by Beth Jones
“What, now? Can’t it wait? We’re almost done here,” Dr. Goddard said, and he greeted Morgan cheerfully, but she didn’t hear him. Her eyes were glued to the TV, tears filling them.
“Oh my goodness,” she said, “I have a cousin, Adelle, who lives in Panama City. I hope she evacuated.” Jolene was watching, too, gasping. Although it was difficult to see anything filmed by brave news crews in the dark, stormy night, the scenes of destruction of entire cities were surreal. They looked like war zones. It would look even worse tomorrow in daylight.
The governor, Susan Rudy, had already declared the area a disaster, calling for outside Red Cross resources for food, water, blankets, tents and medical supplies, as the local chapter had been destroyed by the surge. One of the dead was a Red Cross supervisor there.
She’d also ordered help from the National Guard and requested help from FEMA. One of the graveyards in Destin had been hit hard by the surge, and a few coffins were loosened and floating in the streets. A Disaster Mortuary Assistant Team was being called on for assistance to deal with these and other dead bodies from the hurricane.
“Bodies begin decomposing within 24 hours and are facially unrecognizable after three to five days, requiring dental record identification and DNA testing,” one of the reporters tactlessly was saying as he interviewed a forensics expert from Panama City.
“Is the guy crazy reporting something like that? Nothing like giving the audience nightmares and cause them to freak out. Let’s hope everyone evacuated,” Dr. Goddard said. “There will be nothing left of that place when this storm is done. There’s a rip tide that’s making things even worse. A lot of people are going to die from this.”
A little cry escaped Autumn’s lips, and Dr. Goddard turned to look at her quizzically. One of the reasons he enjoyed working with Autumn so much is that she was so professional. While she demonstrated empathy and compassion toward their patients, she never fell apart, as he had found some interns to do, unable to handle their emotions from seeing such severe abuse cases. Autumn stayed under control, and that’s what he liked in a peer. For her to cry was almost unheard of. She almost ran out of the room, cell phone in hand, speed dialing her father.
“Dad,” she said in the hall, sobbing, “I’m so sorry to call so late. But have you seen the news?”
“It’s okay, hon. I was already awake. Can’t sleep at all. Yeah, I just saw it. We need to really pray. I can’t believe Rachel was this stupid to stay! Lord Jesus, please protect her!”
“Dad,” Autumn’s voice broke, “there’s already been some deaths. Are you able to get ahold of her to see if she’s okay? My God.”
“No. It’s just like Katrina, just not as bad. The towers are down. Let’s see if the idiots in Washington learned anything from Katrina and are more organized this time. I’m going to keep trying. I’ve also got a friend who’s a deputy sheriff down there, Lance, who I’ve been calling like crazy to get ahold of him, to check on her if there’s some way possible. I don’t know how he could with the roads flooding. Keep getting his voice mail.”
“Okay. Well,” Autumn hesitated a moment, swallowing hard, “keep me posted. If you get ahold of her by some miracle—“
“Yeah, hon?” Jackson’s voice sounded weary, full of despair. Autumn could hear how scared he was, how worried, and her heart went out to him. Despite hers and Rachel’s tumultuous relationship, she knew that her dad really loved her and she didn’t want her dad to hurt because she loved him. And, despite it all, she loved Rachel, too.
“Nothing, dad. I’ll pray for her. Gotta’ go. I have some more rounds to make.”
“Get some sleep, hon.”
“I’ll try. I love you, daddy.” Autumn was a grown woman, but he’d always be her daddy. Jackson smiled wistfully at the sentiment. It seemed as if the years had flown by. His heart ached over how hard her life had always been, between her mother’s cold, selfish abandonment and Rachel’s seeming inability to handle her or love her unconditionally. He missed his little girl.
