Flood Plains by Mark Wheaton (best ereader under 100 .TXT) 📕

Why do I feel sorry for you? Because you’re the one who has—had?—to go home and tell our daughter what her daddy did. That should’ve been me.

He’d pause so she’d know exactly where his head and heart had been. Then he’d bring it on home.

The guys in here say that if you plead ‘no contest,’ first offenders get off with probation, as the jails are so crowded. Only, when I get out, I’ll be out of a job. I’ll have more time to train, sure, but that’s where I need your help. I need you to help keep me on the straight and narrow. Now, but also when things start to get hectic. With the money, the travel, the fame, all that. You’ve seen how easily my head gets unscrewed. Everything’s better when you’re next to me, and that’s what I want. For now, for always. It all starts tomorrow in that courtroom.

He liked how it sounded. Self-deprecating, a little funny. He thought she’d go for it hook, line, and sinker. He wasn’t saying “marriage,” but she’d know that’s what he meant. That’s what she wanted, right?

“Sir? Could you try my fiancée again?”

The deputy raised an impatient finger.

“Things are starting to get rough out there. You’re going to have to wait a minute.”

•  •  •

By the time Big Time got home, the rain had become absurd. The drops were as big as hail-stones, and the wipers were useless. He could see nothing through his windshield but the water coursing down it like he was in a car wash. As water scoured the undercarriage of his truck, he slowed down even more. He could barely make out the dim red taillights of the Honda he knew was only a few feet in front of him. He also didn’t want to get rear-ended if he decelerated too much.

He’d already gotten a message from Mona saying she was going in early, as her office was offering time-and-a-half that night. That left the boys and Erna at the house. He figured there’d be enough food in the fridge, but that’s when he stopped himself. This was everybody’s first hurricane since Katrina.

When he jumped off the 610 Loop to take the Eastex Freeway down to Fifth Ward, he got off three exits before Crosstimbers. To his surprise, the Popeye’s Chicken on the corner was not only open when he got there, but empty.

“Am I glad to see you!” he announced to the manager as he walked in.

The manager, who’d been mopping water that sluiced under the doors, grinned ruefully.

“It’s not safe out there on the roads. We took a vote, figuring we might as well stay on shift.”

“Well, my family certainly will appreciate it.”

Big Time ordered and bullshitted with the manager while his order was filled.

“We’re going to lose power, no question,” the manager said, indicating around the restaurant. “Another reason to stay on late if we might lose a couple of shifts next week. I just hope it doesn’t get flooded.”

“Yeah, hoping that about my house,” Big Time joked. “My factory floods, they’ll figure it out. My home goes? Shit.”

“Heh, I’m on the fourth floor of my building. I’ve got to worry about the roof!”

When his chicken was ready, the manager offered to wrap the box in a trash bag, which Big Time gratefully accepted. Nodding a thanks, he raced back out to his truck. He drove the rest of the way home on the frontage road.

When he turned onto Crosstimbers, he was amazed to see the Louisiana-hating gas station owner still had the lights on. He could even make out the guy inside watching the news.

Pulling onto his driveway a couple of minutes later, Big Time got a shock when he saw his mother, Erna, sitting on the porch. Though the porch had a good, strong ceiling and she was sitting a ways back in her metal rocker, Big Time knew the wind must be blowing a cold, steady spray of rain in her face.

He parked in the garage and hurried around the sidewalk to join his mom.

“How’s it going?”

“Gettin’ cold. I need my red coat.”

Big Time considered suggesting she simply come inside but then realized who he was dealing with.

“I’ll get it. In the closet?”

“That’s my camel coat. I need the red one. It’s on my bed.”

Big Time came back with it and slipped it over her shoulders.

“You want some chicken?”

“Maybe so.”

Big Time knew what this answer meant.

“Something on your mind?”

“Your brother called to see how we were. Said he was looking forward to my ‘visit.’”

Oops. Big Time had known delaying this talk would eventually bite him the ass.

“We’re seven in a house built for three,” Big Time began. “He’s got twice as much room…”

“I ain’t livin’ by the water anymore. Learned that lesson.”

“They’re eight miles inland. And that’s Mississippi, not Louisiana. High ground. Also, most everything we saved from your house is already over there in his garage. You just have to go through it.”

As soon as he said that, Big Time realized that was the wrong tack. Her house had been completely destroyed when the levees broke. Anything they salvaged would only point towards all that now missing.

“I told you, I don’t want none of it,” Erna retorted. “Throw it away. Give it to somebody who needs it or wants it because that’s not me.”

“Mama,” Big Time sighed.

But Erna had already ended the conversation by turning her back on her son to look out towards the driving rain.

Chapter 9

Johnson Space Center, twenty-five miles inland from Galveston, had been battered all evening by strong winds and heavy rain. All non-essential personnel were sent home, which meant a cancellation of training, tours, a pair of scheduled lectures, and maintenance work. Scientists and engineers, some accustomed to camping out in their offices for a couple of hours of sleep in between marathon laboratory sessions, were incredulous to find security officers directing them out of the buildings. Some had no idea a hurricane was approaching.

At nearby Ellington Field, the