because I didn’t want her pity. Because that’s what everyone else offers. But what I’m getting from Iris doesn’t feel like pity. She doesn’t tell me how sorry she is. She doesn’t press for more information.
I don’t see how she could, but it’s like she gets it. Before I know it, I’m the one going on about it.
“It’s not easy,” I admit, turning onto the gravel road that leads to the house. “In fact, it sucks ass.”
Iris stifles a grin, but she doesn’t take her eyes off me.
“It’s early on-set. She’s only sixty-two.”
This fact hits her like a blow, and she closes her eyes, lips drawn between her teeth. “Wow,” she whispers.
“Yeah.” I slow as we cross the cattle guard. “But the place where she lives is good. The staff really cares and they have some good programs.”
She’s quiet for a moment as we bounce down the gravel drive. We pass Mrs. Thibodeaux’s place. The back half her south pasture shows standing water where she’s closest to the river, but I can see her cattle grazing on the north end.
“Do you have other family? Besides your uncle and your dad, I mean.”
“Yeah, my sister Val lives in Atlanta,” I answer, scanning Mrs. Thibodeaux’s barn, outbuildings and house for damage. “She’s married and has—”
“Oh my God!”
Iris’s cry has me slamming the brakes. I follow her gaze to my house. At least, I’m supposed to be looking at my house, but the mangled crown of a pecan tree blocks my view.
“Shit.”
“Beau, is that your tiny house?”
I throw my truck in park and kill the engine. In the gaps between the leaves and branches, I can see red and gray, the paint and trim colors of my house. Something is still standing at least. “Yep. Let’s see what’s left of it.”
“Oh my God. Oh my God.” Iris unbuckles her seatbelt and slips from the truck. For a moment the surreal sight is all I can focus on, but my wits come back to me before she reaches into the back for Mica.
“Be careful,” I tell her. “Keep him close. Keep an eye out for water moccasins. They could be seeking higher ground with the river so high.”
Iris scans the ground at her feet, nodding. “Got it.”
I do a quick sweep of my side of the truck. The land where my house sits is on a slight rise, a wedge between crawfish ponds and river. The natural levee between the two is still clear, but much of its bulk is under water. Flooding, yes, but not devastation, though it might mean an earlier end to the season for crawfish farmers around here.
I’m grateful water hasn’t sealed off the gravel road and that Mrs. Thibodeaux’s house and mine are high and dry, but that pecan tree didn’t do me any favors.
“It looks like it’s just the treetop,” Iris says, moving around the front of the truck, Mica on a lead close at her heels. “Maybe it’s not too bad.”
I round the tree, coming aside the house. She’s right. The front porch has been shorn off and is nothing more than a flattened heap of lumber and tin, but most of the structure of the house itself appears to be intact. I’ll have to clear this out before I know for sure how bad the damage is, but it’s fixable. Maybe the tree did do me a favor because a few feet more to the right, and it would’ve smashed through my living space.
Getting the tree debris cleared and securing a tarp over what is probably a damaged roof are my first order of business, but I need to get Iris home before I can do that. Maybe Lowe’s or Home Depot will be open today. One can only hope.
With a dusk to dawn curfew in place, I need to get busy. I’ve got about four hours to work with.
I face Iris. “Will you be okay at your house by yourself?” I ask, not wanting to leave her if she doesn’t feel safe. Maybe I could take her to Nonc’s if she’s uneasy being alone without power.
Iris scrunches up her forehead. “What do you mean?”
I take a step toward her, wanting—as always—to be closer to her. “I have a lot of work to do here, so I’m going to have to run you back home, but if you don’t feel—”
“Why can’t I stay and help?”
Her question—and her determined frown—have me coming up empty. “I—I didn’t think you’d want to.”