Flood Plains Read Online Free PDF

before the death of his grandmother and before Katrina threw his collegiate career, training regimen, and life in general out of whack. He had spent so much time wallowing in self-pity after the storm that he’d pissed away several opportunities that might have helped him (and his estranged daughter, but that was a different story) out. He had this one semester of NCAA eligibility left, and all his hopes and dreams were tied up in using it to make the Prairie View A&M track team. They had offered him a slot immediately after the storm, but Alan had held out for what he thought would be more favorable openings around the corner.
    That was two years ago.
    He’d called up the Prairie View coach in the spring and said that he would be in shape for the following year. Knowing Alan’s story and charmed by his determination, he was offered a try out and a partial scholarship. Now Zakiyah had to hear about it in Herculean terms. He’d gotten what was rightfully his and now he just had to perform at a heroic level and get back in front of those news cameras. Destiny would take care of the rest.
    “I’m supposed to believe the second you’re all big-time you’re not going to leave me and your daughter behind again? The first skinny white girl looks your way, you’ll be out the door.”
    “Are you kidding me? You know I can’t get by without you. I learned my lesson.”
    “So why am I the bad guy because I want rent and grocery money?”
    “I’ve got a line on that,” Alan said, turning serious. “You need your money, and I need to stop spending my days in here when I need to be stepping up my training.”
    “Meaning what, exactly?” Zakiyah asked, suspicious.
    “If you want anything, you’ve gotta enterprise, right? That’s how it’s going to work here, too.”
    With that, he blew her a kiss and walked away.
    •  •  •
    Sineada .
    Sineada Maria Araujo was surprised to hear her name, even more because no one had spoken it aloud.
    Sineada . Prepare.
    For what? Sineada asked.
    Sineada waited a long time for the answer. When none came, she realized what it must be and opened her eyes. She found herself looking at a fifty-something black woman, Viola Mason, across a table. Viola stared back at her in expectation. Rain poured down on the little Fifth Ward house as the disembodied voice of a radio announcer wafted into Sineada’s parlor from the kitchen.
    “The National Hurricane Center is predicting landfall around Galveston Island tomorrow morning just before five in the a.m. At present, Eliza is still being designated a Category 4, but is speeding up as it nears the Texas coast.”
    “So, what are they saying? Is it going to be a bad one?”
    Sineada mentally composed herself, recalling the words of her grandmother when discussing the family business: “You’re there to tell them what they need to hear, not what they want to hear.” Abuela had always added, “But mind you be gentle,” something Sineada didn’t need to be reminded of, as most of her clients were like Viola. Past middle-age, often alone, often poor. It was why she had a donation box instead of a fixed rate and didn’t mind being paid in coins.
    “They think it’s coming straight here and gonna drop buckets of rain on everybody, probably flood out Fourth and Fifth Ward,” Sineada said harshly.
    Viola whistled.
    “That doesn’t sound good at all.”
    “No. Anybody that didn’t know if their roof was worth a damn will sure know by mid-day,” the diminutive seventy-one-year-old said, adjusting the scarlet hat and gold shawl she wore whenever she “gave a reading.” “Wind is going to knock over a few trees, tear up the sign in front of the gas station, and knock out the windows in the grocery store next door. Buffalo Bayou’s going to damn near overflow, but it’s not going to get into downtown like last time. Good news is, she’ll then be gone by late afternoon.” A lie .
    “Nobody’s going to die?”
    “I didn’t say