Read Online Another Kind of Hurricane by Tamara Ellis Smith - Free Book Online Page A

pair of blue jeans, Cora always managed to drag embarrassing stuff out into the public. She couldn’t seem to keep the roll of thoughts she had from spilling out of her mouth.
    “Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t even know I laughed out loud.”
    This time it wasn’t so bad. Just a random laugh. But people were sensitive these days. Cora knew that. They’d been through so much—too much—and there was nothing funny about any of it. She was lucky. Her small house had been spared. But not her neighbor’s. His house sat lower than hers and it got flooded even when hers did not.
    “Well, it’s important to find something to laugh about,” said the woman. She picked up her shopping bag from the counter.
    “Yes,” agreed Cora. The woman was generous. She could have been put off by Cora’s laugh. Her neighbor could have been put off by her too. If he had been able to hear her over the rain and wind. Of course she had blurted out that she was
queen of the mountain
as she stood on her front porch as the rain and wind came down. She still didn’t know why she had said that. She had stepped outside for just a moment and was overcome by the raging battle taking place all around her little house. Knives of rain clattering down. The shriek of the wind. And she was, on her covered porch, just above it all. She had felt a sense of relief, and a weird thrill, and before she knew it, this
queen
thing had escaped from her mouth.
    Just half a second later, she turned her head and saw her neighbor on his roof, water pouring out of his downstairs front window. Cora had seen him on the roof plenty of timesbefore—he hung out up there with his daughter sometimes, but mostly with two other men. His brothers. They came over to her neighbor’s house and sang up there a lot, and she loved to listen to them.
    “Do you have any children?” Cora asked the woman.
    “Yes,” said the woman. “Why?”
    “We just got a big donation from Vermont,” said Cora. “I haven’t gone through all of it, but there are some great kids’ clothes.” She indicated a pile on the side counter. “Take a look. Someone is about to come by and take them to Baton Rouge.”
    The woman walked to the clothes and thumbed through a stack. She pulled a pair of blue jeans from the middle and unfolded them. “These look almost new,” she said.
    Cora nodded.
    “But they’re too long for my son.” She began to fold them again.
    “Oh, I’ll do that,” said Cora. She took the jeans from the woman.
    “I should get home to him,” said the woman. “I’m starting to let him stay home alone, but only for an hour or so at a time.”
    “How old is he?” asked Cora.
    “Ten,” said the woman.
    “Sort of an in-between age, huh? A little too young to stay home alone, but also a little too old to need supervision?” asked Cora.
    “Yes, exactly.” The woman began to walk toward the door. “I’ll be back,” she said. “I’m so glad you’re open.”
    “What do you think of chocolate, peanut butter, cinnamon cake?” Cora blurted out.
    “It sounds delicious,” said the woman.
    “Oh good. To me too,” said Cora. “Three cheers for the generator! I’m trying to make a marble cake with three flavors. Three cheers for three flavors!”
    “Sounds complicated.”
    “It’s for three things, so I thought three flavors would be a nice touch.”
    The woman smiled.
    “Thing One: I hope that you—oh, not you”—Cora pointed at the woman—“you, my neighbor, move back home. Thing Two: I love listening to you and your trio sing. And Thing Three: I’m sorry for what I said out there in the hurricane—” The words tumbled out of Cora’s mouth.
    The woman stared at her.
    Cora shook her head. She had gone and done it again. Toilet paper in the waist of the jeans, right there in public. Shetwisted her hair back into a bun and clipped it into place. She could at least keep her hair neat.
    She looked down at the blue jeans in her hands and slowly finished