Hurricane House by Sandy Semerad Read Free Book Online

Hurricane Donald might go or how much force the storm would gather before reaching land. “...gaining strength since blasting Cuba.”
    Geneva glanced out the French doors and spotted Roxanne Trawler, running in the rain. She wore melon-pink shorts with matching top, angling toward Geneva’s place.
    “Gotta go, Mama.”
    “Okay, Honey, be careful. Hope to see you soon. Call me when you hit the road.”
    “Okay, love you, Mama, bye.”
    “Bye, love you, too.”
    Geneva retied her bathrobe and walked out to greet Roxanne. “Hello, stranger. Glad someone’s energetic today.” She gave Roxanne a hug and smelled her exotic perfume, diluted by rainwater. She looked like a life-size “Rapunzel Barbie” with her blond ponytail pulled through the back of an Atlanta Braves baseball cap.
    Roxanne flashed a sad smile and nodded toward the Gulf. “Tsunamis out there.”
    “I hope not tsunamis. I may have to drive in it.”
    “Forget that shit. Let’s have a hurricane party at the Pink Palace,” Roxanne said, pointing to her palatial beach house, a stone’s throw away from where they stood.
    Roxanne withdrew an envelope from her shorts. “This came in my box by mistake.”
    Geneva took the envelope, wondering who’d send personal mail—with no return address—to me at the beach rather than to my home in Tallahassee.
    Roxanne plopped down in one of the patio chairs underneath the overhang. “What’s that weird noise?” She looked up at the wind chime, a conglomeration of wire and metal.
    “Gift from my brother’s wife, Carol. She makes them. Claims they soothe body, mind and soul. Hasn’t worked on me yet.” Geneva pulled a chair out to sit down next to her friend. “Carol gave me two of those darn things, one for here and one for home.”
    Roxanne forced a laugh. “I’d hang a dozen if they’d soothe my body or my mind or my soul.”
    “Rain’s angling on us,” Geneva said. “Let’s go inside.” Roxanne squeezed her wet ponytail. “Do I look like someone who’s concerned about the rain?”
    Geneva glanced up at the purple sky and watched seagulls line up on a neighbor’s roof. She and Roxanne were neighbors in both Tallahassee and Dolphin, but lately Roxanne had erected an emotional wall Geneva couldn’t seem to penetrate.
    “Loughton with you?” Roxanne asked.
    “He flew off to Washington this morning.”
    Roxanne propped her right foot on her left knee and began to massage her calf. “Weren’t y’all supposed to be on vacation?”
    Geneva nodded and grimaced. She hated to explain her husband’s absence. “Yeah, but you know how that goes. Politics is more important. Mason with you?”
    “No, the flamboyantly famous criminal lawyer couldn’t make it.” Geneva crossed her legs and jiggled her foot, a nervous habit. “You two still on the outs?”
    Roxanne pressed her lips together like a toddler refusing green beans. The wind scattered her tears. “Nothing’s changed.”
    “I’m sorry.” Not knowing what else to say, Geneva watched the jabbering seagulls and reflected on how estranged she and Roxanne had become since Tara’s death.
    No question Roxanne had aged, crows feet around her eyes, looked much older than her thirty-one years and too thin. Her diamond-and-platinum wedding bands wobbled on her ring finger.
    Geneva opened her mouth to confront Roxanne about her weight loss, but when a neon snake of lightning ripped through dark clouds, followed by a thunder boom, Geneva changed her mind. No time for a serious conversation. “Thunder doesn’t usually accompany hurricanes. A good sign, maybe?”
    Roxanne massaged her eye sockets and swung her right leg, as if she had developed Geneva’s habit of jiggling her feet and legs. The silence between the two women grew, and Geneva couldn’t resist tearing into the envelope Roxanne had given her.
    It turned out to be a three-page epistle from Dee Samson, the young woman who had verbally sucker punched Geneva four months ago while she