The Beau & the Belle
Page 17
“Hasn’t he had girlfriends?”
She shrugs. “I assume so. I remember him mentioning one or two over the years, but he’s never bothered bringing one out here. I think he’s careful not to get my hopes up.”
“Well he only brought me here today because my mom bribed him,” I say with a self-deprecating laugh.
She frowns. “I don’t know, Beau’s never been very motivated by money. If you’re here, it’s because he wants you to be.”
Hope blooms in my chest.
I’VE GIVEN UP. I’m sitting on my mom’s couch with my third cup of coffee, wishing I’d brought one of my textbooks with me. As it is, I’m flipping through TV channels trying to find something that will hold my attention. Lauren and my mom are outside, where they’ve been for the last two hours. There’s no point in trying to break up their conversation. I’ve tried and it was unsuccessful. Their love for one another started the moment Lauren hopped out of my truck wearing her LSU football jersey and cutoff blue jean shorts. Her long curls spilled down around her shoulders and my mom practically jumped for the joy at the sight of her, like she actually thought I was bringing a woman home for her to meet.
She knows Lauren and I aren’t dating. She knows there’s no point in getting close to her. Lauren won’t be coming back here, but that doesn’t stop her from being smitten. It’s the exact reason I’ve never brought a woman home before.
Another round of laughter filters in through the open window, and I crank the volume and flip to local news. There’s more coverage about the storm, but this time there’s a bold headline filling the top quarter of the screen.
BREAKING NEWS: HURRICANE AUDREY CHANGES COURSE,
STEAMS TOWARD NEW ORLEANS
“Mom! Lauren!” I shout, calling them inside.
“One sec,” my mom calls back.
“No! Now!”
I stand and try to read the text scrolling along the bottom of the screen. Phrases jump out at me: updated computer models, historic rainfall expected, disaster declaration.
Lauren and my mom come inside, all smiles and laughter. I point to the screen and watch as my mom’s face turns somber. Her eyes flit across the words, and I know she’s thinking the same thing I am.
The three of us stand there listening to the breaking news report for a few minutes in silence. If the meteorologists are right, the city is going to have to brace for a direct hit.
“Earlier in the week, European modeling had the hurricane tracking toward Florida, but according to the latest satellite imagery, that has changed. We expect that Mayor Westcott, in conjunction with the National Weather Service, will issue a mandatory evacuation order within the next 12 hours. Citizens of New Orleans and outlying parishes should heed this warning. You’ve likely ridden out bad storms in the past, but I guarantee you’ve seen none like this. Hurricane Audrey is going to be different. Due to the two low-pressure systems drawing the storm toward the coast, we are dealing with an unusually abbreviated time frame. This storm is going to make landfall directly over New Orleans, where it is expected to stall out and maintain a tropical storm status for at least three days following, all the while dumping rain onto the city.”
“This came out of nowhere! Has there ever even been a mandatory evacuation of New Orleans?” Lauren asks, turning back and looking between my mom and me.
We both shake our heads, too stunned for words.
Lauren’s eyes widen and I turn back to grab my mom’s house phone from its charging base. “You need to call your mom—she’s probably been trying to get in contact with you.”
Lauren takes it and frowns. “I wonder if my tour at LSU will still happen.”
She walks out of the room to call home and I turn to my mom. She’s holding her hand over her mouth, her eyes glued to the news.
“The Army Corp of Engineers is working to monitor the levees around the city. Ongoing repairs were put on hold last month due to budget cuts, and now citizens are wondering how that will affect the city’s flood management system.”
“Maybe they’re making a mountain out of a molehill,” my mom says hopefully. “They just want the ratings.”
I stuff my hands in my jean pockets and shake my head. “Maybe, but it doesn’t look like it.”
“What are you going to do?” she asks, finally turning to face me.
“Get Lauren home and then see if Tulane has said anything. Chances are I already have an email about classes being canceled, but I’ll know more once I get back to my computer.”
She nods and turns back to the kitchen. “I’ll head to the grocery store and grab some supplies.”
My mom’s property is in one of the parishes surrounding New Orleans, and they haven’t said whether or not she’ll have to evacuate.
“I can help with everything once I get back.”
“When is the hurricane supposed to hit?”
“Not for a few days, but that could change.”
Lauren walks back into the room then, her face pale and her eyes wide. “My mom wants me to get back.”
“Are you okay?” I ask, crossing the room toward her before I realize what I’m doing.
I glance down at her hands squeezing the phone, and I reach down to dislodge it from her grip.
“My parents are obviously worried. They said to skip the tour and head back now while there’s still time to figure everything out. My mom says if there’s a mandatory evacuation ordered soon, the traffic’s going to be a disaster.”
