Storm Season

by Pene Henson

  Usually, if she was up this late, she’d hear the last of the night’s cicadas, a chitter from passing bats, and the young frogs chirruping to one another down by the creek. But it’s too wet for that. Instead the wind sweeps through the wet trees, lashing them over and over like monster waves against shifting sand. The rain pounds on the sloped roof.

  There are no lights here, no city bustle and chatter. Only a few people, Shelley and a couple of others, even know where she is. She tries not to imagine what her old friends are doing, what new bands they’re listening to, how their projects are going. She hasn’t thought about her former life for ages, but Lien brings all of the past rushing back. This is the life Claudie chose and this is the life she would choose again, over and over. It’s the life she loves. She has a few friends, a job, the view, her music. She needs nothing more.

  She looks out at the familiar darkness and listens to the rain. She evens out her breathing. After weeks of everything dragging, the night has raced by, and it’s late. But it’s hard to stay still. She’s wide awake. There’s a stranger in the cabin, a stranger sleeping in Claudie’s bed.

  Even Claudie can be lonely out here, far from anyone she knows. She hasn’t felt lonely tonight.

  The rain continues on and on. It pours over the house and the trees and the great wide world. It closes them in.

  4

  Lien opens her eyes to pale gray light through the draped mosquito netting. The netting is exotic, as if the bed is on safari in the 1920s. It’s too bad her pith helmet’s stranded at the campsite, and any passing lions or giraffes remain silent.

  Lien shifts. The bed’s fine, and she slept well, but her knee throbs. She doesn’t want to think about that. She can’t even distract herself with social media. She’d love to work out the perfect tweet about this.

  She stands and treads gingerly to the window. The glass is spattered with drops. The half-light is filtered through them. The storm hasn’t eased and the wind is still up.

  Shifting her weight, she tests her knee as she watches the rain. This is the same injury that derailed all of her plans eight years ago. The pain flings her brain back to those days when everything she’d ever dreamed for her future was over forever. But then all her dreams were focused on soccer. Knees don’t matter so much now. A bit of a limp is not going to keep her from music reviews, interviews with bands, fashion watching, and articles about the festival lineup and the crowd and new Australian music at Rivers Fest.

  Wind and rain batters the tin roof. The chair in the other room squeaks. The sound is just audible over the noise of the storm.

  Right. Claudia.

  The night before is a haze of stupid decisions and rain. And a superhero park ranger. This morning is going to be better. Lien limps into the main room on bare feet, careful to make no noise. The early morning light is delicate, hazy green and gray. It creeps across the walls and over the wooden floorboards.

  The main room takes up the whole width of the cabin. Outside the windows, a few trees stand near the cabin and shoot straight from the earth to the sky. Beyond them the valley drops away and the view is a canopy of treetop after treetop, stretching green over the nearby mountains as far as Lien can see. The seclusion seems boundless.

  Musical instruments hang on the white walls: a couple of acoustic guitars, one of which has seen better days, a twelve string, a bass, an autoharp.

  Lien’s superhero park ranger is stretched out in the blue-gray chair. In the fear and shock of the night before, Lien didn’t take Claudia in except as Wonder Woman with glorious shoulders. Now, with Claudia safely asleep, Lien can’t help but look her over. She’s older than Lien, somewhere in her thirties. Her face is angular, with prominent cheekbones, a wide mouth, and dark hair and eyelashes. Her hair is roughly layered, like a cut that’s growing out from something that was cool on Joan Jett in the 70s. Somehow, though, it perfectly frames Claudia’s face. Even asleep, she seems comfortable in her solid, long-limbed body. She was comfortable moving, too, even when she was supporting Lien. Her shoulders take up most of the width of the chair. She has slim hips and a broad back and muscular thighs. She’s not fashionable, but she seems confident, with that accidental gorgeousness Lien sometimes envies.

  Her perfectly fitted jeans look old enough to have molded to her thighs. Lien wishes she’d thought to ensure Claudia had a chance to get into her pajamas or whatever she sleeps in.

