Chapter 9
Nine
SAM
One of the most stressful parts of storm cleanup is keeping those who weathered the first storm from finding ways to kill themselves.
In the past ten minutes, I’ve had to repeatedly remind people not to get too close to downed power lines, to be mindful of broken glass, and not to get too friendly with animals that have found sudden freedom due to the storm.
Meanwhile, second only to knowing everyone is safe and sound, all I want is a hot shower and clean clothes. My jeans are soaked through. No doubt my hair looks like it’s weathered its own storm. And my boots squish whenever I take a step.
In the past hour, the town has found its way out of the chaos as best it can.
Generators have begun to power up. Word that a couple of cherry pickers have been spotted on the west side of town sends up a cheer throughout the bar.
And since the sun is setting, people are still finding their way to The Funnel Cloud just like they do every night.
Luckily, Petra’s generator is working and the lights are back on for now.
“You look terrible,” she says as I lean against the bar, slapping down the spiral-bound notebook I commandeered for note-taking.
I glance at the page and see where I’ve jotted that Mrs. Baker, our fifth-grade English teacher, made contact with her daughter and is alive and well, if not a little annoyed her power is out.
“You always did know how to make a girl feel pretty.”
“Bet you smell like a dirty diaper, too.”
“Why don’t you come take a whiff?”
For a second, we’re two kids watching Twister in her Mama’s basement. I’d told her I was going to marry Bill Paxton. Later, I told her I came close enough when I met Brooks. He looked nothing like Bill, but he was a storm cowboy, and that’s exactly what I’d wanted.
Even back then, we’d had no idea that Storm Posse would lead to the money, the employees, and the sponsors that it had eventually attracted. Sometimes I wondered if that wasn’t where it all went wrong.
“You’re good at this,” she says, pulling me back to present day.
She’s right. My whole body hurts. I want to go to sleep. I want to curl up in a corner and watch stupid TV and have someone tell me that, eventually, everything’s going to be okay.
And yet, at the same time, I feel entirely in my element.
I look up at the plate-glass windows, the ones that somehow survived the storm, when I see him walking toward the bar.
Everything inside me shifts. I don’t even realize that I’m reaching for the bar top and gripping it like that funnel cloud just might circle back and rip me right out of this place.
Because there he is.
Brooks Carlisle. My husband. Heading straight for the bar.
From beside me, I hear Petra say, “Shit.” I ignore her as the door swings open and he steps inside.
For a second, the whole room feels dead silent.
My first thought is simple: he’s beautiful.
And just like that, I’m twenty-two again, about to fall for a cowboy who lassoes tornadoes.
He’s filled out since then, more man than the boy I met.
He’s favoring his left arm, his jaw shadowed with more stubble than usual.
And the second he steps through the door, his eyes lock straight onto mine.
There’s no hallelujah chorus, or at least I don’t think so, but every part of me goes on alert. I nearly run to him and fling myself into his arms like some stupid girl who’s just realized she’s in love.
Instead, I don’t move.
He doesn’t move his eyes away from me. Not even when Hershel steps in behind him and says something, too low for me to register. Not even when someone barks that they need to close the door behind them. He just watches me.
And he doesn’t look at me like I’m fragile or I’m a problem to solve.
He looks at me like I’m the best damn thing he’s laid eyes on in years.
It’s a look I remember from before. Before everything went sour. Before he replaced me. Before I’d finally had enough and left him to it.
There’s a split second where I’m afraid he might turn around and walk out. Maybe he just needed proof of life before heading straight back to the chase.
Back to Luci.
Instead, he walks toward me, never once taking his eyes off me.
“Sam.”
His voice is rough, rougher than I’ve ever heard it. When he’s this close, I can see the circles beneath his eyes. He’s paler than he usually is. I nearly ask him if he’s sleeping when I remember that I don’t need to care.
Even though I do.
I cross my arms tightly over my chest so I don’t do something stupid, like reach for him. “What are you doing here?”
He ventures a step closer, so close that I can feel the heat of him. All he would have to do is reach out...
“I heard Muncie got hit.”
There’s no big declaration. No God, Sam. I missed you so much and I couldn’t bear to spend another day without you near me.
Still, the fact that he came does something to me. It shouldn’t. He’s told me nothing.
“It did,” I say. “That still doesn’t explain why you came.”
“I needed to know you were okay.”
I almost tell him that he could have called or texted, but then I remember that he had and I hadn't seen fit to answer any of those calls.
“Well, I am. I’ve been fine.”
That’s a lie.
Still, he looks me over. I try to imagine what he sees. I no doubt look like a woman who hasn’t showered in over twenty-four hours and has been doing her best to keep a small town from imploding.
I certainly don’t look young or blonde or perfect.
Like some people.
Someone calls my name from behind me. I turn to see a deputy carrying two cases of water. “Where do you want these?”
