Authors: Mary Mead
I went back in the office and scrounged around for some paper which reminded me of Steve. One of the cabinets stacked in the kitchen yielded a ream of paper and in the drawer I found tape and a black marker. I printed a couple of closed signs by hand and took them outside. I taped them to the front door and the half of the gate still standing, knowing at the time it was a useless gesture but needing to do something.
The sun was sinking behind the eucalyptus trees at the end of the street. Someone had turned off the water that had been shooting into the air. Everything was quiet. No birds sang, no horns honked, no one’s stereo blasted the air.
There was nothing to do and sadly, no home to go to. I toyed with the idea of trying the stairs but I had given my word and in my family that mattered. Rubbing my arms I headed for the motor home.
I’d never been in a motor home and I was surprised. It really was a home on wheels. All the amenities of an apartment. The rear compartment held a full size bed, night stands, a television and DVD player.
The compact bathroom had a shower, the kitchen area had both a four burner stove and a microwave. A small table flanked by bench seats made a dining area and a short couch faced an end table and chair.
Poking around in drawers I found dishes, silver ware, even a coffee pot. The cupboard above held a can of ground coffee as well as a jar of decaf Taster’s Choice, Coffee Mate and sugar packets. I filled the coffee pot with water and coffee and set it on a burner. In minutes the rich smell of coffee filled the air. I found a mug and poured myself some coffee.
Taking a seat at the table I relaxed for the first time in hours. I took the time to enjoy the coffee before I got back up and started looking through the cupboards I hadn’t investigated. The bottom one was a treasure trove of canned goods. I had my choice now of soups, spaghetti, veggies or tuna. There were crackers and a jar of cheese, cans of peaches and pears.
I looked in the little fridge and found bottled water, a small jar of mayo and another of mustard.
Below that was a cupboard with two sauce pans and a skillet. Other dishes were in drawers.
With some milk and bread, I could live quite well in here I decided.
After a dinner of soup and crackers I made another pot of coffee and turned on the television in the front compartment. There were only three stations on, all local, but they were covering the earthquake, switching from location to location with video of each one.
I watched for a few minutes, long enough to learn three people had been killed in the quake and that I didn’t know them. The epicenter was north of us, closer to San Francisco. When they switched to cover that city, I turned off the set.
It was full dark by then. Once the television was turned off I sat in darkness. The compactness of the unit made it easy to navigate. With a few steps I rinsed the coffee pot, my cup, bowl and spoon and set them in the sink. Another couple of steps and I was in the bedroom at the back.
I switched on the bedside lamp which shed a soft yellow glow. Another television was mounted on the wall facing the bed, the shelves below held DVD’s contained by a bar across the shelf.
Even better, the drawers below held Patrick’s tee shirts and sweats. I washed my face in the bathroom, careful not to use too much water. In the bedroom I peeled off my jeans and shirt and pulled on one of Patrick’s tee shirts. It fell to mid-thigh and made a perfect night gown.
Hanging the towel on a hook I went to the back, opened one of the screened windows, turned down the bed and slid between clean, crisp sheets. Another aftershock shook the motor home. It rocked sideways a couple of times and settled. The last thing I remembered was thinking I’ll never get to sleep.
Waking the next morning it took me a couple of minutes to realize where I was. I had slept hard. I got out of the bed, stretched and headed for the little bathroom. I used the facilities, washed my face again and looked through the little medicine chest above the sink. All the cupboard doors were fastened with latches to keep them from popping open. The medicine chest was the same – a metal clip that snapped to the side.
Inside I found bandages, aspirin, tooth paste, deodorant and all manner of miniature items. The most impressive was the folding toothbrush, still in a cellophane wrapper. I felt better just looking at it.
