CHAPTER 30
johnnie
THEN
It’s been over a month since my birthday and the night that changed everything between me and Collins.
Some days it still feels like a fever dream, the kind you wake from slowly, blinking against the light, wondering if it could possibly be real.
But it is. This life we’ve slipped into together feels almost too good to belong to me.
Collins and I have grown closer in ways I never imagined, the space between us shrinking until there’s no air left to breathe that isn’t shared.
Even with work keeping him busy most days, we find our way back to each other every night.
We’re magnetic. Some nights he climbs through my window with that crooked grin that still makes my heartbeats trip over themselves; other nights I quietly slip across the dark to him.
And every time we end up the same way—wrapped around each other, tangled in sheets with laughter and the quiet comfort of knowing we’re exactly where we want to be.
It’s the kind of happiness that feels fragile and infinite all at once. The epitome of bliss.
Passing time before Collins gets home, I take the familiar path down to the lake.
The air feels heavier than usual, thick in a way that makes the quiet shoreline seem almost uneasy.
The water, usually a soft, comforting blue, has turned a deeper shade.
Dark and restless ripples chase each other across the surface like whispered warnings.
I pause at the edge, my gaze drifting upward to the sprawling maple tree above me.
Its leaves have begun to curl inward, their edges folding toward themselves.
Someone once told me that’s how you know rain is coming.
In my experience, they’ve never been wrong.
A faint wind brushes across the lake, disturbing the wisps of hair reaching out from behind my ribbon-tied bun and sending another nervous shiver through the branches overhead.
The sky has shifted while I wasn’t paying attention.
Blue is fading at the edges, clouds gathering into thicker shapes that swallow the sunlight piece by piece.
A sense of urgency settles low in my chest, and I turn toward home, quickening my pace.
By the time the trailer park comes into view, the change in the sky is impossible to ignore. The soft white clouds from earlier have vanished, replaced by looming gray masses that hang heavy with rain. The air crackles with that strange electric tension that always comes before a storm.
A streak of lightning suddenly tears across the sky, blinding and jagged, followed a heartbeat later by a crack of thunder so sharp it makes me jump. The sound echoes through my chest, amplifying the trepidation already coiling there. I hurry the rest of the way home, practically running.
Inside, I find Nan standing at the back window, completely still, her small frame silhouetted against the darkening sky outside. She doesn’t turn at first, just keeps staring upward like she’s searching for something in the storm clouds.
The door clicks shut behind me.
At the sound, she slowly turns.
The moment I see her face, my stomach drops. Fear is written across every inch of it.
“The power went out just as a weather announcement came on the TV.”
Sure enough, when I glance around, the familiar glow of electricity is gone. The silence in here feels heavier somehow, like the whole place is holding its breath.
I try to keep my voice steady, to keep my own nerves from rising to the surface.
But it’s getting harder by the second, especially watching Nan.
Her shoulders are tight, her hands twisting together in front of her like she doesn’t know what to do with them.
Panic is already creeping into her expression.
She’s always been terrified of storms. I don’t remember it myself, but my mom used to tell me about the time when I was a baby, and a bad storm rolled through town while Nan was watching me.
When my mom got back to the trailer, she couldn’t find us at first. She searched every room before finally opening the hall closet door.
Inside, Nan was sitting on the floor, tucked into the corner, clutching me tightly against her chest. She had wrapped me up in a blanket and was rocking gently, whispering that everything would be okay.
Severe weather has never really bothered me.
If anything, I’ve always liked storms—the distant rumble of thunder, the way the rain drums against the roof, the energetic feeling in the air before it all begins.
But standing here now, inside this old trailer with its thin walls and rattling windows, that confidence feels a little misplaced.
Because the truth is, there’s nothing here to protect us.
No basement. No sturdy foundation. Just aluminum siding and a roof that creaks when the wind picks up.
The whole place suddenly feels too light, too fragile.
Like one strong gust could lift it straight off the ground.
A real-life Wizard of Oz situation. And for the first time, the thought of it all doesn’t feel thrilling at all.
I always loved that movie when I was little.
The flying monkeys scared the shit out of me, but I love witches and the idea of having a scarecrow, lion, and tin man as best friends was thrilling.
Being Dorothy used to be a dream, but with everything going on outside at the moment, well, she’s not looking to be as much of an idol as I once thought.
Brightness fills the room over and over, and Nan audibly gasps when the thunder booms. My heart has officially picked up speed. The door flies open. Collins barrels in, raindrops on his light gray T-shirt. He’s holding two of his four-wheeler helmets, one in each hand.
I’m about to ask what the hell he’s doing when he comes behind us, wrapping his arms around our shoulders and urging us toward the living room.
“Come on, let’s get in the bathroom. It’s the safest place to be.”
He ushers us down the hall and disappears when we get into the bathroom, only to return with pillows and blankets.
I just stare at him, dumbfounded as the wind outside whirls around us, the bones of this place screeching, putting nausea in the pit of my stomach.
Collins lines the bathtub with the bedding and takes Nan’s arms, guiding her to sit down inside.
Once she’s seated in the bathtub, he places the helmet on her head and pats the top gently, like he’s trying to ease her mind.
He repeats the gestures with me and I just do as he instructs, wordlessly.
Minutes ago, I was walking by the lake under clear skies, and now we’re here in the middle of a storm I’m afraid we won’t make it out of.
“Where are Campbell and Crandall?” I ask as Collins kneels down on the floor beside the tub, placing one hand on Nan’s knee, the other on mine.
