Hurricane Temple

As I bent to pick her up, my eyes couldn't help wandering to the dead guy for just a moment. His body was now twisted enough that I could see much more than had originally been exposed. "I knew you were overcompensating with that sports car, you neanderthal. Roaring up and down the road like it was the local raceway. The louder and sportier the car, the tinier the… accoutrements," I sneered.

"Oh, yeah, you and I will get along just fine," the woman laughed. "You don't have to carry me."

"Can you walk?"  I gave my best impression of Mr. Spock the Vulcan with the raised eyebrow.

"Well, no," she answered with a blush.

"Then I have to carry you," I pointed out, a little unnecessarily in my opinion.

"My hero," she said melodramatically.

"Just call me Super Gay," I snarked.

"Oh my God, will that boy ever learn to keep his big mouth shut?" she blushed.

"To my knowledge, his father never did," I shrugged.

"You believe me?"

"I saw the boys," I told her pointedly. "I have to ask you the same thing that everyone asked my ex-wife. Were you involved at all, or were you just the incubator for the clones?"

"Yes, Satana, Queen of the Bitches often said that they looked just like their father… and you."

"Oh, I like that title," I laughed. "May I steal that moniker for she who must be avoided at all costs?"

"You have as much right to it as I do, if not more," she answered. She then asked, "You're not going to carry me all the way to your house, are you? I mean I guess you would have to, but if you need to rest or something…."

"Will you be quiet and let me do the heroics?" I cut her rambling off. I did not need a reminder that I was old. She'd already sent the two best pieces of evidence for that to my house. "I'm Super Gay, remember? Although maybe you can help me explain to the boys that it's not a cape when I order a new lounging robe to match my pajamas, since mine flew off into the storm while I was getting them into the house."

"They aren't hurt, are they?" she demanded. "I know I had no choice sending them for help in this, but I will never forgive myself for it, especially if they got hurt."

"I took two half-drowned rats into my home a little while ago, only to find that they were actually completely unharmed little boys," I told her and watched as the relief washed over her face the way the waves were washing over the road outside. "They are currently hiding in the safe room closet in my house waiting for us to return. At least they should be," I amended. I had been a little boy, and I had been the father of one. I knew the odds. "Let's get going," I told her as I made to pick her up.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"You can't walk on that leg," I pointed out once again. "I will have to carry you."

"Get the suitcases first," she ordered. "The boys will need clothes, and all our papers are also in it. It's beside the sofa in the living room. My suitcase is… oh… it was right under the window over there."  She pointed to the worst damaged area of the room. There was no way we would get to anything under that debris tonight.

Fortunately, the hallway from the bedroom where we were into the living room was clear, even though the roof was gone, so it was just as wet. Once I got to the living room, I found another tree had fallen and taken out more of the house, but luckily, I could still see a child's suitcase with a cartoon bear on it within reach. I returned to the woman who had taken part of the tree and a piece of furniture to make a splint for her leg.

"I'm walking," she said firmly.

"No, you're not," I told her as I scooped her up and started climbing over the rubble out of the house once more.

"You don't have to carry me the whole way," she told me as we were about halfway. "If you need a rest…."

"Stop telling me how old and decrepit I am without saying those words," I snapped at her. " Besides, what are you, a hundred pounds soaking wet?"

"Well, you got the soaking wet part right," she snorted.

"Hmm, strong the sarcasm is with this one," I imitated Yoda.

"Aren't you a little tall to be a Yoda?" she retorted.

"I do believe you may turn out to be the first woman I have ever truly liked," I told her as I headed for my little van now that we were outside.

"You have a car," she blurted.

"An astute observation, Dr. Watson," I said dryly. My words were the only things that were dry though. I got her into the passenger seat, put the boys' suitcase in the back on the floor, and then started the drive back to my house.

"I didn't think you could drive in a hurricane," she told me. "Aren't you supposed to stay in the ditch and wait until it's over?"

"You're confusing hurricanes with tornadoes, my dear," I informed her. "We will all go over Hurricanes 101 once we are in the house with the boys and are settled in for the duration."

"MOMMY!!!" two boys screamed as I got her out of the car to carry to the house.