I loaded the coffee pot and while it gurgled along I went back to the bedroom. My clothes were on the foot of the bed where I had folded them the night before. There is no way I am going to wear the same panties another day so I pulled on my jeans commando and picked up my bra. I’m okay with double days there. I snapped it in place before looking in the drawer that held the tee shirts. I took the one on top and pulled it over my head. It was still long so I gathered the hem and tied a knot at the side. Maybe not stylish but it looked better than hanging almost to my knees. Checking the other drawers I found clean jeans which were never going to work, even if I cut off the legs. Closing that drawer I opened the top and found the treasure – clean socks. Tube socks. One size fits all. I smiled as I pulled those on and slipped into my sneakers. Good to go.
The coffee was ready by the time I was dressed so I rolled my panties into the tee shirt I had slept in and set them by the door. I would wash and return his shirt as soon as I got upstairs to my apartment.
After a breakfast of granola bars and coffee I washed the coffee pot and the few dishes I had used and set them to drain while I made the bed. It was almost eight when I stepped down from the motor home to look around.
The damage was still there.
The roof of Building Three was still down, the debris from its fall spread in a fan in front of it. The silence was noticeable – still no birds. In the distance I heard the faint whoop of a siren.
I walked as far as Three and stooped to see inside, wondering if there was a way to seal it so Mrs. Murphy’s belongings wouldn’t be open to the elements. If there was a way it wasn’t apparent so I stood up and headed for the gate. I was half way there when Paul and Mr. Murphy walked back and met me.
“How bad is it?” The first thing Paul said.
“Good morning,” I said to Mr. Murphy. “How are you?”
Mr. Murphy smiled and nodded at me. “Good, good, my dear. And you? You look good,” he said, his eyes drifting down.
“How bad is the damage,” Paul said again. “We’ve got an inspector coming as soon as possible.”
“Building Three is the worst,” I said. “The whole end of the building is down, the roof fell forward. Building Eight has some big cracks and so do the driveways. The rest is repairable. I haven’t been in the apartment yet. Patrick said the stairs needed to be checked before I went up.”
“I’m glad you’re all right, Agnes,” Mr. Murphy said with a pat on my shoulder. “We can’t afford to lose you.”
Paul had continued on down the drive, head turning as he scanned the lot.
“Thank you, Papa Murphy. How about you? Your home okay?”
“It’s fine. Thanks for asking. Paul was the architect for the big house, you know.” He always referred to his home as the Big House. “Doesn’t even have a crack. Colleen lost a few of her knickknacks.” He winked at me. “I don’t count that as a loss.”
We had made our way down to Building Three while we chatted. Paul stood, hands on hips, looking at the debris.
“What do you think?” Papa called as we joined him.
“I think if mom had let Trick finish the damn walls it would be fine. The way it is, I don’t know. We’ll have the inspector start here, see how bad it is.”
“Patrick thought you might be able to jack it up, get Mrs. M’s belongings out,” I said.
“Trick is here?” Paul looked annoyed.
“Not now,” I said. “This was yesterday. He was here when the quake hit, working in the office.”
Paul snorted. “He’s no expert, believe me. I’ll talk to inspectors, Dad, get us some idea of how stable it is. Like I said, we’ll start here first.”
“No offense,” I said. “I’d like to have the stairs checked. I need to get home. I can’t do anything about my car without the insurance papers and they’re all upstairs.”
“You don’t pay rent,” Paul said. “We need to get these buildings fixed. People will start moving out. We can’t afford that. No offense Marlena. I can bring in a motor home for you for a few weeks. ”
“I’m sorry about your car,” Mr. Murphy said, with another pat. “I’ll have Paulie bring down the Porsche. You can use that till you get yours squared away. Get a room at that motel up on the freeway. We’ll pay for that. You can stay there till we get your stairs fixed.”
Mr. Murphy owned a Porsche convertible, a Rolls and an older BMW. The Porsche was his baby, a forest green gem he rarely drove. I know. It was stored in Building Eight when he didn’t have it at home.
