Empty Chairs and Empty Promises

Chapter Seventeen

Island time is a real thing — a state of mind, to be exact. The clock doesn't rule my day and I stopped wearing a watch weeks ago. No, I wake when the sun's rays peek out over the horizon and lighten the indigo sky in subtle increments. In the evening, the sunset ushers in the ending of my day.

I rarely watch the news and most radio stations are in Spanish, so I only catch a few words because they talk so fast. My news is from the people I know, and it's geared towards local matters.

I don't know when the weather started to change. It had been cloudier the last few days. The surf had gotten rougher, and as I return from the beach, I see Marisol pounding on my door.

"Hola, Marisol. How are you?" My smile fades when I see her face. Her usual toothy grin is gone, and she makes the sign of the cross when she sees me.

"Thank God, I found you. I am leaving on a flight to stay with my mama in Florida before the storm. Have you made plans?"

"No, I'm just going to hang out here." I stick my key in the door before turning back to face her.

"A lot of people are leaving but there should be some neighbors who will be around if you need help," Marisol responded with a nod. "I will give you the phone number of my brother, Ricky. Call him if you have problems and stay safe, Libby."

She hands me a slip of paper with a phone number, hugs me, and hurries off pulling a suitcase behind her. I'm so grateful to have such a thoughtful friend like Marisol. It's sweet that she worries about me when she leaves.

The next day, I take Mia outside for a walk. The wind tosses my hair around my face as I let Mia run ahead of me on the beach. I yell out for her to come back to me and the roar of the surf drowns out the sound of my voice. A few adventuresome souls ride the powerful waves.

Marisol mentioned a storm. Storms are not uncommon in Puerto Rico, but I need to understand what's happening. The wind picks up as we climb the steps to the condo. I hustle Mia inside and grab the TV controller switching to the weather channel.

Across the screen is something I've seen before — a map of the Gulf of Mexico with lines tracing the various routes the current tropical storm will take. One is headed in my direction, and I've made this discovery too late. I feel unprepared and frightened as I watch scenes of people stockpiling water and food as they push their shopping carts around the almost barren store shelves.

I know my own cupboards have meager amounts of food in them. With only me and Mia here, I subsist on fresh fruits and veggies. Mia has her kibble. I glance at the multitude of windows overlooking the ocean and panic at how exposed I am in my condo.

I look out at the buildings around me. Many have storm shutters over their windows and in other places people are nailing up sheets of plywood. I don't remember anyone telling me about storm shutters. When I quickly inspect my windows, I see a box on top of each window. I had thought they were some type of blind and I grab the pulley and roll out heavy coverings with little slats that allow some light through unless closed tightly. They are secured within the framework of each window, protecting the glass from breaking inside. Thank God.

What else would I need? I think of what we prepare in the Midwest when heading into a storm season or during the winter. I make a list — batteries, a flashlight or two, candles, matches, water, and basic groceries. I try to check on-line for a checklist, but my Wi-Fi connection is poor, and I'm barely receiving a signal on my cell phone. I dial Marisol's brother's number and it doesn't even ring.

I can't wait any longer. I need to see if I can get any groceries or supplies. I hate leaving Mia here, but I can't take her with me. I know I need to hurry if I expect to find any necessities.

My neighbors rush by me and I see the intensity and focus on their faces and in their actions. They are in preparation mode and are taking this threat seriously. It speeds my own progress.

The wind buffets against the sides of the Jeep making it hard to keep it in my lane and on the road as I drive towards a nearby store. I pull on the steering wheel correcting my course and wonder why I didn't pay more attention to the daily forecast.

My arms feel sore when I arrive at the grocers. I realize it was from fighting to keep my 4x4 on the road. The lot isn't full, but people are rushing out with bags of purchases. I pray they have what I need as I step inside.

I can't believe my eyes. The shelves are nearly bare. I gather whatever items I can — flour tortillas, some oranges, a pineapple, lettuce... A plantain sits alone on the shelf where days there was a multitude. I grab it. I nab a jar of jelly and a box of quick oats as I work my way through the aisles. I don't find a flashlight or batteries, but I find a small package of tea lights. It will have to do.

My mood sinks as I watch the cashier scan my items. I shake my head wondering what I will do if disaster strikes. I guess I need to pray it doesn't. I have only one bag when I leave the store. It will not be enough, but I will make it work. I

I bend at the waist as I fight my way across the lot. The wind has increased in intensity, but I know it will get worse, much worse. It takes longer to drive back. The waves are higher than I've ever seen here. I hurry up the stairs needing to get back to Mia and make my plans to hunker down.

When I open the door, poor Mia has her tail between her legs, and I turn my head noticing a puddle of urine by the front door.

"Don't worry, Mia. You are a good girl. I'm sorry I wasn't home in time." I let her out on the deck, and she squats and relieves herself again. We move slowly inside fighting the wind. I check my phone for messages, but it doesn't seem to have a signal. The weather must be interfering.

My kids are probably having conniption fits with the approaching storm and now my phone is without service. I clean up Mia's accident, wash my hands and unload my meager groceries. Reminding myself that when the power goes out, I can't open the fridge very often. I empty the ice from the freezer into a small cooler and refill the trays placing them in the freezer. I may need the cooler later. I fill pitchers and bowls with water for drinking and the bathtub with additional water for bathing. Looking around I try to think of how I can prepare if the worst happens and this progresses from a tropical storm to a hurricane.

What was I thinking when I made my decision to come here? Obviously, I wasn't thinking I'd be facing a tropical storm. I feel so unprepared and cut off from the rest of the world. But on the bright side, I have a few days' supply of groceries and water. I also have a roof over my head.

I gaze out the window, not wanting to be cut off from what's going on outside until I don't have a choice and leaving them up would be dangerous if there is any airborne debris. I instinctively reach for my camera wanting to document as much as I can of the building storm.

I focus through the viewfinder messing with the aperture and shutter speed trying to capture the incoming storm. I move out onto the balcony keeping a wide stance for balance as I focus my camera. I steady myself as I prepare to snap a photo.

A loud crash behind me throws me off balance and I tumble to the deck. Stunned by the fall and blinded as the wind plasters my hair across my face, I struggle to get to my feet. A pair of strong arms lifts me and carries me inside.

Panicking, I blindly fight against the hold on me clawing and scratching at the intruder's flesh.

"Ouch, Libs, settle down. It's only me." The southern drawl was unmistakable. Griff let me down gently despite my attack on his person. "I'm sorry about the door but when you didn't answer I got worried."

I pushed my hair off my face and out of my eyes as my gaze focused on what remained of my doorway.

"Gee, thanks Griff." I cannot believe what I'm seeing. It looks like I will have to buy another door. This one is splintered with the lock and doorknob hanging by a few wood fibers.