Chapter Forty
My code still works at the gate to Parre Hills, but my hand stings from getting pelted by hail as I punch it in. It’s like the storm is moving at the same pace and direction I am, driving me toward doom.
I drive as fast as I safely can through the gated community to my parents’ house and pull under the carport back by the garden shed.
“Stay here, Janey. I’ll be right back.”
One swipe of the wind’s breath steals the car’s warmth. I run up to the garage, lift the protective cover of the keypad, and pray my parents haven’t changed the code.
The keypad blinks twice, and the door lifts. “Yes!” I run back to the car, grab my backpack, and then open the back door for Janey. “Come on, girl! Come on!”
Frozen spheres bounce across the cement driveway as if God has dumped out a barrel of gum-machine bouncy balls. In the brief time it takes me to get back to the garage with Janey, the hail’s size has increased, but at least my car is protected from the worst of it.
It isn’t until I press the interior button to close the garage door that I realize both of my parents’ cars are missing.
My parents aren’t home.
My parents. Are not. At home.
Mercy.
Janey shakes. A fresh coat of rain and mud—and maybe a little fur and drool—fly my direction.
“There’s no getting around it, pup. You have to get a bath before you go much further. It’s straight to the shower, okay?”
Janey whines and tucks her tail between her legs but follows me into the house. Her claws click on the slate floor of the mudroom that connects the garage to the rest of the house. She stops by the washing machine and sits, as if obeying that particular command.
“Shower, Janey.” My voice is firm as I flip on the light. At the far end of the large mudroom, a pocket door leads to the smallest bathroom in our house.
“Go on, now.”
I pull open the glass shower door and turn on the water, testing it with my hand to make sure it’s not too hot or cold. When Janey doesn’t move, I straddle her, put my hands on her hips, and push. “Shower. Now.”
She obeys. I follow her in, shut the glass door behind us, and spray as much mud off Janey as I can before applying the shampoo, which takes quite a while to rinse out of Janey’s thick fluff. Finally, after she’s shaken a few more times, I let her out and towel her off as best I can.
Lukewarm water may have been fine for Janey, but it isn’t nearly warm enough to shake the chill from my bones. I turn the faucet handle closer to the “H” mark.
The mirror is completely fogged over by the time I exit my wonderfully steamy shower. I dry off, tuck a fresh towel around my body, slide the door into its pocket, and . . . scream.
“Mom! I didn’t know you were home.”
My mother stands in the doorway of the mudroom holding a cast iron skillet above her head.
“Faith?”
Janey growls, leaning back on her haunches, her attention riveted on the person she perceives as a threat to her master.
“Janey, sit. Mom, put the pan down. You’re scaring her.”
Mom blinks and lowers the skillet. “I’m scaring her?
” She takes a shaky breath and sets the skillet on top of the dryer.
“You scared me half to death!” Her hand flutters over her heart.
“I thought some crazy homeless person had broken into our house to take a shower! And then you opened the door and that dog—”
“Didn’t you see my car outside?”
“Your car . . . ? I didn’t think to look for a car.”
“Please tell me you didn’t call the police.”
“I didn’t.” Mom blinks again. The corner of her mouth twitches. “That was pretty stupid of me, though, wasn’t it?” She laughs and looks at the skillet. “I mean, what was I going to do, invite some vagrant into the kitchen for a grilled cheese sandwich?”
I can’t help myself. I laugh. “Sorry. I should have called or something, but my phone died a couple of hours ago. When I opened the garage door and saw your cars were gone, I just assumed . . .” I shrug and reach for another towel. “I didn’t think anyone was home.”
When I move to the side, Mom peers past me.
“What in the world happened to you two?”
“I’ll clean it up. I promise. We got caught out in the storm. In the woods.”
“You were in the woods? Tonight? For heaven’s sake, Faith, we’ve been under a tornado watch since three o’clock this afternoon!
They’ve been sighting funnel clouds along the path of this storm since it started to move up from Kansas.
And the lightning!” She leans against the dryer. “You could have been killed.”
“I didn’t know the weather was going to be this bad. I didn’t think to check the forecast before I came down. Sorry.”
“Well,” Mom says, crossing her arms, “maybe if you had called and told me you were coming, I could have warned you about the weather.”
“Well, maybe not everybody freaks out over a little storm like you do.” I bite my lip, wishing it would have been my tongue, about two seconds ago. “That came out a little harsher than I intended. I’m sorry, I’m just . . . tired. I hadn’t planned to—”
I don’t finish the sentence. But from the hurt look on her face, I realize I don’t have to.
We stare at each other in silence for a long moment.
“You planned a trip to Kanton, but you weren’t going to come here.”
There’s knowledge in my mother’s tone, but strangely, no recrimination.
“No. I was going to go right back home.” I bite my lip. “To Ann Arbor, I mean. I have to work tomorrow night.”
“At the spa?”
“No, my other job.”
Mom nods. “That’s right. Ryan said you met some kids from that program you’re going into and got a job singing with them somewhere.”
“Mm-hmm. One of my roommates got me the audition. They schedule us together usually, so we can drive over together. To Detroit. The club is in Detroit.”
“And it’s a jazz club, right?” Her voice is soft. “That sounds . . . interesting.”
She’s trying. She’s actually . . . trying.
“It’s a cabaret club. We do a little jazz, a little blues, some standards, a few show tunes .
. .” I shrug. “It’s fun. Good experience, too.
A few other students from the program work there.
It’ll be nice starting school in a couple of weeks, already knowing some people. ”
“Yes, I suppose it will.” Mom takes a deep breath. “I guess I should let you get dressed.”
“Do you think I could borrow a robe or something? Everything in my backpack is soaked.”
“Sure. Actually, I just washed one of mine.” She opens the dryer and sorts through, pulling out a white terrycloth robe and hands it to me
“You can bunk down in the family room with me. This storm front probably has a couple more hours of energy in it, and there’s no sense taking any more chances with your safety tonight than you already have.”
“Okay.” I nod. “Can Janey come, too?”
She sighs. “I suppose. She’ll just lie at the top of the stairs and whine, otherwise.”
It’s true. Janey hates storms almost as much as my mom does. “We’ll be down as soon as I get this cleaned up.”
“Leave it. It’ll be there in the morning.”
“But—”
“It’s after eleven, Faith. It just hailed half an hour ago, and we’re under a tornado watch. We should be in the basement.”
“Okay.” Back when I lived here, the house could have been on fire, and Mom would have expected me to stay on task until every last germ was sanitized. Now, it seems almost as if Mom cares more about . . . me.
Maybe the distance was good for both of us.
My eyes burn. I blink them. “I’ll just throw the towels and my clothes in the washer. I’ll be down in a minute.”
Mom nods and leaves me to it.
I set the robe on top of the washing machine.
With the towel still wrapped around me, I grab more towels and try to dry my wet mop of a dog before wiping down the areas where noticeable mud has clung.
When I’m satisfied, I slip into the robe and throw my clothes and the dirty towels into the washing machine.
Taking a deep breath, I gaze around the bathroom and mudroom. There’s nothing here that can’t wait until morning, no other tasks to put off my trip downstairs.
It’s time to face my mother.