Free Second Chance Sweethearts (Love Inspired) by Kristen Ethridge Page B

and even someone else’s cherry-red forty-gallon ice chest. Just as on all the other streets they’d recently passed, pieces of board and roof shingles were everywhere. Neither of them could look up and take in the full landscape around them because they had to watch their feet. Rigo had his work boots back on, but Gloria only had her athletic shoes. Nails and debris were everywhere and they’d poke through an unsuspecting tennis shoe easily. And with no likely way to get a tetanus shot on the island right now, the outcome wouldn’t be good.
    “I’ve seen this before.” She felt as flat as the crushed palm fronds submerged beneath her feet.
    “What do you mean?” Rigo stepped into the intersection. There was no chance a car was going to come by, so he was completely safe.
    She gestured broadly with her arms. “All of this. It looks like something out of the history books. I feel like I’m looking at pictures of the Great Storm of 1910.”
    “I can’t fault you there. I don’t think I’ve seen anything like it in my life. Unreal. If you live here long enough, you’ve seen a hurricane or two. But never like this.” Rigo turned around and faced Gloria. “Well, are you ready?”
    “No. But we’re here. Let’s just go.”
    She nodded without hesitation and plowed as best she could across the spongy grass that had once been her perfectly manicured front lawn. Since the front door stood wide-open, Gloria walked right through without pause.
    Just dive in and you’ll figure it out
, Gracie was fond of saying when she didn’t quite know how to do something. Gloria wished her sister was here right now, instead of taking refuge more than two hundred miles away in San Antonio.
    But Gloria wasn’t alone. Rigo stood right behind her. If she leaned just slightly back, she’d find her shoulder blades resting on his chest. He was so close that at any other time, she’d accuse him of invading her personal space.
    Instead, once again, she was grateful for a glimpse of the old Rigo. Maybe she could turn his solid physical strength into emotional strength.
    There it was again. Ever since she’d uttered that short, plodding plea of a prayer at Tía Inez’s house, she kept being reminded of displays of strength.
    Maybe God had been there since Felipe and Mateo died. Maybe she just hadn’t been listening.
    No, that wasn’t it—she’d been in church every week. God knew where to find her. She’d done what she was supposed to do. So, clearly that wasn’t really it. She just didn’t know what made today different from any other day, with all these mental coincidences.
    The water had receded out of the front room. The couch was at an angle in the center, lying on its back. It looked like a sponge. There was no discernible waterline on it, just cushions of sodden foam and fabric. Tables had toppled, and she saw her washing machine on its side in the dining room, leaning against the overturned table. There used to be four chairs, but she could only count two right now. She figured she’d find the others later. Or not.
    “Look up here, Glo.” Rigo stood against the wall near the front door. A brownish line wiggled across the wall about a foot above him, not far from the ceiling. It looked like a child’s bad watercolor painting. “This is your waterline. I’m six-two. It had to have been almost seven-and-a-half feet in here.”
    Gloria’s jaw fell open, stunned. If she’d stayed here with Tanna like she’d once thought about doing...she couldn’t even process it.
    “Wow.” Rigo let out a low whistle from where he’d tiptoed over to the doorway to the kitchen.
    “What?” Gloria crawled over a set of golf clubs that hadn’t ever belonged to any member of the Rodriguez family.
    She got to the doorway and saw what Rigo meant. There were just no words.
    “Your kitchen.”
    Or rather, what was left of her kitchen.
    The water had floated the refrigerator, then apparently, as it receded, had dumped the fridge on