by Joel Shaw
WHEN IT RAINS
Joel Shaw
CHAPTER 1 - MAY 1 - SOON
Jade Kirby stood in the doorway of her vintage trailer tightening the chin strap on her straw hat before stepping outside into yet another in an endless string of ferociously hot, vividly brilliant, eruptively windy days that drained her energy and caused her, she suspected, to dream of Minnesota.
She polished the plastic lenses glued to her cheap sunglasses with her apron before putting them on while stepping out on her short walk to the mailbox to see what, if anything, had been deposited. She took a quick look and was surprised and delighted to see two brilliant, white envelopes nestled in the dust. Using her apron as a glove she reached into the rusted, disfigured mail box to retrieve the envelopes, taking care not to brush her arm against the searing metal as she withdrew them and gave them a cursory exam, noting the addressee’s: Dr Sharon Daniels and the Tarrant County Water District. She stuffed the letter from the Water District into her apron pocket then tore open the letter from Dr. Sharon. She knew the letter likely contained the results of her most recent blood tests and was hoping for good news. Despair crushed her spirit immediately upon reading a solitary highlighted phrase: Systemic Lupus is confirmed. She closed her eyes for a few moments in an attempt to calm herself before finishing the letter. Dr. Sharon wanted to see her in person to discuss the lab results. Jade knew that wasn’t going to happen, not any longer. Her good friend and neighbor, Katie, had been kind enough on many occasions to drive her the sixty miles to the Tyler clinic for the lab work, had informed her during their most recent trip that she couldn’t afford to again make the trip. She apologized profusely for the poor timing and inconvenience but gasoline had become too expensive. Jade understood and called her doctor, requesting that the test results be mailed to her. Dr. Sharon vehemently objected to the proposal, but was eventually convinced that Jade had no other mode of transportation so, reluctantly, she agreed.
Jade unconsciously explored the lesions in here dry mouth with the tip of her tongue as she returned the letter to her apron pocket while retreating to her outdoor kitchen positioned in the shade of the lone Live Oak on their property and continued peeling yams for supper, letting the skins fall to the ground where her year old daughter, Amber, picked them from the dirt and arranged them like playing cards in her tiny hands smelling them then licking the sweet nectar from each one with deliberate care.
Amber paused mid-lick, distracted by the familiar rumble of her daddy’s approaching truck. Jade quickly covered Amber’s nose and mouth with a rag until the disturbed dust settled.
“Look honey, Papa is home,” she managed a smile as she removed the rag and used it to mop the dirt from her daughters face, pretending, as she always did, that all was well in her world.
“umguwhupff,” Amber said, as she attempting to pass a tater-skin card to her mother who was watching her husband’s approach with wavering nerves.
Ethan killed the engine as he rolled to a stop in the shade of the Live Oak. The tree flourished like no other tree in the neighborhood thanks to his Rube-Goldberg assemblage of salvaged PVC pipe and odd lengths of vacuum cleaner hoses that directed water from the washing machine and sink drains to the roots of the two-hundred year old tree. He gave the tree’s trunk a loving pat as he did every day when he passed, grateful for the shade it provided and it’s resilience in the face of an increasingly harsh environment.
Ethan greeted both his wife and daughter with a kiss on the cheek before following them into the single-wide trailer, giving the decaying screen door a necessary slam to engage the failing latch that had been in service since refugees of Hurricane Katrina first pulled it closed twenty-five years ago.
Jade cradled Amber while she watched Ethan remove his steel-toed boots, grunting as he did so which was a new and perplexing behavior for Jade, as though the simple task was taxing him unduly. He fought his filthy socks from his hot swollen feet and tossed them in the direction of the door, hoping the wind would sweep the nauseating aroma from the kitchen. Without his boots, he stood a lanky five foot eight inches tall with brown hair cut close to the scalp and brown eyes a little too close together which, combined with a slightly hooked nose, gave him an intense, hawkish appearance. He soiled short-sleeved shirt dropped from his gaunt shoulders like a sack, disguising his narrow chest and shrinking stomach. He had been gradually loosing weight over the years, choosing to give the bulk of his food rations to Jade, whom he knew was ailing but did not know why, and Amber whom he prayed would see the end of the drought and witness a new beginning. He felt it was his duty and dismissed all protestations by his wife with a wave of his hand.