  Even asleep Claudia’s imposing, impressive, though maybe that’s hero worship talking. It’s hard to see past that.

  Claudia stirs. Lien freezes when she blinks awake. Her eyes quickly fix on Lien. They’re dark clear gray, reflecting the sky and the rain.

  “Hi,” says Claudia.

  Lien glances away. Claudia’s distracting. Maybe she can’t tell that Lien was staring, cataloging Claudia’s striking features. This whole thing is awkward.

  “Hi,” Lien says. She tries a tiny smile.

  If she had Beau or Annie here, she could laugh about last night, laugh about her shoes and the rivers of rain running down her hair and into her underwear. Instead she’s faced with this serious woman dressed in a boys’ T-shirt and jeans, with the outdoors etched into her face.

  Lien gestures to the instruments hanging on the wall. “You play?”

  Claudia glances at them. “Yep.”

  “All of them?”

  “They’re not decorative,” says Claudia. She yawns.

  The subject is shut down. Lien’s accustomed to constant conversation. She’s used to being a person strangers want around, a person everyone listens to when they want to know what music’s good or what club to check out or whether or not their outfit is the cool kind of retro 80s.

  Lien’s pretty sure Claudia doesn’t give a shit about whether she’s the cool kind of retro.

  Claudia unfolds herself from the chair and stretches. Her arms and shoulders are clearly defined against her faded T-shirt. She turns to meet Lien’s gaze. Thunder rumbles far off.

  Lien can at least smooth things over, make her rescuer like her. She was raised for all sorts of unusual social situations. No one taught her the specific etiquette for being rescued by an attractive park ranger and trapped in a cabin, but that’s okay. Lien’s good at improvising.

  “Did you sleep well?” Lien asks.

  Claudia raises an eyebrow. Lien shrinks under that scrutiny.

  “I slept fine,” Claudia says. Behind her, lightning streaks across the horizon. Thunder rumbles through the walls. Claudia glances out the window and back.

  Lien keeps talking. “Oh. Good. I was pretty scared. I don’t think I’ve ever been anywhere this silent. I’m sorry you had to sleep out here. So, can I make you some breakfast or, um, tea or something?”

  Claudia eyes her. She smiles—a bright flash. “Why don’t I get the breakfast? Seeing as you have no idea where everything is. And should probably rest that leg.”

  Lien blushes. She can’t seem to stop talking. Everything she says is off-target. “Okay. Let me know if I can help.”

  “Will do.”

  Claudia walks to the wide windows. Her feet are bare. She’s silhouetted, like a tall statue in the light. She ties her hair in a loose ponytail. Her shirt stretches across her back. Thunder rolls in, much closer now. Lightning cracks through the sky.

  “I don’t see you getting out of here today,” Claudia says without turning back to Lien.

  Oh. “But. There’s a road right? I saw it. My friends have cars. I could get one of them to come collect me.”

  Claudie turns. “I’d drive you the long way round myself but the road’s gonna be washed out even if the causeway held. Which I doubt it did.” She holds her hand up to stop Lien interrupting. “And don’t think about walking. You won’t make it down to the creek and back up that canyon to the campsite, especially on that knee. It’s steep, and the rain hasn’t let up. It’ll still be like
walking in a river. Look. I’ll check in with the emergency services but I think you’re stuck here with me for now.”

  Lien doesn’t mean to sigh aloud.

  Claudia’s glance is sharp. “Unless the rescue chopper comes in to get you, there aren’t any options. I’d rather the rescue guys spent their time on real emergencies.”

  Lien nods. But inside she’s still arguing. This is a real emergency. Lien’s not used to sitting still with no Internet and no one to sympathize with her about the lack of Internet. She’s not comfortable with silence and alone time. More than that, she’s not comfortable imposing on Claudia, who clearly prefers her own company to Lien’s. Lien might find Claudia charming: reserved and brilliant and unmistakably hot, but it’s hard to imagine talking with Claudia about fashion or club music, whether studded cuffs are coming back for queer kids, whether indie music is a real genre.

