Rain Reign: Parts II–III

“You’re not at work,” I say to my father.
“Nope, not at work. Very observant.”
This might (mite) be (bee) sarcasm, which is like mockery.

So many people are shopping today that it’s hard to walk down the aisles.
I wring my hands.

When my father opens the envelope later he will read about the prime number incident.

“Hopefully, the storm will miss us. Maybe this is a lot of hype after all.”

Rain lies warily next to me.

The clock says 3:10 a.m. when I hear a ferocious crack from somewhere, maybe the street, and then my clock blinks off and all the humming sounds in the house come to a stop.

The bottom of our drive has washed away. Sturdy pieces of lumber are breaking apart and hurtling down Hud.

Even after the water recedes, the stream will still be there, with no driveway bridging it.

I want to ask him about the bridge and hear (here) his thoughts on being stranded.

By the time the light fades, most of the branches have been piled up to use for kindling when they dry out.

“Okay. How long do you think indefinitely is?”
My father shakes his head. “Rose, indefinitely is indefinitely. It means they don’t know.”
So indefinitely implies uncertainty. I don’t like uncertainty.

“Whole towns washed away. Not ours, but others. People’s houses gone. Plenty of others will have to be condemned. Don’t know where the owners will go.”

The next day, which is Monday, is sunny with a blue sky, and at 8:00 a.m., the moderate prime number temperature of 59 degrees.

Now my father sighs, which is probably an indication of annoyance.

I hear a newscaster who’s giving a crime report say, “A complicated crime began simply, under the guise of friendship.”

My mind is mostly on dog-finding plans, but something occurs to me.

Circle the towns where dog shelters are located. (Consult the phone book.)

“Due to flooding, all services at Creatures of Comfort have been suspended. Sheltered animals are temporarily being housed at the Holiday Inn in Bellville. Please call back at a later time, or visit the Holiday Inn. We apologize for the inconvenience.”

“That’s a perfect one!” I exclaim. “It fits all the rules.” I think for a moment. “And if you follow that pattern, how about ‘tacked’ and ‘tact’?”
“Brilliant.” Uncle Weldon grins at me.

She cranes her neck to look at me and says, “Rain is missing?”

Then I add, “I devised a search plan.” I tell my classmates about the map and the circles and the lists.

“‘Break’ and ‘brake’ are homonyms,” I announce as I slump to the floor.

A voice answers the phone and when I determine that it’s the voice of a real person, not a recorded voice, I say, “Hello, this is Rose again. I called last week. I’m still looking for my dog, Rain. She got lost during the storm. She has yellow fur and seven white toes. Has anyone brought her in?”

Now I see a bigger sign that says HAPPY TAILS. Under the words are a painting of a dog and a cat curled up together, their tails entwined.

We thought you were one of the Hendersons. We assumed they’d had to move because of Susan.