Ethan worked as a framing carpenter, arriving on the job before sun-up, ready to work at first light in an attempt to get any heavy lifting done before the mercury rose into the nineties, usually by nine a.m. By noon, the heat was incapacitating and unrelenting but the work didn’t stop. Day after day week after week the mind numbing heat took its toll and he seldom had much to say when he got home.
The quiet spells were becoming more frequent and Jade struggled to find enough encouraging words to fill the voids. She moved the foul smelling boots and socks to the porch before speaking.
“How was your day?” She asked while lifting Amber gently and placing her in her papa’s lap.
“Here, say hello to your daughter, she missed you.”
Ethan gave his daughter a kiss, bouncing her on his knee, generating giggles and squeals that, like a cool breeze, erased his tension.
“Not bad,” he said, which was unusually upbeat for him, “We started framing a new house today. It’s a big one, about five thousand square feet. It looks like I’ll have work until late fall.”
“That’s good news,” Jade said.
“Here’s some more good news. We tore down the old house so I was able to salvage some plastic pipe and some insulation. I think I have enough materials to finish the laundry room.”
“That’s great, honey,” Jade responded, allowing a moderate smile.
Ethan poked Amber’s pudgy cheeks with his leathery index fingers causing her lips to pucker like a fish and laughed, “Juan is going to come over this weekend to help with the concrete work and you, young lady are just the cutest little cowgirl in the world.”
Amber stared unblinking at her daddy as a slender smile of recognition popped the puckered lips on her oval face.
Jade wanted to say, it’s about time, having waited many long years for the project to commence but was wiser than that, “It will be so nice to do the laundry in the house instead of tromping out to the shed all the time.” She suspected that Ethan would postpone the project upon hearing the truth about her diagnosis and had no intention of doing anything that would postpone the project.
Ethan nodded, distracted by the official-looking letter lying on the table. “What’s that?”
“I’m not sure. It’s from the water district. I know it’s not a bill; I paid that last week. It was late, though...I just thought I would wait until you got home before I opened it.
Jade continued her dinner preparations, hoping the letter contained good news, like maybe the water rates were reduced, as they were threatening her meager budget, but her gut told her otherwise. This was the fourth year of the drought. Water rates had increased alarmingly and, according to meteorologists on the weather channel, long term weather models indicated the drought would continue. How long? They never said, but they were right, it had continued and the level of the lake situated fifty-yards from their back door continued to fall with each passing day. Any news from the Water District was likely to be bad.
Ethan picked up the business envelope and inspected it closely, noting the quality of the paper.
“Look at this thing,” h
e said, waving it like a flag, “this isn’t recycled paper. It must have cost the state five bucks to make this envelope." He inspected the embossed seal, admiring the detail and colors. “Sure looks good though.”
“Will you quit that and open the letter, please,” Jade said, moving behind Ethan so she could read over his shoulder.
Ethan grinned. “All right, take this little cowgirl for a second.”
He withdrew his pocket knife and carefully slit the fold of the envelope, extracting the letter.
May 1, 2031
Dear Mr. Kirby;
This letter is to inform you that the Texas State Governor’s Office has declared a Water Emergency Alert.
Section One:
Pursuant to Texas Water Code - Section 28.011. Underground Water: Regulation
As of May 3, 2031, the Tarrant County Water District will thereby cease delivery of potable water via underground distribution supply networks serving the district.
