Getting Old is a Disaster Part 10

Within seconds, Jack is off me and the bed. He pulls me up with both arms. "Why didn't you warn me?"

We rush to the windows and, clinging to each other, watch the storm rage. No more little squall-this is bad news. We can no longer see the Mallory Deck. What few sailboats were tied to the docks, bouncing about like toy toothpicks, have disappeared and there is nothing but bleak grayness everywhere.

The sounds of the storm are so loud, we barely hear the shouting and the frantic knocking on the door. Jack opens the door to the wide-eyed Ms. LeYung. She looks to be red-faced from having run up the three flights. She can't hide her state of panic.

"News from the National Weather Service. The winds have shifted and the hurricane is coming directly at us. Delta force winds, type four, at more than 150 miles an hour are predicted. They're giving us twelve hours' notice, but they think it will hit sooner. We've all got to evacuate!"

I automatically salute. "Aye, aye," says the ex navy man's "mate," who is envious of Mr. and Mrs. Jim Lawler, in whatever warm, dry place they might be.

We grab our bags and race down the stairs after the manager. Other guests are running downstairs as well. Ms. LeYung is muttering, "Oh, G.o.d, I was here when Wilma struck. It was horrible."

In the lobby we meet up with the rest of the frightened guests. Ms. LeYung gives last-minute instructions to her staff, who are hurriedly pulling down the hurricane shutters all over the B&B.

"I'll be right back," she tells the working crew.

She starts for the door. Jack stops her. "Wait. Don't you want us to help?"

She shakes her head. "Thanks, but don't worry. We'll all get out of here in time."

We join the guests anxiously waiting at the front door. "Follow my car," she tells us. "I'll lead you to the shortcut out of the city."

Bleak. All I'm aware of are bleak- and angrylooking clouds covering the sky. Jack struggles to see out the windshield. The car is rocking as he fights to keep it in control. Frankly, I'm glad I have no view. I don't want to watch the destruction that might be happening to all these beautiful little towns along the Keys.Other cars also rushing from the Keys pa.s.s us, dangerously close.

"I'm an idiot," Jack says. "Putting you through this."

"You said it, I didn't." I lean over to kiss his cheek. "But you're my idiot and I still love you. Besides, how could you know the winds would shift?" I pretend to put a good face on it. "Isn't this exciting?"

Jack is glum. "Not the kind of excitement I had in mind."

"All is not lost. I've learned a lot of new things about you, Mr. Navy Man. Stubborn. Opinionated. Risk-taker . . ."

Jack cringes. "Don't say another word. And what I've learned about you is that you're loyal, though foolishly so, and brave."

I don't want to ruin his opinion of me so I don't contradict him.

I peer out, barely able to see from one side of the very narrow causeway to the other, thinking grim thoughts. To the left of us, all of the Gulf of Mexico. To the right, the entire Atlantic Ocean. Water lapping hard on both sides reaching out to connect in the middle. Coming closer and closer to our car. Eager to have at us and suck us in. Forever.

"Brave" me, hiding my eyes with sungla.s.ses, shuts them and keeps them that way for most of the ride home.

15.

Getting Ready

It takes us nearly five hours to make it back to Fort Lauderdale. The farther north we go, the less ominous the weather, but no doubt there's a real hurricane chasing our tail. Everywhere we look the escalating wind is heaving debris, forming bizarre kites in the sky.

Drivers on the road rigidly lean forward into their steering wheels, clutching them with all their strength. They're a study in fear. Everyone is speeding home or in any direction that might get them out of town as fast as possible. Their vehicles are rolling from side to side. Already, small-weight cars have overturned, some blown onto the shoulder. Jack's car radio repeats the same announcements over and over. The Atlantic Hurricane Center reports that as of four-thirty p.m., the storm has intensified, and that now the east coast of Florida is in severe danger. Ocean waves at Miami Beach were kicked up by the Category Four storm. Winds are gusting at 160 miles an hour. By now the expensive beach hotels had been evacuated. The waves had already destroyed five houses and damaged ten others. So far, the hotels are still standing. The news comes at us at a staccato beat, breaking up occasionally, but the message is loud and clear: Fort Lauderdale will be next, hit hard with a hurricane for the first time ever.