“Love you, too, pumpkin.” Jackson hung up, gingerly rubbing the black-grey bristles on his chin from several days of not shaving. He grinned wryly, thinking how Rachel would tell him he looked like a goat if she could see it. She hated for him not to shave. It hurt her soft skin when they kissed, she’d say. If it was up to him, he’d have a beard as long as the Duck Dynasty fellows’.
He was in a white T-shirt and blue and black checkered pajama pants that Rachel bought him last Christmas, telling him how sexy she thought they were. Sexy, right. Like that mattered with their marriage! Sometimes he wanted her so bad, he couldn’t stand it and had to walk away from her.
She never believed him when he told her how she always turned him on. But he just didn’t want to make love with someone who seemed ticked off all the time. Somehow, it felt wrong, like he was using her body. And she never initiated.
Never. It made him feel rejected. Why bother trying if she wasn’t interested? He didn’t realize her inability to initiate stemmed from her fear of being rejected herself. Didn’t she realize that all she had to do was touch him and he was instantly aroused?
Even now, thinking about her, he wished she was there and they could make love. How long had it been now? God, heal my marriage, he prayed, but he felt hopeless.
Jackson sighed deeply in frustration and worry. He hated pajamas. He preferred walking around in his birthday suit. But it was impossible with Faith still living at home. I can’t wait until all our kids move out. Then I can do whatever I want, he thought, and then he felt guilty. It was hard enough with Autumn grown and on her own, and rarely visiting him anymore. She lived her own life now, although she would call when she got too lonely. If Faith moved out, he’d be completely alone. And he’d really miss his movie buddy. What I really miss is my wife. Our closeness.
He’d put the pajamas on tonight, almost like a good-luck omen, even though he didn’t believe in luck.
He wondered if Rachel was afraid in the storm. The storm should be afraid of her. He sure was. As he told his friends who laughed uproariously when he refused to go to a strip joint with them one night after they played poker, he was afraid of no man, no bullet, no fire, no disaster, but his wife was a completely different animal. She could command an army of men. Sometimes she seemed made of steel.
She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever met, and the most stubborn and had the quickest temper of anyone he’d ever met. The smallest thing set her Irish temper off instantly. But she always got over whatever it was fast, and was quick to repent to God.
He knew she despised her temper more than anyone else did. She hated it and berated herself over it a lot. But one thing about her, Rachel was real and she didn’t pretend anything. You always knew where you stood with her. What you saw is what you got. She was very passionate about everything, whether she was hoppin’ mad, stressed to the max, or happy as a lark.
And talk about hard headed. Once she made up her mind to do something, there was just no stopping her. You couldn’t talk any sense into her. Logic didn’t work. Rachel flew by the seat of her pants, moved by the Spirit of God and sometimes too by emotional whims. Like this crazy idea to rent a beach house in the middle of hurricane season in Florida. What was she thinking?
Their friends had said she was crazy and criticized her and Jackson for letting her go—as if he could stop her from doing anything--but she didn’t care what people thought. She never had. “I answer to God,” she’d tell Jackson and others. She bought the airplane ticket out of her book royalties and went to Florida after spontaneously renting the beach house without even seeing it, crying hard as she hugged Faith and telling Jackson she’d call him soon to check on things, giving him a stiff hug. She’d packed her red Volkswagen Beetle bug full, with her most cherished belongings, as if she planned on not coming back.
Jackson knew their marriage was real bad off. They were on dangerously thin ice, on the verge of divorce more than ever before. He still loved her. He always
had, always would. Despite the floozy. But he didn’t for the life of him know how to fix their marriage.
God knew, he had tried. Roses, chocolates, spontaneous trips away with just the two of them. He’d cook romantic, candlelight dinners. He was quite the chef. One night he made her beef bourguignon, a la Julie Child’s French recipe. There were just no words for how delicious it was. Her friends thought he was the best husband they’d ever met.
Of course, she’d tell them, you don’t live with him. But he tried so hard—and his efforts always seemed to fail. Never good enough. The way his father always made him feel. She loved his cooking, raved about it, but with everything else, he bombed.
