.

  By the time she started the hatchback, she couldn’t see unless the wipers were turned to the highest speed. She pulled onto the lane behind Destry. Seeing him leave so early made her think he must have been nervous about the rain—or the first day of school.

  The road had enough traction, and she found herself contemplating her plans for the day. She never knew what to expect from her students on the first day, but there would still be bright spots. She was going to lunch with Jade. Then, after school let out, Tanner wanted to take her ring shopping. She’d already decided on a simple gold band. Not only would it save money, she could leave it on while she worked around the ranch. She just didn’t care about diamonds or fancy jewelry. It wasn’t her style.

  She still wasn’t sure what kind of wedding she wanted. As she drove the six mile stretch to the bridge, she considered the options, but she couldn’t get excited about any of them. All she knew was that she wanted something simple and quiet. She didn’t have time to think about decorations and menus—not with her job, the ranch, and her grandpa’s care keeping her so busy.

  Ahead of her, on the road, Destry’s brake lights lit up and he slowed to a stop before crossing the bridge. Her windshield wipers swished back and forth, barely keeping up with the onslaught of rain. She could just see the outline of Destry’s head through his back window as she waited for him to drive forward. Ahead of them, the river raged brown and frothy. It was higher than she had ever seen it.

  When Destry drove forward, she followed behind, keeping her focus on the road ahead. The last thing she needed was another look at the angry brown river below. She tried not to think of the man from Morrisville who had gotten swept away in a flood three years before. They had never found his body.

  Once across, she let out her breath and followed the road as it turned parallel to the river. She’d gone less than a quarter mile when she noticed a pool of flood water on the road ahead. It was runoff from the fields—wide and shallow. She could see where it formed a stream on the other side of the road and ran down another hundred yards to the river. She wasn’t going to have to turn around for this was she? If she had to go through Morrisville, she’d be late.

  She watched, making sure Destry got through. Her hatchback was closer to the ground than Destry’s truck. He drove slowly, with barely a splash, so she could judge the depth of the water against his tires. It looked about a foot deep—nothing her trusty car couldn’t handle.

  After Destry got to the other side, Rosie drove in. She immediately felt the push of the water against the wheels. It was deeper than it’d looked. She steered toward the left, hoping the water would be shallower on the other side of the road. It wasn’t. If anything, it was deeper. Her heart thudded. Should she back up? No, keep going. Her foot pressed on the gas, but the harder she pushed, the slower the car seemed to go. “Come on, car!”

  Lights appeared on the dashboard. The windshield wipers halted. Rosie put the car in park and, with shaking hands, tried restarting it. Nothing. She was stuck in the middle of floodwaters. How could she have been so stupid?

  The car drifted in the direction of the river. Panicking, Rosie shoved her foot on the brake and switched on the hazards. What was she going to do? The water level rose to the bottom of her door. If she got out to wade, the water might knock her over, and she couldn’t swim in a current like this without a life vest. She sat frozen in her seat as lightning flashed across the sky. There was no way she was going to get out. Yet everything inside her screamed for her to escape what might become a death trap.

  As she fumbled for her phone to call 911, it began to ring. It was Destry.

  He’d shifted into reverse and was backing up. “I was going to tell you not to go in, but you drove in before I could make the call. Are you okay?”

  “I was just about to call 911.”

  “No time for that. Open your window, and I’ll see if I can get close enough for you to hop in my truck.”

  “That’s a really bad idea, Destry. Both our cars could get stuck.”

  It didn’t do any good to argue with him. He was already backing into the water.

  Her power windows wouldn’t work—maybe because her hands shook so much. She forced the door open, and a few inches of flood water rushed into the car. Gripping the top of the door, she stood with her feet on the edge of the doorframe, the water lapping onto her ankles. A year ago, with her back still recovering from the accident, it would have hurt to stand up that way, leaning her body out a little from the car. Today she had no problem, except for a little wobble in her knees.

  Destry stopped his truck beside her and opened the passenger-side door. He reached toward her. She would have to step from her hatchback to Destry’s pickup—a distance of about three feet. Drops of rain fell into her eyes, blurring her vision and making her clothes heavy.

  She gripped Destry’s forearm and took as big a step as she could in her jean skirt. Her legs wouldn’t reach. Stupid pencil skirt. She tried to shift her weight back toward her car but Destry’s grip was too strong. “I’ve got ya,” he called as she dropped one leg into the water. The current ripped her foot out from under her before she could stand, pulling her shoe off.

  Destry, leaning out of the passenger side of his truck with one foot in the water, still had a hold on her arm, and it felt like it might rip from the rest of her body. At the same time, the current sucked at her legs. If it weren’t for Destry’s grip, this flood would yank her down into the raging river within seconds. Straining against its pull, she brought one foot forward—a foot that no longer wore a shoe—and swung her other arm toward Destry, grasping his arm with all her might. He clasped her upper arm and, in one movement, pulled her to stand beside him. Then, before she had time to thank him, he pushed her up into his truck and sat down beside her on the passenger side.