She’s right.
There are probably the telltale lines already forming at grocery stores and gas stations.
My mom jumps into action, making sure Lauren has her purse and some water for the road. She squeezes her in a long hug and brushes her blonde hair away from her face. “Stay safe, okay? And make sure Beau doesn’t speed getting you home. There’s no rush, you hear?”
Lauren nods and hugs her one more time before turning for my truck.
“Sorry our stay got cut short,” I say, bending down to hug my mom.
She shakes her head and steps back. “Who could’ve predicted it? Make sure Lauren and her family are okay. I’m sure they’ll figure it out, but they’re welcome to come here if they have nowhere else to go.”
“I’ll let ’em know, Mom.”
She follows me out onto the porch and watches as Lauren and I hop back into my truck. The excitement I saw in her gaze when we first arrived is long gone.
“Do you mind if I put it on the news?” Lauren asks, already flipping through the radio channels.
“Here, I got it,” I say, pressing the preset number.
If we were hoping to hear more sober, measured analysis on the radio, we are sorely disappointed. Reporters and parish officials strain their vocabularies to describe the horror and devastation New Orleans is likely to face. It’s a never-ending cycle, and by the time we’re rounding the corner onto Lauren’s street, her hands are balled up in her lap, wringing themselves out.
“Hey,” I say, drawing her attention from the window. “It’s going to be okay. Your parents have lived here a long time—they know how to prepare for storms like this.”
She nods, but her eyes are distant like she doesn’t quite believe me.
“You’re going back to be with your mom, right? She shouldn’t be out there by herself,” Lauren says, flitting her gaze back in the direction we just came from.
“Of course. We’ll be fine too.”
She sighs like that’s a weight off her shoulders.
THE CITY TRANSFORMS in a matter of hours. Tulane and most other schools in the area cancel classes for the next week. A voluntary evacuation is in effect the first day, but it isn’t long before it’s made mandatory. The city is in a panic. By the time I wake up the following morning, Mr. LeBlanc is outside struggling to install the custom aluminum storm shutters over the windows of their house. I throw on a t-shirt and shorts and offer to help. He tells me I should go be with my mom, but I insist. Together, we prepare the house for the impending storm. Lauren is flitting around inside, gathering up things her mom shouts for her to get: their important documents, family photos, some food, water.
She shrugs. “I assume so. I remember him mentioning one or two over the years, but he’s never bothered bringing one out here. I think he’s careful not to get my hopes up.”
“Well he only brought me here today because my mom bribed him,” I say with a self-deprecating laugh.
She frowns. “I don’t know, Beau’s never been very motivated by money. If you’re here, it’s because he wants you to be.”
Hope blooms in my chest.
I’VE GIVEN UP. I’m sitting on my mom’s couch with my third cup of coffee, wishing I’d brought one of my textbooks with me. As it is, I’m flipping through TV channels trying to find something that will hold my attention. Lauren and my mom are outside, where they’ve been for the last two hours. There’s no point in trying to break up their conversation. I’ve tried and it was unsuccessful. Their love for one another started the moment Lauren hopped out of my truck wearing her LSU football jersey and cutoff blue jean shorts. Her long curls spilled down around her shoulders and my mom practically jumped for the joy at the sight of her, like she actually thought I was bringing a woman home for her to meet.
She knows Lauren and I aren’t dating. She knows there’s no point in getting close to her. Lauren won’t be coming back here, but that doesn’t stop her from being smitten. It’s the exact reason I’ve never brought a woman home before.
Another round of laughter filters in through the open window, and I crank the volume and flip to local news. There’s more coverage about the storm, but this time there’s a bold headline filling the top quarter of the screen.
BREAKING NEWS: HURRICANE AUDREY CHANGES COURSE,
STEAMS TOWARD NEW ORLEANS
“Mom! Lauren!” I shout, calling them inside.
“One sec,” my mom calls back.
“No! Now!”
I stand and try to read the text scrolling along the bottom of the screen. Phrases jump out at me: updated computer models, historic rainfall expected, disaster declaration.
Lauren and my mom come inside, all smiles and laughter. I point to the screen and watch as my mom’s face turns somber. Her eyes flit across the words, and I know she’s thinking the same thing I am.
The three of us stand there listening to the breaking news report for a few minutes in silence. If the meteorologists are right, the city is going to have to brace for a direct hit.