Pursuant to the Texas Water Code - Section 11.021.1 paragraph C. State Water, all public and private water wells, whether dug, driven or drilled shall be immediately sealed in compliance with The Texas Administrative Code, Title 16, Section 76.1004 . All electric submersible pumps, vertical turbine pumps, hand pumps or mechanical pumps shall be removed.
Section Two:
Pursuant to clause 182.34 of the 2030 Water Rationing Act, Water Rationing Cards will distributed at the County Courthouse. The water ration will be issued monthly based on the United States Resident’s Birth Day indicated on the individuals National Identification Card. Pursuant to clause 186.7 of the 2030 Water Rationing Act, the water ration is based on information provided by The United States Department of Health and Human Services’s and currently stands at Ten (10) U.S. Gallons per person, per day.
Pursuant to clause 187.8 of the 2030 Water Rationing Act the monthly credit will be based on the number of days in said calendar month.
Failure to comply with Texas Water Code - Section 11.021.1 paragraph C. State Water will result in a fine of not more than ten-thousand dollars and/or imprisonment of not more than five years.
Direct all correspondence, questions and comments regarding this directive to:
Office of Texas State Governor
attn: Division of Public Health and Safety
P.O. Box 92134
Dallas, TX 75210
Web: www.tsgdphs.tx.gov.
Ethan erupted. "Ten gallons a day." He crushed the letter in his left hand and threw it across the kitchen, watching it disappear into the sink then sat, motionless, brooding, staring out the window at the nearby reservoir. There was plenty of water out there. He could see it for crying out loud. Why were they being cut off? Why now? Was everyone being cut off? How long was this going to last?
“Kiss the laundry room goodbye, darlin’,” he murmured.
Jade placed her hands on Ethan’s shoulders and feel tension build as he dropped his head to the table in a clear sign of resignation and defeat. He was generally reluctant to speak what was on his mind, particularly when he was thinking about something that irritated him, but his body language spoke for him in this instance; clearly, the directive irritated him. She hated living with him when he lapsed into his lengthy quiet spells that made her feel insecure and unappreciated. She made a practice of attempting to break the spell before it took hold of him.
"Talk to me Ethan. I know it’s bad news, but please don’t shut me out. Not now.”
Ethan sighed, rocking his head side to side as though he were rinsing his thoughts in a bucket. “It’s worse than bad — this water rationing changes our future. It changes everything, babe.”
He raised his head and their eyes connected as they turned their attention to Amber, both wondering the same thing; what will her future be like?
“Poor kid doesn’t have a chance,” Ethan muttered.
“Please don’t say that, Ethan. She’ll be fine,” insisted Jade, clutching Amber tightly to her chest, “We will too. We’ll just have to learn how to live on our water rations. It won’t be so bad. Think about it,” she smiled, “we can take baths together...and we’ll only have to do dishes once a day; that’s sounds good to me.”
She turned quickly wiping away her tears as she gazed through the window at her garden, a singular sign of hope that was just beginning to produce leaf lettuce, spinach, radishes and scallions. She allowed her thoughts to escape.
“The garden...and my plants...I don’t know.” She looked at the few hanging houseplants near the windows which were also threatened by the water restriction. The Azaleas, Amaryllis and Christmas Cactus would be OK. The Cyclamen needed a lot of water; maybe that would have to go. She was reluctant to give any of them up. Her plants represented hope of a greener tomorrow. She wondered what effect recycled bath water would have on her plants. Maybe she could spare a little fresh water for them. According to the letter, they would have thirty gallons of water a day...if Amber got a water ration card. That sounded like enough...but how much were they using at present? She performed some quick calculations: Three gallons a day for dishes, five gallons for bathing, two gallons for drinking...she was reassured by the sum that they would have a twenty gallon surplus! Could that be right? She made a mental note to begin paying strict attention to water usage to get a more accurate total. In the meantime, she had to remain positive and upbeat.