  Her heart pounded. Partly from fear—she could have died—and partly because Destry still had ahold of her arm.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  She swallowed. “Yeah. Thank you.”

  He climbed over her to the driver’s side and shifted into drive. “I better get us out of here.” He kept a hand on her arm as he steered.

  Destry was protective—and she liked it. What was wrong with her? In her whole life, she’d never been the type to play a damsel in distress. Of course, if Tanner had been there, he probably would have done the same as Destry.

  “There should be a Road Closed sign here,” Destry said. “As long as it keeps raining, it’s only going to get worse.”

  Unlike Rosie’s car, Destry’s truck had no trouble getting through the water. Once the wheels were on dry ground, he let go of her arm and parked so the truck spanned both lanes of the road, blocking anyone from driving into the water. “Here,” he said, handing her his phone, “you better call 911.”

  “I can use mine.” Rosie reached into her pocket, only to find it wasn’t there. “Except I left it in my purse, and my purs
e is in my car.” Dang! If she lost the car, she’d have to replace all her credit cards and driver’s license. And fifteen dollars cash. Plus a box of beakers and graduated cylinders.

  “Why don’t I call?” Destry said. They watched the hatchback wobbling in the press of water as Destry dialed 911 to report the problem. Rosie held her hand up, trying to gauge whether her car was moving.

  Destry explained the problem to the dispatcher.

  After providing their location, he ended the call. “They’re trying to evacuate the mobile home park on the other side of the river, so it might be a while. Can you think of anyone else who could help get your car out?”

  Tanner came to mind, but he would still be on the other side of the flood waters. “I can’t think of anyone over on this side with that kind of equipment,” Rosie said, still measuring the placement of her car against Destry’s dashboard. Her hands were shaking now, making it even harder to tell whether the car had moved. “It isn’t even my car. It was my grandma’s. She and I were in an accident last year. She was killed, and my car was totaled.”

  “I’m sorry.” He took her hands in his. His fingers felt soft and warm against her calloused skin. “Are you cold?”

  She was dripping wet from her waist down, but her shivers had nothing to do with the cold water. She pulled her hand back. “A little.” What would Tanner think of Destry holding her hand?

  He turned off the air conditioning. “We’re still a half hour early for school. We might as well wait for the firemen. Why don’t you tell me how you got Wile E?”

  She sat on her hands, trying to warm them up, the seat upholstery rough against her skin. “A couple years ago, around the end of March, one of our neighbors killed a couple of coyotes that’d been carrying off his lambs. The most humane practice when you kill a coyote in the spring is to go around and find the den. Then you kill the pups before they starve to death. Well, this man didn’t have the time for that. He assigned the task to his son, who happened to be one of my students. When the boy found the den, there was only one pup—Wile E—and the boy just couldn’t bring himself to kill it. He stuck it in his coat pocket—fleas and all. The next morning, he brought it to my class.”

  He shrugged out of his raincoat and placed it over her trembling shoulders. “Let me guess. Principal Moore found out.”

  “Nope. I swore all my students to secrecy. We put Wile E in a tissue box under my desk and tried our best to keep her quiet. It was hard. She cried from hunger, so we got some milk from the cafeteria, and the students fed her from a dropper. The poor thing. She was only about a week old. Her eyes were still closed. At lunchtime, Jade helped me pick off all the fleas.”

  Rosie watched as the water rose above the Hatchback’s wheel wells. “It’s getting deeper.”

  “Tell me more about Wile E. What did you do with her when you got home?”

  “I kept her in a basket beside my bed. It was like having a human baby. I fed her when she cried. It was exhausting, but she’s become my friend for life.” She held her hand up again to measure whether her car had moved. It hadn’t, but she saw something else—a cat. She’d brought a stowaway without knowing it. “Clementine’s in my car!”

  He stared at her. “What?”

  Rosie reached for her door handle in a panic. “My cat, Clementine! She must have gotten in when I opened the hatch this morning.” The swift water looked like it would come to her knees if she stood in it. It wasn’t safe to go in, but she couldn’t stand here and watch her cat drown.

  “Don’t even think about it.” Destry grasped her arm.

  She yanked away from him. “I can’t just leave her there to die.”

  Destry reached behind the front seat and rummaged around. “Okay, but we’re going to do it the right way.”

  “What do you mean we?”

  He pulled out an extension cord. “I didn’t bring a rope, but this might work. It’s seventy-five feet. Good thing I left it in here after I finished the chicken coop.” He looped it a few times around his waist, attempting to tie a knot. “The one time you want it to get tied up in knots, it won’t.” He forced the cord into a bowline knot and opened his door. “You stay here.”

  She got out on her side. “No way am I staying in the truck while you go rescue my cat.”

  He tied the extension cord to the hitch on his truck. “I am not going to watch you die, trying to save a cat.”

