They struggled through the water, not running now. Walking thickly, off-balance with each step.
“Follow the flow,” Nacho said, close to her ear. “And angle toward the embankment.”
They had no choice but to turn away from Nina and the car. Gretchen felt the calf-deep water pulling her along. She quit fighting against it, accepting it instead, but edging slowly at an angle toward the embankment. She glanced back and saw Nina waving her arms frantically.
Gretchen felt firm footing below, less pull from the current, as Nacho rose ahead of her on the hill, clutching the bag. She looked back at the swelling river then loped all the way back to the car.
“Martha’s,” Nacho said, peering intensely at Gretchen and pushing the bag at her. She took the bag from him and threw it in the backseat.
“We don’t have anything to secure the shopping cart,” she said with rain pouring down her face. “We’ll have to abandon it.”
“It’s not like she can’t get another one,” Nina shouted.
Nacho wedged it between the face of the concrete ramp and a metal pole, and Nina pulled away just as the whirling water ripped apart Nacho’s home.
Lightning struck, closer this time, and Gretchen envied Wobbles and the canines for their dry and protected home. Water from her soaking clothes pooled on the floor around her, and the seat felt squishy and wet.
Nina ground the car to an abrupt halt.
A sign loomed ahead. Do Not Cross When Flooded. The street ahead looked like the inside of a whirlpool with all the jets at full blast.
“I can show you a way out,” Nacho said, pointing to the right. “Go that way.” And Nina swung the wheel.
Ten minutes later, at Nacho’s insistence, they dropped him at the Rescue Mission. He heaved his own large bag out behind him, and after another piercing look at Gretchen, he ran for cover.
“I feel like I’m letting him get away,” Gretchen said. “I have so many questions, and he’s the only one who might be able to answer them.”
“We know how to find him,” Nina said.
“He knows so much more than he’s telling us. I can feel it.”
“That’s the Birch psychic intuition finally coming out in you.” Nina grinned. “It’s about time. That’s a good thing.”
“At least he left all this other stuff in the car.”
Nina wrinkled her face. “That’s the bad thing.”
They passed a car caught in flooding in a wash along the side of the street. Two men sat on the roof of the car, and rescue vehicles were parked at the curb on higher ground. Firemen attended to the men and directed traffic away from the area. Gretchen saw a helicopter overhead, scouting for stranded motorists and dangerous situations.
“We’ll get home eventually,” Nina said. “The long way. Those two unlucky men will be ticketed under the dumb motorist law.” She laughed wryly. “Phoenix has a campaign called ‘Turn around, don’t drown.’ That could have been us if we hadn’t obeyed the signs.”
Gretchen was mesmerized by the freak of nature she was witnessing. Actually, everything about Phoenix seemed otherworldly. First the intense heat that scorched the land creating a crisp, brown, leafless environment hostile to most life-forms. Then the sky opened up and torrential rains flooded the entire city, virtually drowning the parched land.
She remembered the call that she had ignored while pursuing Nacho under the freeway bridge, and she reached for her phone. The clip was empty.
“Pull over,” Gretchen said. “My phone’s missing.”
“I’m sure it’s in here someplace,” Nina said. “Wait until we get home, and you can look around without getting soaked.” Nina slid a glance at Gretchen. “Too late for that, I guess.”
“I don’t think it’s in the car. I might have lost it while pushing Daisy’s cart up to the car. We have to go back.”
“Sorry, dear. Anything left behind is gone by now, and I wouldn’t risk going all the way back anyway.”
Gretchen searched the seat and floor around her then crawled in the backseat and rummaged around under the bag Nacho had said belonged to Martha.
No cell phone.
As soon as they stopped in her mother’s driveway under the carport, she dug through the trunk.
No cell phone.
How, she wondered, could she live for even one day without her phone?
Caroline stared at the bleak motel walls. Close enough to O’Hare for a fast flight out, far enough away to escape the steep prices associated with instant airport accessibility.
Twenty-six calls from her daughter in the past few days, mostly from Gretchen’s cell phone, a few made from Caroline’s