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Sabal Palms After the Storm

By Terry Overton

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Chapter One

Each morning you get out of bed, not suspecting for one moment that on this particular day, everything you have ever known will change. You could never imagine your life, and the lives of countless other people, would be transformed as a result of your actions and the Divine intervention of a hurricane. This was exactly what had happened a year ago today for Elaine Smith, whose little-known writing had suddenly exploded onto the literary world. You see, Elaine used an old-fashioned typewriter to create devotionals and Christian articles. She believed her writing was not good enough to be read by others, so she tossed the crumpled pieces of paper into the trash container beside her desk. One year ago, God had used a hurricane to send His messages, typed by Elaine’s hands, to people who needed to hear them most.
The upheaval and near-complete destruction of Elaine’s small Texas coastal town of Sabal Palms had taken only a few hours on that fateful day. Hurricane Jada, a Cat 3 storm, had barreled through the town, leaving no home or building untouched. Today, the blue tarps that covered damaged surviving rooftops were gone. For nearly twelve months, the coastal region of South Texas was abuzz with saws, trucks, and heavy equipment. The homes along the beach had been repaired or rebuilt, and the residents there, including the newly published author Elaine Smith, were going about their ordinary routines, unaware of a far greater devastation emerging on the horizon.

“Bella, come on, girl,” Elaine called to her rescued miniature schnauzer. Bella had been abandoned on the beach after the storm, and Elaine had adopted her right away. The little dog scampered up the beach house steps, wagging her nub of a tail, and lapped up the water in her bowl on the deck.

“Okay, little one, I’ll get your breakfast. Then it’s down to business. I have a phone conference soon.”

Bella wagged her tail faster and turned her head a touch.

Elaine’s extensive “to do” list for today replayed over in her mind as she opened the screened door. First things first, she thought. Phone conference with Billy and the record producer, then planning for next steps on the album. Since 3:30 a.m., Elaine had been awake worrying about the telephone conference with her collaborative songwriter, Billy Wrangle, and their producer in Nashville. In her mind, she reviewed the topics to cover during the conference.

The disturbing sound of footsteps crunching on the seashell walkway interrupted her thoughts. Her plans for the day were about to be upended.

“Oh! There you are!” Bonnie yelled.

“Here I am.” Elaine stopped in her tracks, unsure how Bonnie was about to disrupt her day.

Appearing at the top of the steps dressed in her white capris, sea foam green top, and matching sandals, Bonnie said, “I missed you when you walked by my house earlier. You did walk by?”

Looking at Bonnie, Elaine noticed she was far too dressy for a casual day at her own beach house. “Yes, I did come by earlier today.”


“Didn’t see you. Guess I was getting dressed.”

Bella launched toward Bonnie and licked her ankles. “Oh!” Bonnie sighed. “And here you are, pooch.”

After Elaine rescued Bella, Bonnie wasted no time letting her feelings be known about the dog to anyone within earshot. She tolerated the little dog, but in truth, she had no use for her.

“What’s up, Bonnie? Going somewhere?” Elaine asked, tiring of the suspense.

“You forgot,” Bonnie declared.

“Forgot?”

“You’re taking me into town for my lab test results.”

“Oh, no! I did forget. It will just take me a minute to get changed.
I’ll drive you over. Come in if you like.”

Bonnie followed Elaine up the steps and into the cottage. Bonnie looked at her watch. “This is a fine how-do-you-do. I’m supposed to be there in twenty-minutes.”

Elaine found a pair of capris and a summer top in record speed. “Okay. Almost ready.”

It had been years since Bonnie’s husband, Bill, had died. Shortly after his death, Bonnie had sold the car. Although Elaine prayed Bonnie would buy her own car, it was evident Elaine would continue to be Bonnie’s taxi for an undetermined length of time.

Elaine’s mind was tangled up with thoughts of the phone conference with Billy Wrangle and the interference of this last- minute ride into town. How could she have forgotten Bonnie’s annual lab results? Why did she schedule the conference call on the same day as Bonnie’s doctor’s appointment? How would she be able to have a Zoom conference call while driving?

“That’s what happens when you don’t put it on your calendar,” she mumbled, fussing at herself.
“Slippage,” she murmured.