  She put her hands on her hips. “Then I’ll make sure the cord doesn’t come loose from your hitch.”

  He winked. “Just don’t plug it into anything.” He wore sturdy work boots with synthetic hiking pants and a button-up shirt. She’d never seen him wear anything like that to school before. It was like he’d planned to rescue someone. “How’s your cat with people?”

  She wrapped the cord around her waist and retied the end to the hitch. “Not good. And she’s worse with water. You might have trouble getting her to come with you.” She tried to think of something they could use to entice the cat out of the car. “My lunch is in there. It has bacon in it. And my purse is in the front seat. I give you full permission to go through it.”

  He laughed. “Full permission, huh? That’ll be a first for me.”

  He stepped into the water, shuffling his feet so they stayed near the bottom. She almost called out for him to come back, but she couldn’t leave the poor cat in the car. What if it drowned? She couldn’t live with the guilt.

  She watched him go farther and farther into the flood. He held to the cord, leaning his body into the current. Halfway there, he paused.

  “What’s wrong?” she shouted.

  “Do rattlesnakes swim?” He moved his head, watching something pass him in the water.

  “Yes,” she shouted.

  He took another step. “Never mind. It’s gone now.” The poor man was risking his life to save her cat.

  “Destry,” she shouted. “I changed my mind. Come back.”

  Chapter 12

  The water was up to his thighs now. She bit her knuckle as she watched him struggle to stay upright. If he fell, that would be it. The current would carry him straight down to the river. His death would be on her hands.

  “Come back,” she shouted. “It’s too dangerous.”

  He either didn’t hear her, or he chose not to listen.

  He had almost reached the car when the cord slipped suddenly through her hands, and all she could see was his head, drifting toward the river. “Destry!” She gripped the wet cord and pulled with all her might, straining backward against the pull of his weight.

  He stood again, and she took up the slack, but after only a second, the cord pulled against her grip. He was down again. She held on with all her strength, watching as he struggled in the water. He lunged for her hatchback, gripping the edge of the front door that still hung open. He pulled himself into the front seat. She wouldn’t feel relief, though, until he was back with her in the truck.

  He found the purse on the passenger seat and held it up for her to see, pointing to it and grinning. She tried to remember what exactly was in it. Was there anything that could embarrass her? Before she could think of anything, he held up a strip of bacon from her lunch.

  She gave him a thumbs up. “Perfect,” she shouted.

  She watched as Destry fished for the cat with the bacon, drawing Clementine closer and closer to himself. Finally, Clementine was in his arms. Rosie could tell from the grimace on Destry’s face that Clementine was not happy. She was probably digging her claws into his chest by now. Rosie could imagine the “Raowr” that came from her mouth.

  The car rocked in the current and drifted toward the river. “Hurry!” Rosie yelled. “Hurry!” But he didn’t seem to be in one. He fiddled around with her purse some more. Then he took his time climbing over into the back.

  When he finally did emerge, Rosie saw no sign of Clementine. Then she noticed he held her extra-large canvas grocery bag, and it was wiggling. In his other arm, he carried her purse. Rosie tugged at th
e extension cord, keeping a tight hold on him. He leaned into the current, taking slow steps—almost as if he were moving through cement—and struggling to balance.

  She pulled harder on the cord, grunting with the effort. Finally, he reached knee-deep water, and she heard the screech of her cat, struggling to get out of her bag. She kept towing him in until the water was up to his ankles. Then she couldn’t keep herself from running to meet him. “Thank you so much.” She threw his arms around him and hugged him.

  He handed her the bag of cat. “Sorry I had to put her in here. I was afraid she’d jump into the water.”

  The bag wriggled and swung back and forth, so she had to hold it with both hands. So many emotions crowded together inside her—relief that Destry hadn’t died, admiration for his quick-thinking, and guilt that she’d let him do it in the first place.

  He untied the extension cord from his waist. “Why don’t you and the cat get in the truck? I’ll just wind this up.”

  Climbing in, Rosie set the squirming bag on the floor at her feet. “Everything’s going to be okay, Clementine.”

  Destry burst into the driver’s side at about the same time, dripping muddy water, his shirt wet all the way up to his collar. He tossed the extension cord into the space behind his seat and grinned. “Should we let the cat out of the bag?”

  Rosie giggled at his joke. “We’re in for it when we do.”

  Destry set Rosie’s purse on the seat between them. “I forgot and left the bacon in your car, but there’s something in my lunch she’ll like.” Unzipping his lunchbox, he pulled out a pouch of tuna fish and handed it to Rosie. “I’ve had this in here for months, trying to get up my courage to eat it.”

  “Thanks,” Rosie said, “for everything.” She couldn’t help but notice the other contents of Destry’s lunch: pistachios, baby carrots, beef jerky, Greek yogurt, and a peach. He was more of a health nut than she’d realized. She held a spoonful of tuna out for the cat, who came over to sniff it.