When we finally pull into Lanai Gardens, exhausted, we see more of the same. People driving out and away; others boarding up windows or scurrying to and fro with last-minute preparations. For the first time I'm sure everyone wishes we'd put up hurricane shutters. But in all these years we never needed them.

Jack parks the car in front of my building. It's a parking spot belonging to someone else, but this is no time to worry about the rules. As we get out I hear someone cry, "They're back, thank G.o.d!"

I look up to see Ida, hands clutching a jacket to her chest and neck, her hair bun unruly. Perched on our landing, she frantically waves at us. We hurry upstairs, not bothering to use the elevator, heads bowed, the wind pushing at our backs.

Ida throws her arms around me. "We didn't think we'd ever see you again. They expect Key West to be hit in a few hours!" I think of the lovely Ms. LeYung and hope she gets out in time.

Ida pulls us into my apartment.

What a sight before us. Every light in the apartment is on. My highboy, the tallest piece of furniture I own, has been pushed against my living room windows. The rest of the windows were obviously hurriedly boarded up. Denny is finishing up last-minute hammering. His girlfriend, Yolie, acting as his a.s.sistant, is handing him nails. My floors are covered with mattresses and sleeping bags. The couch and chairs are circled in and around the sleeping bags. The dining room table is sky-high with snacks. The air, oddly, is filled with delicious smells.

Evvie runs to hug me. "Thank G.o.d you're all right. I was so afraid you wouldn't be able to get back in time." Her hug is tight, I hug her back. We hold on to each other for a few moments. For the first time I allow myself to think of what might have been, had we left any later.

"Welcome to Hurricane Central, Operation Gladdy's Apartment," says Ida. "We decided to use your place because it has the least amount of clutter."

Bella adds, "So we could be able to fill it with the biggest number of people."

"And because if you returned very late, you'd be able to find us." This from Sophie.

"What's going on? Do you have a plan?" I ask. Jack stands close to me, holding my hand.

"You bet we do," Evvie says. "Every building has made sure no one is left alone. People are staying together in groups. We have a telephone outreach so we can check on one another, and we know where every person is. That means we all have the phone numbers of the apartments with groups staying in them. For as long as the phone lines stay up. About five to eight people have been placed per apartment."

"Yeah," says Bella, seated cross-legged on one of the mattresses. "The stores ran out of candles and flashlights so we're all sharing everything."

Sophie adds, "Everyone brought food from their apartments. And we figure before the power goes out we're cooking all the frozen food."

That explains why I smell pot roast. And chicken, too.

Bella adds, "And we made a ton of ice cubes to keep the stuff in the fridge from spoiling."

Evvie looks shyly up at Jack. "Sorry your vacation trip was ruined."

"Me, too," Jack agrees stoically.

It's already getting much darker outside. I can tell from the tiny slits of sky showing through the rough plywood boards.

Denny and Yolie walk carefully over and around all the stuff on the floor. "Best I could do this fast," he tells us.

The girls hug the two of them and thank him in unison.

"Where are you and Yolie staying?" I ask.

"With Sol and Tessie and Mary and Irving in Irving's apartment." Yolie nods for emphasis. They head out the door, into the wind.

Evvie calls after them, "Be careful."

They wave and with heads down, holding hands, they run to the stairs.

Out of curiosity, I ask, "Where are Hy and Lola?"

Ida grins. "Home alone. They insisted on being by themselves."

Evvie looks at Jack. "You'd better get back to your place while you still can." As she says this, she hands him a sheet of paper.

I look at Evvie, upset. "What are you talking about? I want him to stay with us."

Jack glances at the list. He looks at me. "I guess I better go." He hands the sheet of paper back to Evvie.

"No," I say quickly. "That's ridiculous. We need you here. I want you here."