He didn’t know how to satisfy the woman. She said the same thing about him. But all he wanted was something good to eat, his TV shows, and some gentle touch. And your beer, endless spending money, and your poker buddies, she’d remind him angrily. And your floozy, she’d think, but would bite her tongue, reminding herself again and again to forgive. Just let it go.
But still. All it took was one look from her and he melted. She didn’t believe how much he loved her, because dang it, he just didn’t know how to show it and she’d never really had true love from a man and didn’t understand love. Even all the nice things he did for her to romance her and show her how much he loved her, she viewed with suspicion somewhat. Her trust and her heart had been irrevocably broken, and she didn’t know how to mend them.
But he did love her, by God. He’d lay down his life for that woman. He knew he didn’t deserve her. Despite her flaws, she was a good woman. A woman of God. She had a heart of love the size of Australia. But she really didn’t know how to release that love, because she was afraid; she kept up carefully constructed walls to keep out him or anyone else who might possibly hurt her.
Yet he knew deep inside of her was a woman of great love. He also knew that her character was sterling. She was passionate about Christ and was serious about the calling of God on her life. She wanted this too for her family and friends. Yes, she was a woman after God’s own heart. A better person than him. He just wasn’t about to tell her that, because she’d never let him forget it.
And God, she was beautiful. Even when she first woke up, the dark circles under her eyes and her long, brown hair looking like what she called “bed head,” her slightly wrinkled face without a trace of makeup, fairy dusted with a few brown freckles, she was the prettiest little thing he’d ever seen and her smile just undid him. He wished he could hold her in his arms right now. The song and video Wake Up Lovin’ You by Craig Morgan played in his head. He ached for her.
All Jackson knew is that if something happened to her, God forbid, he didn’t think he could take it. His eyes watered and he sobbed, the growing fear of something happening to her making him feel sick to his stomach. Why in the heck doesn’t she listen to me?
He prayed again, this time getting on his knees, begging God to spare her life and protect her. His body wracked with frightened sobs, but he muffled them to not disturb Faith.
He redialed Lance’s number. Lance worked all kind of crazy hours, so he wasn’t worried about waking him. He didn’t have a wife and kids, so even if he was home asleep, he wouldn’t care that Jackson called. He was always glad to talk to his best friend.
They’d been buds since high school, kept in touch sporadically, but always picked up just where they’d left off. Those kind of friends were few and far between, but Jackson knew he could trust Lance with his very life and his family’s.
He was also one of the best expert shots he’d ever met. The guy could knock ‘em dead with his pistol at 50 feet away with his Glock. He was even more accurate with his rifle. This thought oddly comforted Jackson right now, for some reason. He knew in disasters, there was a higher incident rate of people looting and committing crimes.
God, please protect my wife, he prayed, impatiently waiting for Lance to pick up the phone, his leg jiggling. Restless leg syndrome, the doctors called it. Autumn and Faith had it, too. Drove Rachel crazy. But he couldn’t control it. It was just nervous energy, he’d tell her.
“Hey there, I ain’t able to pick up right now, but you know the drill so do it!” Lance’s amused, thick southern voice on the recording said loudly. Jackson sighed in irritation, and slammed the phone down. How was he supposed to find out if Rachel was okay?
He knew cell phones weren’t working and wouldn’t be for a while, even a week or two from now, and that she didn’t have a ham radio. He’d warned her she was just asking for trouble going there.
He told her how important it was to have a ham radio or some other effective communication device, in the event of a storm. She’d assured him the weather radio and the CB radio would work fine if there were any storms, the house was hurricane proof, and that she didn’t think anything was going to happen, anyway.
But when she said it, she wouldn’t look at him, as if she sensed something ahead of time, and knew that she might not ever be coming back. She was packing like mad, avoiding his penetrating, hurt eyes, just wishing he’d go away. It hurt too much to be around him.
