Page 16 of Pretty Relentless

My gray-and-white tabby cat, Tabitha, is snuggled on the blanket at my feet, sleeping. She’s the most temperamental cat, usually preferring to hide beneath my bed or spread out behind the couch near my heat register, so when she chooses to make her appearance known by lying with me, I’m not going to balk.

I’ve always been a cat person. I have nothing against other types of pets, but when I was a little girl, my dad and I rescued a stray that showed up at the farm, and I’ve been a cat lover ever since. Socks, named after his white feet on an otherwise black-and-gray body, was my best friend and went everywhere with me. Of course, after Socks arrived, a couple more followed, ensuring our farm always had a litter or two of kittens running around. The barn was always full of feline activity.

Tabitha was one of the barn cats I rescued about three years back. Her mother took off almost immediately after birth, leaving a small litter of two in need of tons of care. Between mydad and I, we bottle fed those babies every day, but sadly, only one survived. I felt a kinship to that surviving kitten, having lost my own mother just two short years before.

Tabitha has been with me ever since.

I carefully reach down and run my hand across her soft back, showering her with pets and attention, while keeping my legs and feet completely still so she doesn’t get mad and move. She cracks open one eye and looks my way, annoyance flinting across her face. She adjusts herself, giving me her back, which is both not surprising and annoying. I mean, it’s not like I wasn’t the one who mothered her to life after her own mom abandoned her, but whatever.

The wind has picked up in the last hour or so, rattling my windows on the north side of the house, which just so happens to be where my couch is positioned. Snow is falling outside, adding to the already covered roadways and yards. I shoveled my front and back steps earlier, but now that it’s coming down again and will be for the better part of the night, I’ll have a big mess to clean up in the morning.

Just as the documentary begins to reconstruct the tragic scene that resulted in the death of the kids, I hear a loud groan outside, like wood creaking and bending. It reminds me of the scene inTitanicwhen the ship was flexing and getting ready to snap in half.

Holding my breath, I turn toward the window. The shade is still up because I enjoy watching the snow fall, and that gives me the perfect line of sight to see my front porch cave in. The rumble of the material breaking and falling has me letting out a scream. The force of the roof caving in causes my wall to shake and my window to break.

The cat is long gone, probably hiding under my bed at this point. My heart is pounding so loud, I can no longer hear the wind howl outside, but I can now feel it, thanks to the big cracksin my front window that look as if the weight of the roof pressing against it and the gale force winds might do it in completely.

I scramble from the couch and go in search of my cell phone. My hands are shaking as I reach for the device. It takes two attempts at putting in my passcode, adding to my frustration, but finally, I get the digits in properly and tap the first number in my call favorites. It’s not too late, so hopefully Dad isn’t already in bed, sleeping.

“Hello?”

“Dad, I think my front porch roof caved in,” I tell him, as I blink hard to keep the tears at bay. “My window is broken, and I…I don’t know what to do.”

“I’m on my way, Ava Grace. Give me a little extra time to get there,” he says. I can hear him rustling around the house.

My heart drops into my stomach. “The roads,” I start, glancing out the kitchen window and watching the snow fall.

“I’ll be fine, honey. The truck has four-wheel drive, and I’ve heard the plow is already out to try to stay ahead of it.”

I nod. “All right, but please be careful,” I say, sniffling. I’m not sure where this wave of emotions has come from, but it hits me like a ton of bricks.

“Always. Be there shortly, Ava Grace. Stay away from that broken window.” His voice is gentle and kind, just like always.

“Will do. Love you,” I whisper. The moment he replies, I hang up, cradling my phone to my chest.

I can’t believe this is happening. I’ve spent so much time over the last couple of years making small, affordable updates to my house and property. The front porch, while appearing dated with its lean-to style, slanted roof, seemed sturdy. Apparently, the weight of snow and the constant freezing and thawing of ice has taken its toll on the structure, causing it to collapse.

Redoing the front entrance to my home is on my to-do list. My plan was to rebuild the porch, adding a peak in themiddle and extending it out to cover more of the front of the house. Now, those incredibly costly repairs are going to need to be examined sooner, rather than later. I’ll have to replace the window for sure, and maybe more. I’ve been saving since my last home renovation project in the kitchen, but if this issue requires a new roof, I definitely won’t have enough for that.

Don’t get ahead of yourself, Ava.

I take a deep, calming breath and let it out slowly. There’s no reason to worry about things I don’t know yet, nor can control.

Slipping out of the kitchen, I head for my bedroom to put on a few layers of warmer clothes and check on Tabitha. I grab the first pair of thick flannel pants I can find and pair them with a random mismatched fleece sweatshirt. When I’ve added a little more warmth, I drop to my knees and peer under my bed. Balled up against the wall is my cat, glaring at me as if I somehow caused the roof to fall and my window to break on purpose, my cat sighs before closing her eyes and ignoring me completely.

So judgy.

Retrieving a thick pair of wool socks, I take them to my living room and slip them on my feet before heading to the mudroom off the back of the house to put on my snow boots, stocking hat, and winter coat. When I’m finally bundled up, I go through the back door and enter my attached garage, since I’m certain the front entrance is going to be completely blocked by the caved-in porch.

I grab the shovel positioned by the door and prepare to make my way to the front of the house. The snow continues to fall as I head outside, my face getting pelted with wet snowflakes and cold wind, but I push through the discomfort, determined to shovel a path to the front.

Halfway up my driveway, a full-size truck rumbles around the corner and slowly pulls in. Relieved Dad made it to mesafely, I give up on my quest to shovel snow and walk his way. He’s just exiting the big Ford when I reach his side.

Dad glances to my front porch and whistles. “That’s a doozy, Ava Grace.”

I turn to see the damage for myself, my throat suddenly dry and tears starting to burn my eyes. “That’s not good.” The posts that once held up my porch roof are broken, and the roof itself is hanging from where it was connected to my roof and hanging against the side of the house.

“No, but it could be worse. Let me see if I can get up there and check on the brace structure. It’s held up, which is why the porch is like that, but we need to assess the damage.”

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