AUGUST 28, 6:30 PM
Reesie looked out Miss Martine’s front window. Clouds had finally rolled in, and a strong, steady rain was falling. There were no more slamming doors, or cars creeping along. She didn’t see headlights or taillights, or even house lights. It was hard to tell if she and Miss Martine were the last people on the block.
What were her parents doing, and why hadn’t she heard from them? Was Orlando having room service somewhere? Was Ayanna hanging out with her cousins? She even smiled to herself at the thought that Bernice might still be finishing up one last customer.
Maybe it would all be a bust, but Reesie felt the weight of waiting, and it was horrible. Waiting for her phone to ring or buzz. Waiting for Katrina.
“Let’s take our minds off all this storm mess,” Miss Martine said, clapping her hands. “Child, when I’m upset, I cook. In fact, I bet I can cook up a bigger storm than old Katrina!”
Reesie couldn’t help but burst into laughter.
“We’ll make meat pies,” Miss Martine told her. “That way, if the power goes out, we’ll have something we can eat cold.”
They proceeded to chop onions and garlic and bell peppers. Miss Martine directed Reesie to drawers and cabinets stocked with dishes, bowls, and fancy serving platters. Each one had a story, and Miss Martine told them all. Reesie found herself laughing even more and asking questions, forgetting the tight place in the pit of her stomach. She felt as if Ma Maw were with her again.
The aroma of the frying crust and spicy meat began to fill the house as the rain lashed hard against the windows. Reesie counted one, then two dozen of the golden half-moons spread on paper-towel-covered trays—and Miss Martine was still scooping more pies out of the hot oil.
“You know, I ran into a fellow once who was selling videotapes of Micheaux movies. I don’t know where he found the film, but they’re the real deal! I bought one or two of them. We can watch one if you set up the video machine. I never can figure that thing out.”
“No way!” Reesie turned to see Miss Martine’s eyes twinkling. “Black-and-white?”
“Course!” She nodded toward the other room. “Look through that armoire in front of the couch.”
Reesie stared at the huge piece of furniture, and when she went to pull at its double doors, she found a bulky old TV set sitting on top of a VCR. Not even a DVD player. She smiled to herself. But then, the boxes stacked neatly beside the TV were all videotapes. She scanned the titles until she saw the name Micheaux written in spidery script on the spine of one box. The tape inside only had a plain label on it that read SWING, 1938.
“This is soooo old!” Reesie murmured. She slid the tape in, rewound it, and it was ready to go. “It’s in, Miss Martine,” she called out, pressing play.
“I’ll be right there.”
Just as Reesie settled onto the sofa, the lights flickered. Then the TV picture turned to static, and the power went completely out.
“Hey!” Reesie shouted.
“Good gracious! It’s only the lights,” Miss Martine said.
But Reesie jumped up, banged her knee, and sent something thudding to the floor.
“Don’t move,” Miss Martine ordered. “You’ll hurt yourself. Let me get my searchlight.”
“O-okay,” Reesie answered. She wouldn’t dare move. It was pitch-black. The wind was actually whistling, the way it did in horror movies, and trees were scratching at the windows. For a minute she imagined that she felt the whole house move, but then it seemed still.
“That’s freaking crazy,” she mumbled out loud.
“Say what?” A strong beam of light suddenly shone from the kitchen. Reesie could see Miss Martine’s face in the shadows.
“N-nothing.” Reesie was still trembling. And all at once, she was super-hungry. It was ridiculous. How could she be totally scared, and starving too?
Reesie blinked. Miss Martine was smiling, motioning in her direction.
“We might as well eat a little something,” she said. “Seems to me, people always eat when their nerves are bad. Watch where you step, now.”
Miss Martine plunked her flashlight on a counter and rifled through a kitchen drawer. She produced a tall candle, lit it, and set it in the center of the table.
“What kind of New Orleans girl are you, afraid of a little wind?” she asked.
Reesie shrugged. “One time during a storm, when I was little, Ma Maw took Junior and me into the middle bedroom while the house shook like crazy! I mean, we were okay and everything, but—I just don’t like any of it.”
“I’ve been blessed since I bought this house,” Miss Martine said. “I never suffered more than a few inches of water and some missing shingles.”
“But aren’t you—weren’t you scared to be in here by yourself?” Reesie asked.