He hovered in their bedroom practically on top of her, his body seeming to grow big as the Hulk’s, his voice getting louder and angrier, as she rolled jeans into the suitcase, and picked out which necklace to wear, which for some reason maddened him. How could she so carefully pick out jewelry, and so easily discard their marriage?
She didn’t think he even cared that she was leaving; it was just the money she was spending, wasn’t it? “I did this with my money,” she reminded him. He ignored her all the time anyway, so what difference did it make?
She also knew it pricked his pride. People at work and at the church were talking about them possibly divorcing with them “separating” and Jackson was embarrassed.
Even though they both told people it wasn’t actually a separation, Rachel was just going away to a beach house to get some serious writing done, nobody believed them. Too many had witnessed their years of “intense domestic fellowship,” as Autumn dubbed it.
He wanted some intense domestic fellowship now. He’d welcome even an argument, just to have her there. He wanted her home, safe. He decided to wait until the morning to tell Faith about the storm surge. He didn’t want her up all night, worried about her mom. He let her sleep, although he heard her stir restlessly and talk in her sleep a couple of times. He sensed her anxiety about her mom, even in her sleep. He’d seen the scared look in her eyes today when she saw the news and asked him if mom was going to be okay.
He sat in the living room on his thick, soft royal blue, sectional sofa, watching the news updates, reading the Bible and praying for hours. He kept trying to call Rachel and Lance all night, to no avail. But He knew it was all in God’s hands. Ultimately Jackson trusted Jesus, no matter what happened.
*******
As the water slammed against the steel stilts, Rachel knew she had to act fast to get everything up to the second floor. She thought she’d be safe on the first floor with how high the stilts were. She raced up and down the stairs with a pin light like a crazed woman, praying out loud the blood of Jesus and in the Spirit. With it being night time and there being no power, the task was even more arduous.
Is this it? She thought. Am I about to drown and die?
Rachel had just finished hauling everything up to the second story, when she felt the house swaying a little. God, is the house going to collapse? Will the foundation hold? She wondered.
She remembered the parable in the Bible that Jesus had told in Matthew 7:24-27 of the man who built his house on the rocks and the man who built his on sand.
“Everyone then who hears these words of mine and does them will be like a wise man who built the house on the rock. And the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat on that house, but it did not fall, because it had been founded on the rock. And everyone who hears these words of mine and does not do them will be like a foolish man who build his house on the sand, And t
he rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat against that house, and it fell, and great was the fall of it.”
She’d memorized this passage one summer, working with Faith years ago on her memory verses for Bible Vacation School at their church, and had never forgotten the verse. How timely these words were now! Was she wise or foolish? Would her beach house stand?
She grabbed the thick cord of rope and the axe, her purse and the plastic bag filled with important papers. She knew the papers were some of the most difficult things to attain after a natural disaster, and how important they were.
Her purse contained her wallet, which held pictures of her family. Quickly she got out the last family picture they’d taken several years ago. It was too dark to see it now, but she knew that picture by heart. She’d looked at it so many times through the years, praying about their family, for God to do healing love miracles in Jesus’ name.
Everyone was older now than they were in the picture, but they were all smiling, genuinely. They’d gone out to eat and to a movie just before having Rachel’s friend Tara professionally photograph their family pic, and so they were all in a good mood. Rachel and Autumn had even joked around together about Channing Tatum in the movie, voted one of 2014’s Sexiest Men Alive. Even though Jackson felt slightly jealous about them admiring Channing, their laughter together warmed his heart.
In the picture, Faith was in the middle of everyone, sandwiched between her parents, as if she held them together as a family by iron will. Rachel knew it was God, though, who kept them intact and held them in the palms of His Loving Potter’s hands. Rachel held the picture close to her heart, crying and praying. Would she ever seen her loved ones again?
God, she prayed, please let me live. I want to live! I don’t want to die yet! Please forgive me of any unconfessed sin! Please protect me and get me safely back home to my family. God, please give me a second chance to love again! God, have mercy and help me!