Free Rain Reign by Ann M. Martin

didn’t you?”
    â€œI will answer that question one more time and then I don’t want to hear about it again. I didn’t wake you up because Rain has been outside plenty of times by herself and she always comes back. I didn’t think it was necessary. Besides, the storm was almost over.”
    â€œWhy didn’t you put her collar on before she went out?”
    â€œRose! Enough!”
    â€œBut this is a new question. This is the first time I’ve asked you about her collar.”
    My father pulls the cord on the chainsaw. Nothing happens.
    â€œShe isn’t wearing her collar so she doesn’t have any identification,” I tell him.
    â€œI understand that.”
    â€œSo why did you leave her collar on the door?”
    My father turns away from me, shaking his head. He stomps his foot on the ground, and then he pulls the cord violently. The chainsaw lets out a roar that might be as loud as a jet plane, and I cover my ears. With my hands still over my ears I walk in a circle around my father, keeping 10 feet between us, until I’m facing him. “Why didn’t you put her collar on?” I yell.
    My father’s face is hard. He turns off the chainsaw and drops it on the ground. He walks toward me very slowly and something inside me says to run. So I do. I run into the house and slam the door behind me. When I look out the window my father is walking back to the chainsaw. I wait until I hear its roar and then go to my room and lie on my bed.
    Sometimes when I’m upset Rain finds me and lies down beside me. She rests her head on my shoulder and looks into my eyes, and I can feel her breath on my cheek.
    But Rain is not here now because my father didn’t put her collar on when he let her outside during a superstorm.

 
    24
    I Telephone Uncle Weldon
    Something good happens the next day. I walk into our kitchen early in the morning and the first thing I notice is that the refrigerator is humming. The second thing I notice is that the kitchen feels warmer. The third thing I notice is that the little table lamp in the living room that my father sometimes leaves on overnight is shining.
    The power is back on. It didn’t take weeks after all.
    I pick up the telephone and hear a dial tone.
    The phone is back on too.
    I almost knock on my father’s door to tell him the news, but then I look at the Atlantic City clock and see that it’s only 6:20, too early to wake him.
    It isn’t too early to call my uncle, though.
    When he answers he sounds sleepy, but not mad.
    â€œUncle Weldon!” I shout. “It’s me, Rose! Everything is working again.”
    â€œRose!” Uncle Weldon sounds as excited as I am. “Are you all right?”
    â€œYes,” I say, since I am not injured.
    â€œI kept trying to drive to your house but too many trees are down. I couldn’t get through town. Even last night.”
    â€œOur bridge washed out,” I say, “so we can’t leave our yard. Uncle Weldon?”
    â€œYes?”
    â€œRain is gone.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œRain is gone.” I tell him how my father let my dog out on Saturday morning during a superstorm without her collar.
    â€œOh, Rose,” says my uncle. “That’s awful.”
    â€œI don’t know what to do. We can’t look for her because we’re stuck here. And I couldn’t call the police because our phone didn’t work.”
    â€œThe police?”
    â€œSo they could search for her,” I say.
    There is a short silence at my uncle’s end of the phone, and then he says, “The police have a lot to do right now anyway. The roads have to be cleared, and some people are still stranded in their houses, surrounded by water. We’ll have to look for Rain by ourselves.” He pauses. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
    â€œWe’re a little tired of peanut butter and tuna fish,” I say. “And I had to pee in