With her morning coffee in hand Marilyn stepped out the front door. In spite all that had happened this month, she felt the warmth of the morning sun and thought “maybe, just maybe, today will be a better day.”
Bones ran up to greet her in his usual fashion, rubbing his hound dog nose against her bare calf.
“Good morning, old boy,” she nuzzled his head against her leg. “You lookin’ for your breakfast? Let me check the generator first, then we’ll fill your dish.”
The sixty-year-old Southerner stepped over the wire fencing that had been blown down in the storm and made her way to the humming generator.
She unscrewed the cap and checked the fuel level, taking a quick step back when the gas fumes overpowered the smell of her morning coffee.
“How’s that old junker runnin’, Aunt Marilyn?” Ronny D was standing in the open doorway in just his boxers and baseball cap. Bones loped over to greet him.
With a flick of her wrist, Marilyn tossed the last of her coffee on the overgrown flower bed and playfully slapped her nephew on his soft belly as she stepped inside. “We’ll need to get some gas before afternoon. You want some breakfast? I can scramble up a few eggs, but I think we’re out of bread.”
“Nope. I’ll grab a coupl’o Pop Tarts. The game’s on today at four, so I’ll go get gas this morning. Anything else ya’ll need?”
“I wouldn’t mind a new recliner, one with two cup holders. This old one is all broken down in the seat. I can’t imagine what from!” The raspy voice, caused by smoking two packs a day for fifty years belonged to Marilyn’s mother and Ronny D’s grandmother, Jessie. She had slept all night in the chair parked in front of the TV just like she’d done for the last three weeks since she and Ronny D, and his three-year-old baby girl Kassandra had moved in.
That’s when Hurricane Ida had hit.