Balancing Lucan on her hip, she made her way to the kitchen, where she swiftly gathered a container of applesauce and a small plastic spoon, expertly managing them with one hand while ensuring Lucan remained snug against her with the other. Skillfully, she nudged the highchair closer with her foot and secured Lucan inside. In a feat of maternal dexterity, she lifted the highchair—toddler, applesauce, and all—and began the precarious journey upstairs. Each step was measured and cautious as she navigated the bulky chair to the master bathroom. Once there, she gently placed it on the floor and, with a sense of urgency, stripped off yesterday's blouse—yes, she had slept in her clothes, a silent testament to the chaotic beauty of this parenthood adventure.
Minutes later she stepped inside a steaming shower, feeling a sense of pride. She had this.
The thought no more than left her mind when a high-volume shriek came from the other side of the beveled-glass shower door. She jumped from the shower, not bothering to grab a towel.
The source of the little boy’s displeasure became immediately apparent.
Lucan had knocked his container of applesauce off the tray and onto her expensive travertine tile—the flooring she’d ordered from Italy and had installed last year. Not only was the sticky substance splayed across the tiles, but the sauce was launched up the walls and spattered onto the counter and mirror. It looked like a baby war zone!
Her initial shock quickly morphed into a cocktail of frustration and disbelief as she surveyed the chaos that now adorned her meticulously curated bathroom. She didn’t have time for this.
Breathing deeply, she tried to quell the rising tide of irritation. “Lucan,” she began, her voice a mix of exasperation and forced calm, as she stepped cautiously over the gooey mess, feeling the sticky applesauce squelch underfoot.
As she knelt beside the little boy, her heart softened at the sight of his wide, apologetic eyes. The mess, while vast, paled in comparison to the innocence reflected in his gaze. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” she found herself saying, the annoyance dissipating as quickly as it had arrived. “Let’s just get this cleaned up.”
Reva hoped the morning’s chaos would be the extent of her troubles for the day. Yet, upon arriving at her office, over an hour late with little Lucan accompanying her, she was met with another unforeseen complication.
“Oh, Reva. You’re finally here!” Verna hurried toward her from her desk, wringing her hands. “I’ve been trying to reach you.”
Perplexed, Reva fished her phone out of her pocket, realizing she had forgotten to reactivate its ringer after muting it the previous night to prevent disturbing Lucan’s sleep. “I can’t believe I missed your calls. I’m so sorry,” she apologized, pressing the button to restore the sound, all while balancing her briefcase and Lucan on her opposite side.
Verna reached out and lifted Lucan from her arms, relieving her of the little boy’s weight. “Let me help you with him.”
With a nod of thanks, Reva proceeded towards her office.
“Actually, it’s best if you don’t go there,” Verna interjected hesitantly.
Reva frowned, puzzled. “And why’s that?”
Verna’s face conveyed the gravity of the situation. “There’s been a mishap. The waterline burst sometime in the middle of the night. Your office…it’s underwater.”
Reva’s initial response was a momentary freeze, the kind that comes from utter disbelief. Her frown deepened, a mix of alarm and resignation washing over her features as she processed Verna’s words. The weight of the situation momentarily anchored her in place. She let out a long, slow breath.
“Of course,” Reva finally said, her voice laced with weary acceptance—a stark contrast to the shockwave that went off inside her upon hearing the news. “Why am I not surprised? It seems the universe has quite the sense of humor today.”
She glanced down at Lucan, momentarily finding solace in his obliviousness to the chaos surrounding them. Then, looking back at Verna, she mustered a half-smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Well, no use crying over spilled water, right? Let’s see the damage.”
With that, Reva followed Verna, stepping with a deliberate calmness she didn’t feel. Each step felt like wading through the symbolic floodwaters of her life’s current state—overwhelmed, but not yet sinking. She was determined to navigate this latest challenge with the same resolve she applied to every aspect of her life.
Long ago, she’d determined to be a woman characterized by her strength, adaptability, and perseverance in the face of adversity. She had strong role models—both her mother and mamaw, God rest her soul—possessed unwavering spirits that refused to be broken, no matter the challenges or setbacks encountered.
While Reva had never experienced school segregation or the deeply ingrained cultural issues of the south, she had wrestled her demon of alcoholism, a trek that taught her the importance of acknowledging her feelings, but she also knew how to prevent them from overwhelming her.
Still, nothing could have prepared her for what she saw when Verna opened the door and she was able to survey the damage.
Reva’s hand flew to her chest. “Oh, my!” For a moment, she struggled to breathe as she took in the fact that her office floor was covered in at least an inch of water. The flow streamed out into the hallway and over her favorite pair of Manolo Blahnik heels—the violet stilettos that matched her suit perfectly.
“I called the city engineer,” Verna reported. “He immediately shut down the power. He’s working now to get the water turned off.”
The ceiling had caved directly over her desk, and soggy pieces of drywall were scattered everywhere. The water main, hidden from sight in the darkened space above the ceiling, continued to gush water, spewing all over the desk, soaking important documents and electronic devices—including Reva’s laptop.
Files that once held the city’s plans and projects were drenched and floating. Her computer and phone were puddled in water, potentially ruining them, and losing vital information.
The water didn’t stop at the desk. It spread across the room, soaking carpets, furniture, and artwork, turning the mayor’s office into a flooded mess. Staff scrambled to salvage what they could, moving items to higher ground and attempting to stem the flow of water, but the damage was immediate and extensive.
Lucan chose that moment to cry. Not a small whimper but an all-out screeching wail. Reva waded through the water and took the ill-tempered child from her assistant’s arms. “Shh…” she murmured, trying to quiet him. Her attempt only served to push him into a more frenzied meltdown. He arched his back and plummeted his fists in the air, waving them wildly in a fit.
Reva glanced around, feeling helpless, as the crew all turned to stare at her and the developing situation. As she attempted to calm Lucan with a melody her grandmother once sang, her voice cracked under the strain, failing to convey the comfort she so desperately wanted to provide.
