The inside of the tent Mitchell takes me to is filled with food and water and phones and computers. And people doing things. Helping. Organizing. It’s a finely tuned machine in the middle of chaos.
“How are you running all of this?” I ask.
“FEMA. We’re set up for search and rescue and triage. And those emergency cell towers make communication possible by phone and computer.”
“Your phones work?”
“That’s why I brought you here,” Mitchell says as his dog sniffs at my feet. “Call your mom.”
“I thought none of this stuff was working. Like anywhere.”
“Until last night, it wasn’t. More towers went up this morning. Phones are finally getting reception. Go ahead. Try.”
I can barely dial because my hands are shaking. What if I call my mom and she doesn’t answer? What if I get that old-timey ring again? I feel like I’m being set up for failure here. But on the second ring someone answers. A man. I almost hang up, convinced my shaky fingers dialed the wrong number. Or the temporary phone towers are making wires cross.
“Mom? I’m looking for my mom.”
“Ruby, is that you?” The voice crackles through the line. “Where are you? Are you okay?”
I recognize him this time.
“Coach? Where are you? Are you with my mom? Is she okay?”
“Where are you right now?”
My words come out in a rush. Telling him how I got here. About the hospital. The van. The devastation at my mom’s office. The tent. Mitchell.
“Don’t move. I’ll come to you.”
“Is my mom there? Are you both coming?”
But he’s already hung up.
Mitchell assures me it’s the unreliable reception, but I worry it’s something more. That Coach is coming because my mom can’t. Why did he answer her phone? Why didn’t he reassure me that she’s okay?