Chapter 7 A Strong Tucker #2
Instead, I’ve chosen lunacy: to run a play from my husband’s playbook and take the backseat.
I’m not going to be the uptight one tonight.
I’m going to be Tanner.
“The only thing we have to worry about,” I go on, leaning in, “is what snacks we’re gonna eat during the storm.”
Joshua stares at me like I’ve become a talking coconut.
Half an hour later, the kids are in their bed and I’m sitting up in mine, phone in hand and playing a game. Tanner stands at the window watching the rain thrash against it. I doubt there’s much else to see, it being so dark and all.
“We should’ve gone over.”
I barely look up from my phone. “What?”
“Mama offered for us to hang out at the house for the storm.”
“It’s alright. We’ve weathered a storm or two, haven’t we?”
He turns to look at me. “You’re awful calm over there with your phone.”
“Level 32,” I say, giving it a wiggle. “Bobby got me hooked.”
“You n’ Bobby were talkin’ a lot this afternoon, I noticed.”
“Got a lot in common, us husbands of Strongs. We should start a club—a Strong spouses club. Just talked ‘bout this and that. And your crazy brother dancing on a picnic table.”
“This and that?”
I look up from my phone. “You’re more interested in ‘this and that’ than us talking about your brother?”
He crosses his arms and leans against the window, seeming to drop it. “Storm’s gettin’ real bad, babe. The pond could flood.”
Was he trying to get at something? “Good thing our house is elevated.” I give the window half a second of my attention, force myself to ignore the frighteningly powerful weather, and snap my eyes back to my phone. “Well, look at that. Boom, baby. Level 33.”
The shuffling of feet brings both of our attentions to the door, where a slightly annoyed Marcus appears. “Sorry, Dads,” he says, “but my brother’s kinda freaking out. Do you think—”
“I have an idea,” I announce suddenly, pocketing my phone. “I think what’s in store for us … is a living room campout! How about that?” I swing my legs off the bed and yank off the comforter. “Get Joshua. We’re havin’ ourselves a storm party in the living room.”
Marcus lifts his eyebrows at me, surprised. Tanner, too.
The living room couch and the wide floor in front of it soon become a mess of all our pillows, quilts, and comforters, which is the best that we can do without sleeping bags, all of them at the main house.
Apparently it’s enough; Joshua and Marcus have the TV on to play a game (Minecraft) while Tanner and I cuddle on the floor with them, our backs leaned against the foot of the couch.
It may be late, but I brought out leftover Halloween candy and filled a couple bowls.
Who cares if we get crumbs and crap everywhere?
Then there’s paparazzi at every window.
Flashing and popping. Lamps fluttering. TV flickering.
Then darkness.
Nothing but the rain roaring outside.
“Well, that was short-lived,” I say in a cheery but flat voice, now wielding the only source of light: my phone and the colorful, twinkly game on its screen.
“I’ll get candles,” decides Tanner. “Sit tight, boys!” And off he goes to the kitchen, yanking open every single drawer and cabinet except for the right one.
Soon, we’re seated around the coffee table full of candles and the bowls of candy.
Marcus keeps helping Joshua fish out the ones he likes while he plays on his tablet.
Without the TV, the voracious rain and howling winds aren’t as easy to ignore, even interrupted now and then by a chime or sound from the tablet.
It’s impossible to keep calm when nature is being so violent all around you.
“Does anyone have a fun story?” I decide to ask with a smile, aiming to keep the mood light.
“Are you guys getting a divorce?” asks Joshua instead through his mouthful of Skittles.
Something smacks loudly against the window—a rock, a twig, who knows what it is. Everyone turns to look, startled. Everyone except me. I’m staring blankly at my son over candlelight, unable to speak, all the wind knocked out of me.
“Of course not,” snaps Tanner, sounding angry. Then he pulls back and tries again. “Of course not. We’re not goin’ anywhere. It’s not …” He changes his tack completely. “Where’d you hear that?”
I guess Tanner’s initial snapping caused Joshua to close right up. “No one.”
Tanner winces, noticing. “I didn’t mean to snap.
I was just … that’s so crazy, y’know? To hear that.
” He looks at Marcus, who’s picking at his fingers, silent.
He lost them. “Hey, listen.” He scoots around the coffee table and sits next to Joshua, his voice as soft as butter.
“I don’t know where you heard that crazy rumor, but your dads aren’t goin’ anywhere.
People here in Spruce, they get bored, and they just …
talk sometimes. Y’know? They just talk.”
“Okay.”
“I promise. We’re not going anywhere.” He pats Joshua on the head, then ruffs up his hair. Normally that makes him laugh, but in this moment, the kid just stares glumly at the candy bowl. Tanner glances at me across the coffee table, as if asking for help.
Then he looks down quickly.
Another boom of lightning.
No one moves.
A whole half hour later, the storm still rages outside.
Joshua is asleep (or pretending to be) while his brother lies next to him on the floor with the tablet on his lap, the glow of the screen lighting up his face.
I don’t even know what time it is, but the power is still out, and Tanner is in our bedroom on the phone now with his dad, talking him out of coming over to collect us.
I’m on the couch and keep looking over at the kids, Joshua’s question hanging in the air, repeating over and over.
He wouldn’t have asked that question if it weren’t for me. Me and the explosion of words from my mouth in this room the day a marshmallow nightstand got the best of my temper.
This is all my fault. The four of us could be laughing right now in the dark.
Telling stories and staying in a light mood.
Instead, Joshua barely ate any more candy after spooking himself with that question, and Marcus has vanished away into his tablet.
We are all supposed to be at the main house for Thanksgiving in two weeks, and just when I feel everything coming together, it falls apart.
Why can’t we be honest? I’ve been forced to keep up this charade. Tanner has made a fucking liar out of me. Is that what we are now? Parents who lie to their kids and make false promises? I can’t live with myself another damned day, doing this to our kids.
Before I’m ready for him, Tanner appears right by the couch. I didn’t even hear him hang up with his dad. “Babe, you can sleep on the bed if you want. I’ll stay with the kids.”
“Parents okay?” I ask after closing my eyes. Can’t look at him. I’m so angry and it’s all buried down beneath my blank, untelling face. See? All I do is lie now. Even to myself. “They have power?”
“Papa considered runnin’ the generator, but I guess Mama’s convinced the power’s gonna come back on any second now.
” A thunderous boom fills our ears, followed by more flashing in the windows.
“Babe, your back’s gonna be so sore, I just know it.
You may love lying on this couch but you hate waking up on it. Go sleep in the bed.”
And he’s being sweet to me when I’m angry.
It just makes everything so much worse.
“I’m fine,” I tell him behind closed eyes.
“Well, you might be now, but I know you, and—”
“Said I’m fine.”
“Babe …”
I sit up so fast, I would’ve smacked him right in the jaw with my skull had his reflexes not been just as quick. “Alright. I’ll go to bed, then. Away from my kids. By myself. On my cushy-ass bed.”
Tanner’s face twists. “Babe? I didn’t mean—”
I’m off the couch, hugging the comforter to my chest. Marcus is looking up at me from the floor, the glow of his tablet making his face look ghostly and scared. Joshua has peeked an eye open, giving himself away.
I realize the mask is all but shattered in front of the kids.
There’s no doubt now. Nothing to hide behind.
I doubt we were fooling them anyway.
And just as I make it to the doorway of our bedroom, in a moment when the storm sounds eerily calm, the unmistakable, splintering snap of wood is heard, and before my eyes, the roof of our bedroom cracks open to the night sky and delivers unto our bed a familiarly thick and deadly arm of a tree, crashing down like a murderous gift from the gods.