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Then, as we all have done several times over, we get clean, warm blankets, and set all of them up by the fireplace.
“Will this rain ever let up?” I ask, after resuming my task in the kitchen.
“I sure hope so. I miss my family like crazy.”
Another crack of lightning and thunder can soon be overheard, almost like the sky heard us and is mocking us.
“Ugh,” Coral groans.
When we finish the last dish, we join the rest by the fire, and I marvel at how the embers reflect beautifully in Dean’s gray eyes. I love the little family we’ve built during this storm, but I wish we were alone so I could kiss him again. I yearn to feel his stubble once again against my cheek. And my fingers tingle with their desire to twist in his hair.
“What are you thinking about, Mom?” Mina asks.
“Huh?”
“Your eyes went all blank, and you were biting on your lip.”
“Oh. Um, I was just hoping the weather would clear up.”
I look over to Dean, and he grins widely as if he knows exactly what I was thinking. He’s sitting on the floor with his knees up and his arms resting on them. I wonder if he wants me as badly as I want him.
My thoughts are interrupted again when Dean’s phone rings.
“Oh, I guess I have service now. Excuse me for a second.”
“Sure.”
He goes into the kitchen, and I can only hear his muffled voice, but he sounds angry.
“That was Anna.”
“She was able to get through to you all the way from Mexico? I can’t even get a call to connect to the city,” Coral laments.
“No. She’s still here in California. I guess her flight was finally canceled, so she was heading to a hotel in a rental car, but she got stuck in the flooding water. I have to go help her.”
“I’m going with you,” Dylan insists.
“No, why don’t you just stay here where it’s dry and safe.”
“Dad. She’s my mother. You’re always telling me that—no matter what she does, she will always be that. I want to help.”
He shakes his head and rubs the back of his neck. “Fine.”
“Do you want to borrow my truck? It might be easier to drive through the higher puddles,” Grandpa Bob offers as he emerges from the hallway.
“That would be great. Thank you.”
“You bet. Let me get the keys.”
He returns shortly and throws them to Dean.
“All right. Let’s go, buddy.” He jostles the top of Dylan’s hair, and he gets up to follow.
“Wait a second,” I insist, when he’s right by the door.
Then, I stand with him on the porch. “Go ahead to the truck,” he instructs Dylan.
So, we’re left with at least a little privacy.