This term, slippage, was rarely, if ever, discussed among her best friends. In fact, Mary, Bonnie, Adriana, and Elaine herself never, under any circumstances, brought it up. It was as off-limits as arm wrinkles and thigh cellulite when the women were in their swimsuits. If mentioned, the word slippage was promptly hushed over faster than butter melts in a hot skillet. Slippage was defined by the women as the slow ebbing away of one’s ability to use short-term memory. They used the word when speaking of others; but never, ever, ever would this word be used in reference to or as a direct question about the four women themselves. All four of the women increasingly relied on notes, calendars, and kindly reminders to each other of important events, such as church gatherings, cookouts on the beach, or pool parties at Adriana’s. And today was a perfect example of why Elaine needed a calendar, and, more importantly, she needed to use it. Double-booking or flat-out forgetting events was avoided for fear that the term slippage might be uttered.

It took five minutes for Elaine to change from her walking shorts to presentable clothes. “Okay. Ready.” Elaine grabbed her car keys and headed for the front door.

***

Driving into town presented another opportunity for the women to see the latest “For Sale,” “Sale Pending,” and “Sold” realtor signs scattered along the road. The turnover of property was astronomical after Hurricane Jada. Homeowners actively battled for curb-appeal and a share of market attention. The newly planted palm trees and oleanders were cleverly placed in award-winning landscaped lawns for each rebuilt or repaired house. Renovated homes lined the road, begging for new owners. When an owner was contacted by a realtor to schedule a showing of the property to a potential buyer, the word spread faster than the rising tide in a tidal flat.

In disbelief, Elaine shook her head. “Can you believe what’s happened to Sabal Palms since last year?”

“No. Droves of people anxious to leave, saying they wouldn’t go through another storm. Fools! Selling so cheap! I would never—”

“Now, Bonnie, not everyone is meant to stay here on the coast. They like being inland. Maybe they feel safer.”

“Chickens! Seriously! They will move someplace even worse! They will end up in a location where there are tornados! Or fires! Or earthquakes. Oh, for heaven’s sakes! Selling their homes after a simple storm!” she barked.

As the volume of her voice increased, so did the redness of Bonnie’s face. Elaine glanced at Bonnie’s crimson countenance. “Bonnie, I’m curious. Will the nurse be taking your blood pressure when you check in at the doctor’s office?”

Grumbling, she muttered, “Oh . . . okay.” Bonnie closed her eyes and took deep breaths to calm down.

“Anyway, Bonnie, what’s so awful about new people moving in? It could bring some excitement to our little town.”

“Excitement? You’re kidding, right? Wait. You’re not kidding! Have you already forgotten the excitement brought on by your writing after the hurricane? And how we must now hide your true identity? Someday, someone will find out your real name. Then there will be no privacy, no quiet, little strip of beach in front of our cottages. We will be overrun by paparazzi! Tourists wanting autographs! Crowding us everywhere! Can you even imagine? Whoever thought of your pen name, Terry Overton, anyway? What kind of cockamamie name is that? Sounds like a man’s name. Terry—with a y? Someone will find out, and then what? Probably one of those new people moving in will discover who you really are. They will try to change everything! They will be a bunch of nosy busybodies—”

“About your blood pressure?"

Bonnie grumbled something Elaine couldn’t hear, folded her arms, and sat in silence the rest of the way as the car meandered down the small road to town. Nearing town, Bonnie murmured, “Well, for the love of Pete. Look at Mr. McGregor.”

Glancing to the right side of the road, Elaine noticed Mr. McGregor pulling his trash can to the curb. “Wonder why he is doing that? It’s not trash pick-up for two more days.”

“I wonder . . . ” Bonnie said quietly. “I wonder if it’s . . . Could it be slippage?”

“Heaven forbid,” Elaine whispered.

Elaine turned the last corner on the route and parked the car.

Bonnie opened her door, then looked at Elaine before stepping out. “Well, at least I won’t have to put on that foolish tissue paper gown for this appointment. Just about freeze to death in those things. You coming inside?”

“No. I’ll wait here. I need to contact Billy this morning.”

“Okay. The results of my tests shouldn’t take long. Waiting to get in to see the doctor for my appointment, now that’s a different story,” she said with a huff and closed the car door.


“I’ll be here when you finish.”

Elaine texted Billy to let him know she would have to reschedule their video conference call with Nashville. He answered back right away and assured her their producer would understand. He suggested they reschedule for tomorrow. Elaine sent a quick thank you back to him.

How did I get myself into this? I’m retired, she thought. She paused for a moment. She knew exactly how she had ended up in a deal with Billy Wrangle and the record company. It was her own writing that had paved the way. The words of her story were used by Billy in his first hit song. Her thoughts carried her back to the day when he said, “Your words saved my life. I was at the end, at the bottom—rock bottom—and your writing saved me.” Her written words, lost somehow on a scrap of paper in Hurricane Jada, were found by Billy Wrangle and had made a difference to him. He was able to survive the heartbreak of his fiancée’s tragic death. He was back on his feet and planned to bring Elaine right along with him on his musical rise to the top.
This thought brought a smile to her face. She nodded and whispered, “My writing made a difference to Billy. That’s how I got here.” She remembered the other people who had found her scraps of paper with her devotionals and how her words had helped them. Jack had found her passages, as had Cara, and then there was—

Elaine was so lost in her thoughts, she didn’t see Bonnie walking toward the car, and the opening of the car door startled her.