"Safe room, huh?" she asked sarcastically.

"Madame, you raised them, not me," I pointed out.

"Safe room, NOW," she bellowed. The two little imps scampered into the house once more. Once we were inside, we found them in the safe room doing their best imitations of purest innocence. "Did he tell you to stay in this room?" she demanded.

"Yes, ma'am," they both mumbled.

"And why didn't you?" she continued her interrogation.

"Well, somebody had to watch for you guys to get back, so we could open the door for you," the older one offered.

"Yeah, plus, Butter had to poop," the little one added.

"Excuse me, that was you, Kissyfur Stinkbutt," Butter denied.

"There will be no negative name calling in this house," I ordered. "Now the three of you will stay in this closet and…  And that is not a sentence I ever thought I would say, wow. Anyway, I will join you as soon as I get the first aid kit from my bathroom."

"Yes, Mr. Super Gay," the boys nodded and cuddled with their mother under the excuse of helping her get comfortable.

"We have a long conversation ahead of us," I said pointing at their mother.

"Yes, we do," she agreed. "Hopefully, it will have a happy ending."

"Most likely," I admitted to her. I went and got the first aid kit and came back.  While we all huddled on the floor of the safe room, I cleaned the wounds on her leg, and we talked. "So, you're telling me that you are the wife and children of my son, Donny?"

"Avon," both boys yawned more than spoke.

"What did you just say?" I asked them. It was the oldest that answered.

"Avon," he repeated. "You called him Donny and he doesn't like that, so he finishes the name by saying Avon, you know, Don Avon."

"Yes, thank you, I do remember him doing that when he was even younger than little Kissyfur there," I remembered aloud.

"I suppose actual introductions would help," their mother sighed. "This is Ronan," she said resting one hand on top of the oldest boy's head. "I was still too medicated to stop your child at the time."

"Ronan is a fine name," I defended. "Nothing wrong with… OH." I gasped as it hit me. Ronan Harris. Ron and Harry. "Well, at least I know he read the books that I sent him for his birthdays," I offered with a shrug.

"You sent them? She always claimed that you never sent anything at all," my daughter-in-law informed me.

"Yes, I am aware," I growled. "She loved to tell everyone that I never sent her anything at all, so that she could spend what I did send on herself, so I started sending gifts as well as the child support payments, but she just told Donavon and anyone else that would listen that she had gotten the presents for him."

"He gradually figured things out for himself, but he was stuck under her domineering thumb for a long time. Even when we married, we had to live with her because of her disability she claimed. She said she had to have someone with her all the time and that she could only get paid workers for so many hours per week."

"She said the same when she and I married," I agreed. "It wasn't true then any more than it is now. She can't get workers because no one will put up with her."

"Tell me about it, the old…" she looked down and confirmed that both boys were asleep. "The old hag," she whispered. "When Donavon left to take a job on an offshore oil rig so that he could get away from her, it left me stuck taking care of her until we could save up enough for me to escape with the boys."

"Wait a minute, if you're married to my son, what exactly was going on in that house I just got you out of, with the overcompensating jerk who may or may not have deserved his fate?"

"Oh, he deserved it all right," she grimaced. "We had hired him to find you. He came up with the idea of taking a house near yours and getting to know you slowly that way.  I didn't realize that she already hired him. He was to ruin me in Donavon's eyes, so that her son would abandon me and come back to her. I found that out tonight, when he tried to… he tried…."

"Did he hurt you at all?" I asked softly as I scooted closer and put an arm around her the best I could since she had a small boy on each side of her.

"No, before he could do anything to me, the tree… well, you know. It hit first and he landed on me. I'm fairly sure he was already… uhm… mostly gone… before he squished me.  It was another tree limb that had hit my leg. I know he was a horrible person, and he was going to…to… but I watched him die horribly."

"Well, once the storm clears up, we'll get a counselor for you, dear," I assured her. "You never told Donavon what that guy was like, did you?"  She shook her head as she wept into my shoulder. "I'm sure you didn't want to upset him when there wasn't anything he could do about it from an oil rig," I added, and she nodded this time. "He should know that the man was not actually working for you, though."

