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( CHAPTER TWO )
As it turns out, running barefoot through the marsh was not my best idea. By the time I make it to my yard, my legs are burning and my feet are full of stickers. However, the sensation fades straight out of mind the moment I lay eyes on my house.
On a normal day, the house I share with Aunt Cris and Alex is the coziest place this side of Kildare County. It's a big stilted boathouse on the very edge of the marsh, and it's been periwinkle blue since my aunt got it in mind to paint it last summer.
Aunt Cris's day job is interior styling for the folks on Figure Eight, so naturally, our whole house is full of houseplants and lace curtains and well-placed knickknacks. It's got a wraparound deck, too, which she takes great pride in fully decking out—pun definitely intended—with every bit of outdoor decor she can get her hands on.
Now though...
The house looks naked without its usual jewelry of wind chimes and bird feeders lining the deck, and the closer I look, I can see that the high winds from the storm have whipped strips of paint off the sides. But that's not the worst of it.
Across the very back of the deck, less than ten feet from my bedroom, there's a tree the size of Texas just laying there like it owns the place.
Fuck. Not a today problem, Thea.
The inside of the house, save a hole through the kitchen window, is fairly untouched by anything but the work of my dear, eccentric Aunt Cristal. Before she left for the mainland, she brought everything from the deck inside, and now the the house looks like some kind of sanctuary for lost and abandoned porch furniture.
I could spend the morning putting it all back out, but one pillow out of place could incur the wrath of my aunt, so instead, I make a beeline past the chaos of the Leaning Tower of Decor toward my bedroom.
Part of me wants to either curl up in bed and sleep away the last day or maybe just scrub it off in the shower. Unfortunately, neither of those things are an option now since the boys are probably already on the way over, and there isn't a drop of running water in the house. So... I compromise.
I strip out of the clothes from yesterday, leaving them in a haphazard pile next to the bed, and resort to what I have come to affectionately call the "walk of shame shower." It involves a pack of wet wipes and approximately one whole can of dry shampoo.
In the process, I also pull JJ's makeshift bandage off of my knee, revealing a wound that still looks pretty nasty, though not as infected looking as yesterday.
Then, I change into a yellow bikini that ties up in the front and pull the t-shirt from earlier back over my head. I'm almost ready to go wait for the boys by the water when I catch my reflection in the mirror for the second time this morning.