Alarmed by Bonnie’s red face and current state of mind, she said, “Oh, Bonnie, sorry, I wasn’t paying . . . Bonnie, are you okay?”

Bonnie whimpered a bit, blew her nose, and then sat in the car and closed the door.

“Bonnie?”

“Stupid tests.”

“Bonnie, what is it?” Elaine placed her hand on Bonnie’s shoulder.

“I’m getting old.” She sniffled.

“But is everything okay? Your tests—were they okay?”

She sniffled again and wiped her eyes. “My glucose. It’s borderline.”

“Oh? What does that mean?”

Bonnie buried her face in her hands and began to cry. She was in a full-blown bawling episode. She was inconsolable.

“Bonnie, Bonnie, now, it’s okay. We’ll figure this all out.” She patted Bonnie’s hand. “How about we go over to Mary’s house for a cup of coffee?”

Bonnie wiped her nose and nodded.

Elaine texted Mary and then started the engine.

Bonnie didn’t say another word. She opened her purse and took out two pieces of paper. She stared at the pages for the remaining six blocks to Mary’s house. In all the years Elaine had known Bonnie, she had never been so quiet. She wasn’t this quiet even when Bill had passed away.

Elaine parked her car. She and Bonnie opened their car doors and saw Mary dressed in her blue “Save the Manatees” t-shirt and a pair of shorts waving from her porch.

“Come on up, girls. I just put on a fresh pot of coffee.”

Elaine stepped out of the car and gave Mary the “I don’t know” shoulder shrug.

Bonnie quietly got out of the car and walked up the steps to the large, sprawling, Southern front porch. Elaine and Bonnie took their seats in the wicker rocking chairs.

Ignoring Bonnie’s silence, Mary remarked, “Good to see the two of you. I was just thinking we haven’t had a morning coffee in a while. I’ll get the coffee and fixin’s.”

Mary returned with a beautiful wicker tray full of coffee, dainty dishes, napkins, and sweet rolls. Bonnie took one look at the array of pastries and burst into tears.

“Oh, dear. Honey, what’s wrong?” Mary asked.

Bonnie blew her nose again—this time, a long, honking blow into her tissue. She wiped her eyes and said, “It’s my blood sugar. I can’t . . . I can’t eat sugar.”

“Oh, dear me.” Mary’s wide eyes turned to Elaine in shock.

This would be a whole change of lifestyle for Bonnie and Mary, whose very lives were centered on pies, cakes, and cooking in general. The essence of all social gatherings had always been food.

“Here, sweetie, take some coffee.” Mary handed Bonnie a cup and the cream. “Now, now, it might not be so bad. Tell us exactly what you found out.”

Bonnie sighed. “I’m borderline diabetic. The doctor said my glucose has been inching up over the years. And now, my fasting blood sugar”—she sniffed again—“was 107.” Her whimpers turned to tears.

“Goodness,” Mary said. “What in the world is it supposed to be?”

Trying to compose herself, she murmured, “Under one hundred.”

“I see.” Mary put her hand on Bonnie’s arm. “Now, that isn’t so bad.
Just a little over one hundred.”

Bonnie semi-collected herself. “I can’t eat carbs. I can’t eat grains. I can’t eat sugar.” She whimpered and wiped her eyes. “What is a carb, anyway? What is left? What can I eat?”

Mary, known for having no verbal filter whatsoever, blurted out, “Salad. Oh, and meat. Guess that’s all that’s left. Lettuce and meat.”

Elaine looked at Bonnie’s face to detect the reaction. The inaccurate statement that Bonnie would be restricted to eat only meat and green salad might cause Bonnie to go into a fit of rage. Elaine expected an emotional explosion or breakdown any second.

Bonnie was unexpectedly calm. “Well”—she sniffed and wiped her nose—“what is a carb?”

Once again, Mary revealed the truth too quickly. “Potatoes, bread, rice—you know, all the good stuff.”

Bonnie sobbed again, but a little quieter.

Elaine shot Mary a disapproving look. If she had been sitting beside Mary, she would have elbowed her. “Bonnie, what did the doctor tell you to do?”