"Donavon's supposed to join us here next month," she whispered. "He's going to look for a local job so he can be home with us every night."

"Well, given the current weather situation, if he can swing a hammer, he should have no trouble finding a job, at least temporarily, especially since I just so happen to know someone in the trade," I pointed out. "Getting back to the introductions, I will assume our little one is Christopher?"

"Big brother had trouble saying that," she agreed with a smile. "It got shifted to Kissyfur, just as big brother became Butter."

"I thought as much," I said with a smile. "There is only one person left to introduce," I prompted.

"OMG, I never told you my name," she gushed.

"Shh, it's all right, we have been a little distracted," I calmed her before she disturbed the sleeping boys.

"I'm Elena," she announced quietly.

"You're not," I gasped.

"Yes, why?" she asked me.

"The last time I was allowed to talk to Donavon on the phone, he couldn't have been more than 8 years old. He told me that the neighborhood bully had been picking on the little girl from next door named Elena Thompkins…."

"And Donavon beat him up to defend me," she smiled. "That would be me."

"Don't tell me that the two of you have been sweethearts all that time," I returned with a smile of my own.

"Well, there was that brief time in seventh grade where he fell for that scheming skank Jolyne Osbourne," Elena growled. "I showed both of them the error of their ways, however."

"Good for you, girl," I congratulated her. At that moment, someone else made their presence known.

"Grandfather Harris, what's that smell?" Ronan asked as he covered his nose with the shirt he was wearing.

"Stinky!" little Christopher announced. "Butter, did you toot?"

"No, I did not toot," Ronan defended.

"Boys, it isn't polite to discuss this right now," Elena told them as she scooted a little bit away from me.

"It was not me either," I protested. "Come on out, Della, you horrid monster, you."  My black cat meowed loudly before appearing from behind some boxes near me. "Yes, I know, baby. It's not your fault you get gassy every time there's a storm. Come here and cuddle so you feel safe," I coaxed her more until she climbed onto my lap and then she noticed the others.

"She's so pretty and shiny," Christopher cooed. "She looks like a Halloween kitty only nice. Is she a magic kitty?"

"Well, she seems to think so most of the time," I told him. The feline in question promptly walked over and plopped down on the little boy's lap and began purring.

"I thought you said you didn't have cats?" Ronan questioned.

"I wasn't discussing cats when I described the house being built to withstand a category 4 hurricane," I explained. "I have one cat and her name is Della and she is very spoiled and opinionated, but she also is very afraid of storms."

"It's ok, Della, you're safe now," Christopher said softly as he petted the cat. "My Butter will protect you, and keep you safe, just like he did me, and if he can't do it, Super Gay Grandfather Harris can, even if he did lose his cape in the vortex like Splashdown."

"Someone's favorite movies are the Incredibles," Elena whispered to me.

"I happened to like that cape… I mean robe," I pouted. "It was the first thing I bought for myself after my first novel was published. I'd had it for years."

"Never look back, darling, it distracts from the now," Ronan piped up with a grin. "Edna Mode is our favorite character."

"Let's see, they look just like me, they talk like me even though they've never met me, and they appreciate sarcastic wit and creativity," I mused aloud. "Oh, no they couldn't possibly be related to me."

"Hey, you don't have a corner on the market, you know," Elena nudged me in the ribs.

"What would Grandfather Harris want in the corner of a grocery store?" Christopher asked.

"Ok, first rule of the new world order," I announced. "No more Grandfather Harris. The last man to bear that name died when Donavon was three years old. I am Poppa. You boys got that? Not Grandfather, not Grandpa, not PawPaw, and God forbid not Gramps. Poppa."

"Yes, Poppa," both boys and their mother chorused.

"Much better," I sniffed. "All that talk of grands… makes me sound old."

"I thought your voice is what made you sound old, Poppa," Ronan said innocently…maybe. He was smirking a bit.

"Poppa Super Gay doesn't sound old," Christopher defended me, or so I thought. "It's the white hair that makes him old."

"Do you ever want a cookie in this house?" I demanded.

"There's cookies?" Ronan blurted.

"Not for boys that make fun of me for being old," I grumped.

"We would never, Poppa," they both agreed quickly.