“Earlier in the week, European modeling had the hurricane tracking toward Florida, but according to the latest satellite imagery, that has changed. We expect that Mayor Westcott, in conjunction with the National Weather Service, will issue a mandatory evacuation order within the next 12 hours. Citizens of New Orleans and outlying parishes should heed this warning. You’ve likely ridden out bad storms in the past, but I guarantee you’ve seen none like this. Hurricane Audrey is going to be different. Due to the two low-pressure systems drawing the storm toward the coast, we are dealing with an unusually abbreviated time frame. This storm is going to make landfall directly over New Orleans, where it is expected to stall out and maintain a tropical storm status for at least three days following, all the while dumping rain onto the city.”
“This came out of nowhere! Has there ever even been a mandatory evacuation of New Orleans?” Lauren asks, turning back and looking between my mom and me.
We both shake our heads, too stunned for words.
Lauren’s eyes widen and I turn back to grab my mom’s house phone from its charging base. “You need to call your mom—she’s probably been trying to get in contact with you.”
Lauren takes it and frowns. “I wonder if my tour at LSU will still happen.”
She walks out of the room to call home and I turn to my mom. She’s holding her hand over her mouth, her eyes glued to the news.
“The Army Corp of Engineers is working to monitor the levees around the city. Ongoing repairs were put on hold last month due to budget cuts, and now citizens are wondering how that will affect the city’s flood management system.”
“Maybe they’re making a mountain out of a molehill,” my mom says hopefully. “They just want the ratings.”
I stuff my hands in my jean pockets and shake my head. “Maybe, but it doesn’t look like it.”
“What are you going to do?” she asks, finally turning to face me.
“Get Lauren home and then see if Tulane has said anything. Chances are I already have an email about classes being canceled, but I’ll know more once I get back to my computer.”
She nods and turns back to the kitchen. “I’ll head to the grocery store and grab some supplies.”
My mom’s property is in one of the parishes surrounding New Orleans, and they haven’t said whether or not she’ll have to evacuate.
“I can help with everything once I get back.”
“When is the hurricane supposed to hit?”
“Not for a few days, but that could change.”
Lauren walks back into the room then, her face pale and her eyes wide. “My mom wants me to get back.”
“Are you okay?” I ask, crossing the room toward her before I realize what I’m doing.
I glance down at her hands squeezing the phone, and I reach down to dislodge it from her grip.
“My parents are obviously worried. They said to skip the tour and head back now while there’s still time to figure everything out. My mom says if there’s a mandatory evacuation ordered soon, the traffic’s going to be a disaster.”
She’s right.
There are probably the telltale lines already forming at grocery stores and gas stations.
My mom jumps into action, making sure Lauren has her purse and some water for the road. She squeezes her in a long hug and brushes her blonde hair away from her face. “Stay safe, okay? And make sure Beau doesn’t speed getting you home. There’s no rush, you hear?”
Lauren nods and hugs her one more time before turning for my truck.
“Sorry our stay got cut short,” I say, bending down to hug my mom.
She shakes her head and steps back. “Who could’ve predicted it? Make sure Lauren and her family are okay. I’m sure they’ll figure it out, but they’re welcome to come here if they have nowhere else to go.”
“I’ll let ’em know, Mom.”
She follows me out onto the porch and watches as Lauren and I hop back into my truck. The excitement I saw in her gaze when we first arrived is long gone.
“Do you mind if I put it on the news?” Lauren asks, already flipping through the radio channels.
“Here, I got it,” I say, pressing the preset number.
If we were hoping to hear more sober, measured analysis on the radio, we are sorely disappointed. Reporters and parish officials strain their vocabularies to describe the horror and devastation New Orleans is likely to face. It’s a never-ending cycle, and by the time we’re rounding the corner onto Lauren’s street, her hands are balled up in her lap, wringing themselves out.
“Hey,” I say, drawing her attention from the window. “It’s going to be okay. Your parents have lived here a long time—they know how to prepare for storms like this.”
She nods, but her eyes are distant like she doesn’t quite believe me.
“You’re going back to be with your mom, right? She shouldn’t be out there by herself,” Lauren says, flitting her gaze back in the direction we just came from.
“Of course. We’ll be fine too.”
She sighs like that’s a weight off her shoulders.
THE CITY TRANSFORMS in a matter of hours. Tulane and most other schools in the area cancel classes for the next week. A voluntary evacuation is in effect the first day, but it isn’t long before it’s made mandatory. The city is in a panic. By the time I wake up the following morning, Mr. LeBlanc is outside struggling to install the custom aluminum storm shutters over the windows of their house. I throw on a t-shirt and shorts and offer to help. He tells me I should go be with my mom, but I insist. Together, we prepare the house for the impending storm. Lauren is flitting around inside, gathering up things her mom shouts for her to get: their important documents, family photos, some food, water.