Jack shakes his head. "Evvie's right. My building has a number of women who live alone. Our Canadian neighbors all went home days ago, so Abe Waller and I are the only men left. He'll need my help. They must be frantic waiting for me to round them up into my apartment and I can't let them down."

I grab the list and look it over. I know they are right. Evvie looks at me. "I'm sorry," she says.

Jack gives me a quick hug and turns to the girls. "Take good care of one another."

With that he gets hugs from them and a chorus of "We wills."

With a last kiss for me, he hurries out. Before I shut the door, he calls to me, "We'll keep talking on the phone until the lines go down. I love you."

I shout, "I love you, too." But it's drowned out by the wind.

When I go back in, I notice for the first time that my bedroom door is closed, as is the screened-in Florida room.

Evvie sees my look. "We have all the furniture up against the screens to protect the inside as best we can, but I doubt it will help . . ."

"What about the bedroom? Can't we use that?"

"Of course, but right now our other houseguest is napping. Enya is also in our group," Ida reports.

I look around the room once more. Each mattress and sleeping bag has a pillow and someone's clothing on it. "That's pretty darned good organizing in so short a time," I say. I look at the faces of my girls. They are frightened but excited, too. And trying very hard to act brave.

"Thanks to Evvie," says Ida. "She mapped out this plan in her last newsletter."

I blush. I've been so involved with Jack; I'm probably the only one who hadn't read it. I look apologetically at my sister. She smiles knowingly.

Sophie adds, "The minute the TV said we were going to get hit, Evvie was on the phone organizing every building. Within an hour everyone was set."

Evvie comments, "A lot of people went to schools and community centers but we all voted to stay here."

Suddenly there is a loud smashing sound outside. We all jump.

Enya rushes out of my bedroom with sleepencrusted eyes. "What . . . what happened?"

Ida puts her arm around Enya. "We don't know."

Sophie joins Ida and embraces the shaking Enya. "Anybody hungry?" she says. "The pot roast smells ready."

Enya sees me and comes to hug me. "You're back safe."

I nod. "We'll be fine. Try not to worry."

"We have three kinds of potatoes to choose from," Evvie says, starting for the kitchen. Everyone follows. "Five different veggies and three meats."

My tiny kitchen will have to hold all of us.

There is a poignant cry from the living room floor. It's Bella, struggling to get on her hands and knees. "Somebody help. I can't get up!"

We rush to her aid.

Partners, all of us. Through thick and thin. G.o.d help us through this night.

16.

A Night to Remember

We are all pleasantly stuffed, which helps make what's going on outside almost bearable. The girls are stretched out in the living room in nightgowns and robes, leaning against pillows, walls, and couch backs, contentedly watching a cla.s.sic movie. Each of them has a flashlight at her side.

It's dark out and the storm rages around us. Every time there is a banging somewhere, we stiffen. But we are determined to keep things light, to soldier on.

Enya stiffly sits away from us on a chair at the dining room table, eyes closed, still dressed. She is somewhere else, lost in her troubled thoughts. She clutches her cup of tea, already cold.

I am in the kitchen cleaning up the mess we made at dinner. I had offers of help, but it's much easier for one person to move around in the small s.p.a.ce. Besides, I need something to take my mind off the storm. I watch my girls and Enya through the small pa.s.s-through opening. Poor Enya, she seems almost in shock.

Believe it or not, the girls voted to watch this TV rerun of A Night to Remember. A Night to Remember. Evvie, our movie maven, explains that this is the famous black-andwhite English version of the disaster. It came out in the 1950's. The girls are mesmerized by the almost doc.u.mentary style of the sinking of the T Evvie, our movie maven, explains that this is the famous black-andwhite English version of the disaster. It came out in the 1950's. The girls are mesmerized by the almost doc.u.mentary style of the sinking of the t.i.tanic. I guess watching another disaster is better than thinking of the one we're in right now. I guess watching another disaster is better than thinking of the one we're in right now.