“Over by the jukebox. Make sure they’re not in the walk path, though. Don’t want anyone tripping over them.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Brooks watches him go. Hershel says something under his breath about making sure the jukebox isn’t offensive and then disappears from Brooks’s side.
“You always knew how to take charge of a situation,” he says. There’s admiration there, but the only thing I can see is him sidelining me. Him taking me out of the field. Him replacing me.
“That why you benched me?”
I shouldn’t revel in the way he flinches at the words. Still, I do.
“I deserve that.”
“Yeah. You do.”
“I’m not here to make you come home, Sam.”
For some stupid reason, the words hurt. Because there was a part of me that wanted him to do exactly that. To tell me that he couldn’t go on without me. That he missed waking up beside me, even if we’d grown further and further apart over the past two years.
“I just needed to put eyes on you. I needed to know you were okay.”
I swallow, unsure whether I should feel hope in those words or the chasm between us widening.
“I guess you know now, if that’s all you wanted.”
“Sam.”
Over his shoulder, the door to the bar opens once again and this time it’s Tony stepping in. He lifts a hand toward me and I wave back.
Then, behind him, she comes in.
Just like always, she looks like she managed to stop by the hair and makeup trailer before she ventured out into the storm.
My mind floods with all the memories of the things I’ve seen over the past week. Brooks heeding her call instead of mine. Him holding her in the clinic, watching me over her shoulder. The social media clips of them together, him smiling down at her like she’d restored something within him.
Brooks follows my gaze and, amazingly, his face grows pinched.
The memory of him saying he didn’t want me in the truck with him comes back with such force that I nearly stumble backward.
He turns back to me.
“Whatever you’re about to say,” I begin.
“I told them they could follow the chase if they wanted or they could follow me. I guess they decided to follow me. I didn’t bring them here.”
“Well, of course she followed. After all, she’s the one you want in the truck, isn’t she?”
The jabs don’t give me as much satisfaction as I’d hoped they would.
He opens his mouth to say something, but I don’t give him the chance.
“If your team has come here to help, we can use the hands. I’m sure Petra can direct you on what to do.”
I nearly expect him to argue because there’s a good chance that Petra will tell him exactly where he can stick his help, but he only nods.
“We’re here for whatever you need.”
By midnight, more utility trucks have rolled in and people have largely stopped searching for anything that isn’t human life due to all the downed power lines.
Brooks does whatever’s asked of him, with Luci trailing so close that an unfamiliar lineman jokes about how nice it must be to have a pretty young wife glued to his hip.
Petra hears it, and I suspect makes a mental note to always short him on whatever he orders from that day forward.
When I finally make it back outside, I see Tom standing near Brooks. They’re looking over the green chase vehicle, Tom taking in every detail to the point that I know he’ll be able to identify every aspect of it from memory by morning.
“That’s the custom intercept bumper,” Tom says.
Miraculously, Luci isn’t around, so I watch, trying my best to disappear into the side of the building.
“That’s right. Reinforced steel. It’s positioned so it won’t catch on anything. You don’t want debris hanging onto it while you’re trying to move.”
Tom nods. “So it won’t lift the front end.”
“Correct.”
I’ve watched too many adults get that overly patient tone with Tom. The one that patronizes him and tells him, because he’s more perceptive than most, that his questions and attention to detail exhaust them.
Not Brooks, though. Instead, he crouches down beside the bumper, injured arm tucked close, and points to the bracket. “See that right there? That’s where it took a hit. If that hadn’t been reinforced, this thing would have been out of commission for a week or more.”
Tom grins. I’ve known by the questions Tom’s asked me over the past few days that he admires Brooks. I’ve even caught him watching old footage on his tablet over the past few days, something I’ve done my best to avoid.
No matter what is going on between us, with Tom, Brooks is still Brooks. Patient with a kid who wants every detail. Warm and easy in the same way that made me fall for him before I knew better than to fall in love with a man who chased monsters for a living.
My mind, naturally, decides to drive the knife inward.
Because all I can picture is a little boy with Brooks’s grin and my storm sense standing between us, listening wide-eyed while his daddy answers every question with endless patience.
I close my eyes, trying my best to scrub the image from my brain.
When I open them, Luci is walking toward Brooks with a bottle of water in her hand.
She says something I can’t hear, her fingers brushing his sleeve as she offers it to him.
It’s nothing, I tell myself. Just a woman handing a tired man water after a disaster.
But then Brooks looks down at her and the pictures start flashing before my eyes in quick succession. Luci in the truck with Brooks. In his arms. Redressing his arm.
I turn away before Brooks can see me standing there watching him.
Inside The Funnel Cloud, Petra’s eyes find me. She pauses when she sees my face.
“You okay?”
“No,” I say. “But I will be eventually.”
When I turn back toward the window, Brooks is watching me.
He came here because he wanted to know if I was okay.
He’s here now.
Looking at me.
And Luci is standing right beside him.