“The house we were working at when the weather started rolling in has a basement. The owners insisted we hunker down there.”
“Why didn’t you stay with them? Collins, a basement? You left the basement to come here?”
“I had to get to my girls.” He smiles and winks at me, like there was no other option.
“Why exactly are we wearing helmets? Seems like an odd time to be thinking about going four-wheeling.”
He knows I’m being a smart-ass but tips one side of his lips up anyway. “Anything collapses, at least your heads are safe.”
“And what about your head?”
“I only have two helmets, and besides, my head is a lot harder than yours.”
I don’t find it funny, but give him a tight-lipped smile regardless.
Just when I start to think things may be settling down, the rain beats down even harder.
I nearly jump out of my skin when something smacks the side of the trailer directly behind me, I swear I can feel the wall vibrate at the impact.
Nan has her eyes closed, mumbling something that sounds like a prayer.
It feels like time is moving in slow motion.
I don’t think this is ever going to come to an end.
The pounding in my heart competes with the roaring sounds around us, and I feel like I want to throw up.
Collins must sense my unease because he places both hands on my shoulders, and even though I can barely hear him through the helmet and noise, I know he says, “We’re okay. It’s almost over.”
Swallowing down the thickness in my throat, I nod, hoping he’s right.
The whining of tornado sirens in the distance are somehow audible now, making my panic escalate. Great, now I feel like I’m going to cry. This is so damn scary, even for someone who previously claimed to like storms.
“We’re okay, it’s almost over.” I have no idea if he’s speaking the truth or just trying to comfort us, but either way it works. His voice, his presence, eases all my anxiety.
Nan is still chanting prayers with her eyes closed and maybe it’s my mind playing tricks on me, but I swear I hear her talking to Willie Nelson instead of God.
All the loud noise, the scratching, squeaking, whining sirens, debris to the side of our home, raindrops on the roof…
it all stops. Just like that, in the blink of an eye, it’s eerily quiet.
My eyes go wide, looking around. Nan takes her helmet off and I remove my own.
“See, they leave as fast as they come. We’re good.”
Nan clutches a hand to her chest, resting her elbow on the side of the tub, forehead in hand. She takes deep breaths and finally opens her eyes. I stand up and throw myself at Collins, who’s waiting with comforting arms.
“That was scary as shit.” He runs his hands up and down my back and chuckles slightly into my neck.
I run to the windows, wanting to see how much damage was done. Rain trickles down slowly and there isn’t even so much as a light breeze moving the trees anymore. Inspecting the situation, there’s limbs and leaves everywhere.
Collins gets Nan settled in her recliner, the sight of it melting my heart like always. She lights a cigarette, smoke spilling from her mouth as she runs a hand through her white curls.
“Well, shit, that was rough. I thought for sure the good lord decided it was my turn. Can one of you grab me a beer before the next cloud changes its mind?”
Collins hands the beer to her, and she pops the can and takes a swig. She leans back, mouth open, half panting, eyes wide.
“I think that storm just knocked ten years off my life, and added three more drinks to the evening.”
We shake our heads and laugh at her.
“I’m going to take a walk around to see if any damage was done.”
“I’ll stay here with Nan. Just make sure you don’t step on anything out there, watch where you’re walking.” Collins spouts instructions at me as he kneels down in front of Nan, hand in the arm of her chair.
“You go with her, sugar. I’m fine.” She swats at him, and he grins.
“Are you sure you’re good?”
“Get out of here, you two don’t need to fuss over me. I’ll go dig out some flashlights before it gets dark. Who knows how long the power will be out.”
We walk hand in hand through the park and toward town, the air still heavy with chaotic energy.
The damage is scattered but not devastating—trees split down the middle, branches and leaves littering the ground.
The sound of chainsaws echoes around the neighborhood, people attempting to clean up.
But honestly, nothing is as bad as I expected.
No houses flattened. No sirens. Just a hefty mess.
By the time we make it back, the sun is dipping low behind the trees, painting the sky in soft streaks of orange and purple.
Inside, Nan is perched at the kitchen counter, a candle flickering beside her, throwing long shadows across the room.
She has a flashlight clutched in one hand and a Budweiser in the other.
“Hey, kids, glad you’re back,” she says, squinting at us. “Next time the sky starts trying to murder us, somebody remind me to start drinking before the power goes out.”
“You got it,” Collins says.
The power never did come back on.
Campbell and Crandall show up not long after our walk, both of them still buzzing with adrenaline in the aftermath.
They make themselves beds in the living room.
One claiming the couch, the other spreading blankets on the floor.
Nan sinks into her recliner with a dramatic sigh, lifting her beer in a toast to surviving the end of the world.
Collins disappears down the hall and comes back dragging my mattress and bedding behind him, dropping it right in the middle of the living room.
We snuggle under the blankets while he aims a flashlight at the ceiling, twisting his hands into ridiculous animal shadows.
A rabbit turned into a dinosaur, which somehow became a cowboy riding a horse.
Every character has its own over-the-top voice and dramatic backstory.
“And that,” he declares in a gravelly narrator voice, “is how Sergeant Opossum saved the entire forest from the outlaw raccoon gang.”
The room erupts in laughter.
Pretty soon, Nan’s soft snoring fills the room, and the twins settle into sleepy silence. The candle flickers low, sending shadows dancing peacefully around the room, and it’s almost like the storm never happened.
I tuck my head against Collins’ chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat while his hand traces slow trails along my back.
Sleep creeps in quietly.
This summer has been nothing like I expected.
Thank god.