“I’m going to get up on the roof and tie a rope around the branches to lower them down to you two. Then I’ve got some stuff to cover the hole. It’ll be quick.” I’m lying. It won’t be quick. But it’s got to be done, and the more Steph keeps us standing around worrying, the worse it’ll get.
“Just tell us what to do,” Alana says, nodding. This might be the most words she’s said to me that weren’t accompanied by a sarcastic smirk. That’s progress, I suppose.
Together the three of us trudge through the downpour to get all the supplies positioned in the backyard and stand the ladder against the side of the house. RIP their living room carpet. I know I’m taking my life into my own hands climbing a metal ladder in the middle of a thunderstorm, but it’s been several minutes since the last flash of lightning, so I take my chances and climb up with the rope over my shoulder.
Wearing a borrowed pair of Steph’s hiking boots, I walk across the slanted roof. Every step is like being on ice skates for the first time, except here I can’t hug the railing for support. Careful not to make any sudden movements, I manage to tie the rope around the huge, forked branch of the tree, then ball up the slack and make my best Hail Mary pass at throwing it over an exposed limb of the tree to act as a pulley. I succeed on the first attempt. Hell yeah.
On the ground, Steph and Alana take up the weight as best they can as I gingerly help push the branch off the side of the house. As they lower it to the ground, I immediately see where some shingles are missing and a foot-wide dent has been punched through the roof, water pouring inside.
I gingerly make my way down to the ground, where the girls have untied the rope.
“How bad is it?” Steph asks, wiping in vain at the water pouring down her face. We’re standing in about four inches of mud at this point. The yard has pretty much turned to liquid and my feet squish inside Steph’s boots.
“It’s not big, but there’s definitely a hole,” I report.
We’re practically shouting through the deafening wind and rain beating down on the metal porch roof and pelting the trees.
I shove my wet hair off my forehead. “Best we can do is cover it up and hope the rain stops soon.”
“What do you need?” Alana eyes me anxiously from under the rim of a baseball cap. Her bright red hair is plastered to her neck.
“I’ll take the staple gun, hammer, and nails with me. Then you and Steph tie the tarp to the rope so I can pull it up once I’m up there.”
“Be careful,” Steph reminds me for the fifth time.
I appreciate the concern, but really, I want to get this done and get dry. My fingers are already turning pruney, I’ve got a water-logged wedgie riding up my ass, and the chill has soaked into my bones. After they raise the tarp to me and I cut a large-enough piece off with Alana’s pocketknife, I tack it down with the staple gun to hold it in place while I put in some sturdier nails. I’m shivering so violently, my teeth chattering, it takes forever to get the nails in.
“You okay?” Steph shouts from the ground.
I get a nail about halfway in, then miss it when the hammer slips, and bend the damn thing. Oh, to hell with it. Good enough.
“Coming down,” I shout back.
I scurry my ass down the ladder and we all bolt inside, leaving the rope and tarp in the yard, right as a massive crack of lighting seems to strike right on top of us.
In the laundry room, we strip down to our underwear and toss our wet, muddy clothes in the washing machine.
“That was close.” Alana gives me a wide, exhilarated smile that I wholeheartedly return, both of us seemingly aware that we escaped by the skin of our teeth.
“Too close,” Steph says with a frazzled look. “What would I tell Cooper if you got electrocuted up there?”
“Yeah, no.” From the linen closet, Alana pulls out three blankets for us to warm up in. “We would’ve had to hide the body and tell Cooper you skipped town.” When I raise an eyebrow at her, she shrugs, grinning blithely. “What? You haven’t seen Cooper’s temper. It’s self-preservation at that point.”
Alana and I go into the living room. Steph puts on a pot of coffee. I’m shivering, wrapped up in my blanket cocoon on the couch, when Alana gets a phone call.
“Hey,” she answers. “Yeah, we figured it out. She’s here, actually. Sure. See ya.” She sets the phone down and takes a seat beside me. “They’re on their way over.”
“Think I could borrow some clothes to go home in?” I ask. With my stuff in the wash, I’d rather not leave here in nothing but my underwear and Cooper’s rain jacket.