11
Lisa was, as I’d expected, well-stocked for the approaching hurricane. She’d probably filled a safe room with water, dry goods, and batteries on the morning of June 1st. That left gassing up the car and getting ice on the way home. She never lets her tank get below half, but we topped up at a gas station where the line wasn’t much worse than what you’d see on a Friday after work. Okay, maybe Friday after work and before a three-day weekend. We had less luck getting ice. The first two places we stopped had already sold out, and the third limited purchases to a single ten-pound bag. At least there were two of us, so two bags. They dripped on the floor while we waited in line to pay. Lisa mashed her lips together with her teeth (one of her stress tics), smearing her lipstick.
“Stop it. Y