Holding up a piece of paper, Bonnie mumbled, “She said to follow this diet. Low carb, no sugar. And to . . . ” She sniffed again, threatening another good cry. The tears were about to spout like Niagara Falls.

“What, dear?” Mary asked.

And now, the full-blown cry happened again. In the middle of her sobbing, she muttered, “Exercise and . . . ” More sobbing. “I have to test my sugar . . . every . . . morning.” She was sobbing nonstop by the time she blubbered out the last two words.

“What? Why every morning? You aren’t diabetic. For Pete’s sakes, why?” Mary shrieked.

“To see if”—she sniffed again and wiped her eyes—“if I can get my sugar lower by eating on this diet.”

With no advance notice or invitation, Adriana, the youngest and wealthiest of the four women, pulled into the driveway and honked the horn of her red sports car.

“Hey, girls,” she shouted. The jangling of her jewelry could be heard from the driveway when she waved. “I was on my way to the store and—” Adriana glanced across the porch and saw Bonnie’s current state of total meltdown. “Wait, what is happening? What’s the matter?”

Elaine stood up and gestured to Adriana. “Come on up.”

Adriana turned off her car and joined the women on the porch. At times like this, these women all pulled together. They had been through worse scenarios. They had helped each other through the Category Three hurricane just last year. They had supported each other when their husbands had passed away. They were at Adriana’s side when she had found out her husband, Antony, was murdered by the mobster Frankie the Gun. They would get through this, too. They would help Bonnie pull through and come out on the other side healthier than ever.

Bonnie, Mary, and Elaine brought Adriana up to speed on what was happening, including the details of the diet Bonnie was allowed to eat.

Adriana, being the proud and very dramatic Italian—Sicilian, to be exact—that she was, waved her hands in the air with her sparkling bracelets flashing around, and gasped, “Oh my! No pasta? No bread? I couldn’t do it! I just couldn’t! Oh, Bonnie!”

Elaine shot Adriana a look.

Bonnie burst into tears once again.


Elaine sensed the need to reign in Bonnie’s panic and Adriana’s frenzied reaction. “I’m sure we will all do our part to help Bonnie find the kind of recipes she will need. We can learn to cook some dishes and help her out. It won’t hurt for us to improve our own health.”

Taking another tissue from her purse, Bonnie managed a meager smile. “You would do that?”

It took Mary a few moments to process Bonnie’s earlier comments. Then she turned to Bonnie in shock. “Oh, my word! Bonnie, do you have to stick your finger every day to test your sugar? Oh, my goodness! Every day?”

This initiated another full-blown crying episode.

Elaine was exasperated. At times, there was just no controlling Mary. She must redirect the whole conversation. “Bonnie, I have an idea.”

Still bawling, Bonnie looked at Elaine.

Louder, Elaine announced, “Girls, I have an idea.”

All eyes focused on Elaine. “I know what we can do. I will search online and order us different cookbooks for this diet—this low-carb, no-sugar thing. We can do this.” Elaine wanted Mary and Adriana to settle down, and she wanted Bonnie to think positively. “We will do this together.” But at times like this, it was difficult to console even your best friend.

Bonnie calmed a bit. Mary took the sweet rolls back into the house and out of sight. Adriana hugged Bonnie and provided sympathetic looks.

After a few moments, Bonnie collected herself, smoothed her hair, and straightened her blouse.
“Bonnie, what would you like to do now?” Elaine asked.

She unfolded the instructional papers from the doctor. “I need to go to the drugstore and get this.”

Elaine took the papers from Bonnie and read the instructions for monitoring fasting glucose. “Well, then, we’ll go to the drugstore before we go home. Then once you and I are back at our cottages, we will go for a nice, long walk on the beach. That will be a first step to increase your exercise. We’ll walk at least twice a day on the beach. Easy for us to do that. We’ll put on our shorts and flip-flops and get going.” Then, with a voice of authority, Elaine added, “And girls, tonight, cookout at my place. It will be our first healthy meal on our new road to get this thing under control.”

Mary and Adriana nodded.

Bonnie managed a meager smile. She gathered her papers and placed them in her purse.

Elaine smiled at her successful effort to turn this crying jag around. “All right, then. We will gather at my house at 5:30 this afternoon. I’ll look up a few recipes online and text each of you to let you know what to bring.”

Mary, once again spouting off before she thought it through, asked, “But what about dessert?”

“Mary!” Adriana roared, throwing up her arms and rattling her jewelry.

“No, no, don’t worry,” Elaine said. “I will find something we will all eat and enjoy.”

Bonnie stood up and nodded to Elaine. “I’m ready. Let’s go to the drugstore and get this over with.”

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