Uncle Charles “Charlie” Caldwell.
He and my father hadn’t spoken in nearly a decade. Charlie was blunt, financially successful, and unafraid of confrontation. My father called him arrogant and meddlesome. I called him the only adult who ever listened.
He answered immediately.
“Savannah?”
My voice shook. “Uncle Charlie… the garage is flooding.”
A pause. Then his tone shifted into something sharp and focused. “Are you inside?”
“Yes.”
“I’m ten minutes out. Stay on the mattress.”
The next half hour felt like a lifetime compressed into fear. The water reached the edge of the bins. The wind roared so loudly it felt like the walls themselves might peel away. I imagined headlines. I imagined disappearing without anyone truly noticing.
Then headlights pierced the seams of the garage door.