  Lien steps forward to stand beside Claudia. The sky’s dark gray; the bush is by turns silvery and lush green, striped by tree trunks. Lien can’t see much beauty to it, but she stays still and catches something there, behind the storm and rain and the swishing wet leaves of the eucalypts, something in the great span of the place.

  “So,” Claudia says. “I guess we’d better get used to this. If we’re going to spend a day or two together.”

  “Really. A day or two?”

  “It’s a tropical storm, Lien. They knock out towns. There’s a good chance you’ll be here more than two days.” Claudia’s tone is back to sharp.

  Lien hurries to make it better. “Sorry, that’s—It’s not that I don’t want to be here. Honestly. I just don’t want to impose. I’m sorry.”

  “I know you are,” says Claudia, more gently. “Okay. First things first. You have got to stop apologizing.”

  Lien can accept that. She nods. “Okay then. Right.” She needs to work with the reality of her current situation. “So if we’re stuck here, is there anything we can do? Anything you need to work on in the house? Like, painting or—” She trails off as it’s clear the place doesn’t need paint. “What about…?” She hesitates, realizing anything she says will seem rude. “I don’t want to be a burden; I want to help out.”

  Claudie’s mouth crooks into a smile. “I take it you don’t like silence.” Lien’s stomach clenches. “I’m sure I can find something. But for now, you should get off your leg. You need to put that up. Ice it again. No point in suffering and making it worse.”

  Lien capitulates. She’s in pain and she needs to get better. Claudia switches on the light in the kitchen, grabs a tea towel, and reaches into the freezer. She hands Lien a tea towel full of ice.

  “Here. I’ll make us some toast while you sit,” says Claudia.

  Lien sits in the chair and settles the ice around her knee. In the narrow kitchen, Claudia opens a cupboard for the bread. Everything Claudia does is efficient; every motion works in the space. She presses down the lever on the side of the toaster.

  The lights sputter. They drop out. The fridge sighs into silence.

  “Damn,” says Claudia. She kicks the fridge. She frowns and kicks it again. Lien smiles into her lap. The fridge does nothing. Lightning splits the sky at the horizon. Thunder rolls in. “Damn,” Claudia says again.

  Claudie steps out the front door and dodges the rain to stand under the wide eaves of the cabin. She opens the mains box and checks the switch. She flicks it up once, twice. It’s no use. The generator has a breaker that activates if it’s standing in water. Either that’s in effect or the connection between the panels and the generator has blown. Either way, the power’s gone. And the rain is not about to stop, so Claudie can’t access the generator. Not today.

  Perfect.

  The rain sweeps in under the eaves and spatters her face.

  Back inside it's even quieter than usual. The fridge’s background hum has gone. She can’t turn on music or use the tiny TV.

  “I’m checking in with the boss,” she says to Lien. That’s another annoyance of having a visitor, the need to explain herself.

  Shelley answers first ring. “Mate! Good. You haven’t been washed down the mountain. It looks chancy out there.”

  Claudie pictures Shelley running a hand through her dark cropped hair the way she does when she’s worried, her light brown eyes scrutinizing the storm.

  “I’m okay. You’ve got some campers at the upper Iron Pot site, though. Might need to get them out.”

  “Already taken care of. They tell me you’ve got one with you.”

  “Yep.”

  “Don’t you go breaking her. My mob takes the welcome to country seriously.” Shelley’s from the Bundjalung Nation and has more right to the land than the National Parks and Wildlife Service she works for.

  “Course not. Falling down the gorge did a number on her knee though. She can’t walk out. We’re stuck until the road’s passable.”

  “Nasty. Well, the weather bureau reckons this’ll keep up for at least two days. I hope you’ve got some board games up there.”

  “Yeah, not exactly.”

  Shelley laughs. “You’ll cope.”

  “No doubt. Thanks, boss.”

  Rain drums on the roof. Ordinarily Claudie would find the steady noise comforting. But now she’s caged, trapped indoors with everything colored by Lien’s presence. It’s not the girl’s fault. She’s uncomfortably easy to look at in a too-big T-shirt; her legs are well-defined in Claudie’s running shorts. But she’s no trouble. It’s just strange having anyone else take up room and watch Claudie move. Lien’s presence prickles up and down Claudie’s spine.