“That’s nice of you, Papa. I think I can get a rental till mine is replaced. I just have to get to my apartment.”
“That will be our priority, too,” Papa said, cutting off Paul’s objection. “In the meantime anything you need, anything at all, just let Paulie know. He’ll have your stairs inspected.”
Paul made a noise in his throat. “I’ll get it checked, but don’t hold your breath. It’s going to be at least a couple of days before you can get up there. Call the motel, get yourself a room. You can get some clothes at Marine Supply to hold you over. Tell them to bill me.”
“I’ll look into it,” I said, not wanting to mention the motor home.
Paul gathered some blocks of insulation and started tossing them against the fence where Burke had raked up some dead grass, fast food bags and loose bits of cardboard. I bent and gathered some pieces of broken wood and tossed them on the pile.
“Might as well wait for the inspector,” Burke called, striding down the drive to join us. “Then we can bring in a skip loader and clear it. Haul it all off at once.”
Burke shook hands with both men and nodded to me. He looked around, bent to look under the fallen roof. “You might be able to jack this up, get the stuff out,” he said, straightening up. “If jacks won’t hold it, cut a hole right here,” he gestured at the arc of the roof. “Get the stuff out, cut it clear and reframe it, rebuild the end. Won’t take too long.”
“Paulie is the architect,” Mr. Murphy said. “That will be up to him. There’s nothing we can do now. I’ll call and get the gate guys down here, get that gate fixed so the place is secure. Come on, Paulie.”
“All right, Dad.” Paul started up the drive way.
Mr. Murphy patted my shoulder one more time. “Paulie will bring the Porsche for you.”
“No need, Mr. Murphy. I thank you for the offer. I’ll get a rental car. It’s going to be a while before they settle my claim. I’m sure they’re going to be busy. How about the harbor? Much damage there?” I changed the subject to get away from the Porsche.
Papa made a patting gesture. “No major damage. A few boats took on some water. The Gem is fine, not even a crack,” he said, talking about the bar and pizzeria he owned in next door Monarch Beach.
“That’s good to hear. I’m glad it wasn’t worse.”
He scuffed his boots on the asphalt and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Well, then, we’ll leave you to it. Don’t worry about cleaning up around here. We’ll hire some men to do it. I told you to take the time off. Now you be a good girl and have a vacation. Do you need money?” He pulled one hand from his pocket and reached for his wallet.
“No sir, I’m good. What I really need is to get upstairs. Everything I have is up there – my clothes, my insurance papers, even my food! There has to be a way to get up there! The stairs don’t look that bad.”
Papa Murphy patted the air again with both hands and backed up a couple of steps. “Now, don’t be anxious, dear. We’ll see to everything. Paulie will bring the Porsche. You get a room at the motel, we’ll cover your expenses. Nothing to worry about.”
I bit my tongue to keep from screaming at this sweet old man. I didn’t want the freaking Porsche. With my luck, I’d hit a tree or something before I got a block. There was no need for a motel room since I was staying in the motor home.
I sucked in a double lung full of air and blew it out slowly. “Thanks, Papa. It’s not necessary. I’m going to need a rental car any way, until the insurance settles. That make take a while.”
Mr. Murphy nodded once and held up a finger. “The thing is, Marlena, there are no rental car agencies here. You’ll have to go to San Luis or over to Paso.”
I felt my cheeks warm up as the flush crawled up my neck again. He was right. We were also short on taxis.
“Maybe you can give me a ride to San Luis.”
“I can do that,” Burke said, and joined us. “I heard you. I have to go to San Luis tomorrow morning. Will that do? I’ve got a meeting right now, just came by to see if you were all right, see how the place was. I’m late now,” he said, looking at his watch.
I looked around at the lowering sun, the long shadows and realized the day was ending. I didn’t want to leave the facility at all, and certainly not at night. With another sigh I said, “Tomorrow is fine, Burke. Thank you.”
“Nine?”