Hurricane House Read Online Free PDF Page A

report, but with no voice to protest, she wrote a shorter version of her first report. “In other words, he was a stranger,” Officer Billy said, after he read her notes.
    Ellen nodded and wrote, “My friend Kenny dropped me off at the MacDonald’s in DeFuniak.
    He said he’d come back, but he didn’t.”
    Both officers glanced sideways at each other, as if they thought, loser, but after a moment, the female cop showed some sympathy. “Do you need medical attention?”
    Ellen squinted to hold back the tears and shook her head, no.
    The female cop snapped a picture of Ellen’s bruise and said, “Best thing we can do is fill out a report and post it on our website.”
    Ellen printed Geneva Vansant’s name and phone number on another sheet of paper and handed it to the female cop who asked, “Is this where you’ll be?”
    Ellen nodded, but wondered if she’d ever make it to Geneva’s house.
    Officer Billy then placed Ellen’s report in a black notebook, smiled at Lorraine and tugged at his belt. “See you later,” he said, walking out of the BP with the female cop tagging behind.
    To pass the time while waiting for Kenny, not knowing whether he’d show or not, Ellen wrote him a letter. She was putting her pen away when Kenny pulled up in his red-and-silver eighteen-wheeler. Her face broke into a wide smile.
    Lorraine smiled and waved, as if she shared Ellen’s gratitude.
    Ellen waved back; then ran out of the store to jump up on the truck’s running board.
    When she handed Kenny the letter she’d written, he folded it into a square small enough to stuff inside his shirt pocket. “I’ll read this later, okay? We need to get going.” He rammed the engine and tore out of the service station. “That clerk back there said some guy hurt you. You okay?” He turned his head to look at Ellen.
    She nodded, pointed to her throat and mouthed the words, “I can’t talk.”
    “Was he a trucker?”
    Ellen shook her head no.
    “You sick?”
    Ellen shook her head again and wished Kenny would live up to his reputation as a strong, silent type and not ask questions that required more than a shake of the head or a nod, especially since she couldn’t talk and fatigue pushed on her eyelid.
    “Sorry I stood you up,” Kenny said, “My transmission broke and I couldn’t find a replacement. And I lost my cell phone. It was found in the garbage can, in the men’s room. I had everyone calling me. And some drunk taking a piss complained that the damn garbage can in the John was ringing.”
    Listening to Kenny, Ellen fell asleep, exhausted from the night’s ordeal.
    Her eyes shot open when Kenny said, “We’re here.”
    He stopped his rig in front of a lovely two-story house, manicured lawn and green shrubs. The place needed flowers. Hibiscus, tulips, daffodils and jonquils would be nice. Ellen knew a lady in Gibland, Louisiana, who grew acres and acres of Jonquilla. They smelled like heaven.
    “Nice place,” Kenny said. “But you look beat. Let me help you.” He got out and went around to Ellen’s side. Then he opened her door, took her duffle and offered his hand for her to step down from the truck.
    After Ellen retrieved her duffle from Kenny, she hugged him goodbye. He smelled soap clean. Must have bathed at the truck stop.
    “Good luck,” Kenny said. “Sorry if I let you down.”
    Ellen waved at him and remembered what Geneva had said about her house key. “Rose, my next door neighbor, you’ll see the roses in her yard. She’ll have the keys to my house.”
    Watching Kenny drive away, Ellen forced her tears back and walked to Rose’s front porch, a sheltered wrap-around. For a moment, she stood frozen in place, facing the heavy mahogany door. She needed to compose herself and remember she was lucky to be alive and would soon have a dry, comfortable place to stay.
    Ellen rang the doorbell, setting off a high-pitched, barking dog.
    “Who is it?” A woman’s voice came from the speaker beside the front