  And now they have to sit together with no lights and no distractions and wait for the growing dark, when everything will be even more awkward.

  “Hey,” Claudie says. “I have a bunch of old music magazines. Vibe Mag and Mojo and Clash and stuff in a box somewhere.”

  Lien’s eyes brighten. “Cool.”

  Claudie is warmed by her enthusiasm. “Shall I drag them out?” She knows the answer.

  “Mm-hmm. Yes, please.” Lien nods. She’s quick to add, “If it’s not too much trouble.”

  Claudie pulls the box from the bottom of a cupboard. “Sit closer to the window. You’ll have enough light there until later this afternoon.” They pull Lien’s chair over the floor, and she sits back down. Claudie grabs a crate for Lien to use as a footrest. Lien shoots her a grateful glance.

  Lien bends over the box and flips through the magazines. She’s so excited she’s almost vibrating. She pulls out a magazine. “Oh. I’ve never seen this cover. I thought I’d seen all of the early 2000s.”

  “You’re into music?” Claudie asks.

  “Yeah. Um, it’s sort of what I do. Music journalism.” She goes back to the box. As she searches, she talks to herself. She hums over the options, then selects one. She stretches her bare leg to rest on the crate, wraps herself in the over-large olive green hoodie that she seems to have appropriated, and smiles up with a magazine in her lap. “Want to join me?”

  Claudie wasn’t planning to, but it’s raining, the road’s a mess, and she has nothing much to do. Anyway, there’s something inviting about the idea of sitting with this girl and poring over articles from a time she left behind.

  “I won’t tell anyone you wasted time on something superficial like magazines.” Lien twinkles at her.

  “Hah. Thank you, but that is not a problem,” says Claudie. “You do realize they’re my magazines, yeah?”

  Still, it’s an unusual indulgence on Claudie’s part, to sit and read in daylight and in company. She expects Lien to chatter. It’s almost a disappointment that they read in silence, companionably turning a page now and then. She hands over a particularly good issue of Clash. Lien passes her a magazine open to an article about women as the saving grace of new country music. It’s pleasant, thoughtful but low key, easy in a way Claudie wouldn’
t have expected.

  Mid-morning, Claudie makes tea in a saucepan on the gas stove top. She hands a large mug to Lien.

  “Cute,” Lien says, looking at the mug. “The Lone Ranger. Is this meant to be you?” She studies Claudie with wide eyes.

  Claudie flushes to her hairline. “Yeah, I guess.” She’s not accustomed to people pursuing things with her. She’s also annoyed with herself for blushing. Neither of those things means she needs to be short with Lien. She tries again. “My mum gave me the mug when I came up here.”

  “Was that long ago?”

  “Three years.”

  “Oh yeah, you said. Right. So the wilderness is your thing. I have to admire that.” She’s not laughing. Her eyes are unblinking and interested.

  Claudie tries to reflect that intensity. “I—yeah. I guess it is one of my things.” Lien doesn’t look away, so she goes on. “When I first moved up here, well, I was used to a big city so it was tricky at first. I had no idea how to avoid the mosquitoes, how much water I had, how to get the generator working. But I was committed to being here, and it didn’t take long to learn things. I’m used to it now.”

  “I think—” Lien pauses; her gaze shifts away to the ceiling, then back. “I don’t know. I think you must know yourself pretty well, to live out here.”

  Claudie’s smile is half wince. “Sometimes.” She tries to come up with something more. “Anyway, I know all about me. Let’s talk about you instead.”

  “Of course. Sure. Lien Hong. Sydney. Fashion and music journalist.” Lien smiles brightly, a party smile. It sounds as though she’s said those exact words at a thousand events.

  “Is that on your business card?”

  “No one uses business cards any more. But it’s my twitter bio.”

  Claudie has nothing to add to that. “Twitter, huh. Well, the journalism explains all those questions you’ve been asking.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t—I asked because I’m interested.”