Miss Martine smiled. “I know it’s odd for you young people to be alone, but we old people get used to it.”
Reesie did think it was weird, but she didn’t say that. She nervously chewed on a meat pie, listening to the wind rumble. The rain was pounding now, and a clap of thunder almost knocked her off the stool she was sitting on. The searchlight was dancing along the counter by itself. The house was really shaking. The walls were straining and creaking.
“Miss M, do you think … do you think Katrina is the ‘big one,’ like everybody’s saying?”
Before Miss Martine could answer, an explosive burst of wind blew the candle out and rocked the building from its brick foundation up. Glass rattled and windows popped, tinkling as their shards flew everywhere. Reesie jumped off the stool and crawled under the table. Miss Martine eased to her knees and grabbed one of Reesie’s hands. Reesie squeezed the old lady’s soft arm.
“Just keep still,” Miss Martine whispered.
The searchlight finally clattered to the floor and went out, spinning underneath the table alongside them. Then a thunderous crash hit the side of the house.
“Wh-what was that?” Reesie’s eyes were wide in the dark.
“I think it was the roof over my bedroom,” Miss Martine said. A moment later they heard a sound like a giant shower running at full force.
Katrina raged and stomped across New Orleans.
Reesie and Miss Martine clung to each other under the table. The hurricane kept rolling. Reesie closed her eyes tight, telling herself that it couldn’t possibly be her house that the trees were falling on. It couldn’t be her house that the wind had just flattened with another boom.
“Now, I’m just thinking,” Miss Martine said calmly during a lull in the wind. “How silly an old woman am I to stay here for a bunch of books and souvenirs from two lifetimes ago?” She shifted her weight away from Reesie and clicked her tongue, fussing at herself.
Distracted from her fear, Reesie opened her eyes.
“That’s not silly. It’s like you said. These are your precious things!”
“Things seem to be all I have left,” Miss Martine said.
“I think there are some things that are special,” Reesie said.
“Like what?” Miss Martine asked as trees crackled and cracked outside.
Reesie described the antique clock Mama’s uncle had brought back from his time in World War II, and the Kenyan stool her parents had gotten when they went to Africa before she was born. She told Miss Martine about Junior’s basketball trophies and her own stacks of sketchbooks.…
“And then there’s Ma Maw’s old sewing machine,” she said.
“She’s the one who taught you?”
Reesie nodded.
“I should have known. Your grandmother always had an eye for fashion. I made her a pie every now and then, and she’d hem a dress for me in return.”
“That’s so cool,” Reesie said, thinking how crazy it was that she never knew any of that.
Rain whipped against the windows, pounding on the roof. For a moment the roar outside magnified the small noises inside: boxes bumped and shifted; windows rattled all around. It was like intense music, overwhelming with its sound and hypnotic rhythm. Reesie tapped her toe to the strange beat, and tried to imagine that she was somewhere else. Anywhere else.
* * *
Orlando was kissing her in Audubon Park, one of the most beautiful places in New Orleans. She was wearing a brilliant blue sundress that she’d designed.… But they were wrenched away from each other by some force she couldn’t see. Next she was at the Audubon Zoo, sailing around on the carousel and looking frantically for the brown speck that would be Orlando, but she couldn’t find him as the ride spun faster and faster.
“Hey! Open up! Open up! Let me in! Anybody in there?” Orlando was yelling.… How in the world could she let him in to the carousel? How loud could that boy get?
“Open up!”
Reesie jumped. She’d been asleep.
“Teresa!” Miss Martine was shaking her shoulder. “Wake up, child, there’s somebody at the door, and I’m too stiff to get up.”
Reesie blinked awake. The wind had stopped.
Her back ached; her shoulders and legs ached. The door chimes were making her head ache. But before she moved, she looked at Miss Martine.
“What happened? Is the hurricane over?” Reesie knew that there was a calm spot in the middle of every hurricane, and as the storm passed over land, that eye in the center could fool you.
The doorbell chimes had been joined by furious banging.
“It’s over,” Miss Martine said. “Go on, now. See who it is!”
“We’re in here!” Reesie shouted. “I’m coming!” Maybe it was her father, she thought. She moved a little faster, clumsily unbolting all Miss Martine’s security locks and throwing the door open.
Standing there like a giant wet puppy with dreadlocks was Orlando’s missing brother, André.