“Warren!”
He was right behind her, and said, “I will be damned. I should a cut some a them branches over this house like I said. I was afraid this might happen one a these days, what with that piece a tin missing up there.”
The hissing grew louder as the water continued to hit the stove. Rae Lynn grabbed a bucket filled with wood near the stove, dumped the wood out, and stuck it under the leak. Warren stared at the ceiling.
He said, “I got to get that limb off the roof, or it’s gonna make it worse.”
“You can’t do nothing in this downpour, Warren. The food’s done, anyway. Come on and eat. Wait till it stops raining at least.”
“I got a canvas piece with some pitch on it; it’ll hold till I can fix it proper. All I gotta do is move the limb and cover the hole.”
“It ain’t no sense in doing it this minute!” Rae Lynn’s temper rose as he ignored her.
He said, “I need you to hold the ladder. Get your coat on. Won’t take long.”
She huffed in frustration, and she decided then and there to put her foot down. To say something.
“No, it’s a bad idea. You might get hurt. Or me.”
He stared at her in surprise. “You ain’t gonna help me?”
She folded her arms. “It can wait, Warren.”
He flapped a hand at her and went outside. She watched as he ran to the small barn behind the house, where they kept their john mule, Dewey. A few minutes later, he came out with a ladder, the pitch bucket covered with a cloth, and the canvas plopped over his head. She went onto the porch, saw him lean the ladder against the side of the house near the midsection where the chimney rose. He climbed one-handed, carrying the pitch bucket and was almost at the top rung when she yelled at him, her voice barely rising above the clap of thunder.
“I wished you’d wait!”
Warren yelled back, “I don’t want the damn house full of water. Do you?”
Rae Lynn fumed at his stubbornness as the storm grew worse. The split rail fencing, pines, and outhouse were shrouded in mist as the temperature dropped from the heat earlier in the day, and Rae Lynn actually shivered. Back inside, she dumped the okra and tomatoes into a bowl, not caring she spilled some. She set the biscuits on the table while listening to Warren thumping about overhead. The limb remained partially through the roof, moving now and then like he was tugging on it. She tried not to envision his attempts to free it while standing on a slick roof.
She forced her attention back to setting the table, placing a crock of butter beside the biscuits. More scraping noises came and she grabbed a rag to mop up the puddle forming on the floorboards where rainwater drizzled in. The limb still poked through.
She was still on her hands and knees dabbing at another puddle when she heard, “Oh hell!” and an ominous skidding noise followed by a heavy thud.
She whispered, “Dear God,” jumped to her feet, and ran outside.
Warren lay facedown, draped over the wooden flower box he’d built for her five summers ago. The ladder was on the ground. Before she could get to him, he rolled over onto his back. It was the way he looked, the sound coming from him that stopped her. Grimacing and clenching his teeth, a guttural sound rose from him, but he cut it short when he saw her. He raised his arm, and she went to his side, dropping to her knees in the mud. She lifted his head onto her lap.
Bent over him, she said, “Where you hurting?”
Warren dug at his left side, below his ribs. He tried moving, his fingers prodding the area, his pain obvious.
Rae Lynn said, “Can’t you get up?”
Another crack of thunder came, followed by a flash of lightning. Warren looked around, appearing disoriented.
She repeated the question, “Warren, can’t you get up?”
He rolled onto his knees and hands, letting out a deep moan as he did so.
“I done got stoved up but good!” he wheezed.
“Let me help you.”
She grabbed his right arm, and between the two of them, he got to his feet. Hunched over, he continued to hold his side as she stumbled along with him through the muck and driving rain, both of them soaked now. When Warren got to the steps, he let go of her arm and grabbed the rail to haul himself up, one step at a time. He staggered through the front door and on to their bedroom. She followed, her hand on the small of his back.
Once there, she said, “Take off them wet clothes and get in the bed.”
He pulled the straps on his overalls off his shoulders and let them drop to the floor in a blue sodden pile around his ankles. He sat, and she pulled his boots off. He kicked the overalls out of the way and twisted around so he could lie on the bed while Rae Lynn raised his undershirt to reveal a bruised, reddish area.