“We don’t use much water now, honey...mostly for bathing, washing dishes and watering the garden. When it rains, all this nonsense will be over, they’ll have to turn the water on." She held up Amber's empty bottle as she said it, wondering if her child would receive a water ration card.
Ethan lifted his head, he was fixating on the laundry room. “You didn’t mention washing clothes. What are we going to do about that? How much water does that take?” He kicked the table leg with his unshod foot and winced at the resulting pain. He had been excited about building the laundry room but his enthusiasm had dissipated after reading the letter. Now there was another damn law to deal with. The two of them had met all of life’s challenges with honor and dignity and there was no reason to panic, but it pissed him off that their difficult life had suddenly become more so. He needed some advice.
“I’m going to call William.”
“I wish you wouldn’t.” Jade said.
“Wouldn’t what?” Ethan asked.
“Wouldn’t call William. You know how much I dislike that man.”
“I know babe, but I want to find out what he knows about this. He works with the Governor, he should know more about this.”
Ethan exited the trailer and retrieved his phone from the dashboard of his truck. His inbox showed fifteen voicemails and twelve text messages. Quickly scanning them, he noticed that most were from neighbors. Everyone got the same letter. They were all asking the same question: Was this for real or some cruel practical joke? He keyed the phone number assigned to William, the local legal guru.
William Francis Koke, age 37, was an inept attorney who had graduated at the bottom of his class after being caught cheating on his final exams. He would have been expelled, save for a sudden and generous contribution to Harvard Corporation by his father, Darryl Koke. Upon graduating he had no job offers to entertain until his father called in a favor and William was hired by the Texas State Governor’s office as a ‘legal adviser’. He was given an office in the basement, at the end of the hall, next to the janitor’s closet. His primary function was that of courier; delivering press releases, documents, bribes and kickbacks to stakeholders and would be friends of the governor of the once great state of Texas.
As a child, William spent the summers with his au pair at one of his parent’s summer homes, a four acre estate on the East side of Cedar Creek Lake Reservoir, know by the locals as TexMed. TexMed was given to William by his father as a graduation present. William moved in and called it home. He sought solace in whores and booze, frequenting casinos and country clubs where bartenders accepted his daily confessions with patient ind
ifference.
Given his proclivity for talking and his need for recognition, William gained notoriety as the county’s go-to legal adviser, dispensing questionable legal advice based on his sullied pool of knowledge to anyone whom would listen, regardless of the venue, local saloons, taco stands community events or funerals, it mattered not, as long as he had an audience. The locals didn’t know any better, those who acted on his advice often suffered unwanted consequences without redress.
William answered his phone after the second ring and stated that he was on his way home from the country club and would be more than happy stop by. Minutes later, he brought his new, white, Toyota Prius to a halt in front of the Kirby’s single-wide trailer.
Ethan hurriedly retrieved the crumpled letter and walked out to greet his friend.
“Afternoon, Sir, good to see you. Thanks for stopping by.”
William shook Ethan’s hand as he surveyed the Kirby’s decomposing trailer. William despised this man and all men like him as much as he despised his pint-sized, underpowered Prius; they were, one and all, weak, uneducated and simple minded trailer trash. His inscrutable smirk accompanied by his disdainful kick at the pile of dimensional lumber and siding neatly stacked beside the driveway did nothing to disguise his disgust.
Ethan bent to straighten the pile silently cursing his guest. The small pile of building materials represented six months of scrimping and saving.
“How’s it going, Ethan? I see you’re ready to start some kinda project.”
Ethan stood erect and proud. “Yes sir, I’m going to build a laundry room on the house. At least I was,not much point in completing that project, now. We won’t be doing laundry in any damn washing machine anymore, that’s for sure. We'll be doing it in a laundry tub, just like our grandparents."
William ambled toward the front door, ducking under the branches of the live oak, he gripped the brim of his black Stetson cowboy hat as it brushed against limbs some seven feet above the ground.