Chapter 40
ELLA
April showers.
There is no such thing in Alabama. There’s only April tornados.
And that’s what’s in the forecast for today.
School dismissed at noon in anticipation of the impending storm. Everyone hoped the outlook would improve as the day went on, but no such luck. Ry texted this morning to say his Wednesday classes at the community college had already been canceled for the day as well. The second I jumped in my car I tried calling him.
No answer.
Then I tried the garage.
No answer.
I texted.
No answer.
For fifteen minutes I sat in my car, waiting on a return phone call, as everyone deserted the school parking lot. I quickly tired of the worry and dread filling my stomach.
That’s why I’m currently driving across the county, racing against the weather, as the weatherman keeps repeating a real-time play by play, as the bad storm treks from Mississippi to Alabama. The wind whips, forcing me to grip the steering wheel with both hands. Dark clouds cover the sky, swirling like the brew in a witch’s cauldron. I slam the car into park the second I pull into the parking lot at the body shop. The chain link gate is pulled closed and deadbolted. I know the garage is closed, all lights are out, but I still scream out for Harlan and Ry. I’m silently praying that Ry isn’t in the woods trying to ride this out.
Climbing back into the SUV, I drive like a somewhat cautious maniac to the homestead. Aunt Teresa calls to make sure I’m coming over to their house. When I tell her that I’m getting Ry and heading back home to the storm shelter in the Big House, the worry in her voice does nothing to calm me. She’s not one bit happy that I drove out here. Especially considering it puts me closer to the storm, closer to danger. The bad weather will hit the garage and homestead first before making its way to town. I hear Uncle Ray screaming on the other side on the phone. But what choice did I have?
Relief floods through me when I see Ry’s truck, sitting in its normal spot, tailgate pointed at the campsite, just like normal. Except this isn’t just like normal . The tent, with our blow-up mattress inside, is no longer in its normal spot. I look over at the truck bed, and I see the blue fabric neatly folded. Some of the chairs are in the back too—the ones that fold, at least. Ry is bent over one of the large storage bins. It looks like he’s securing it to a tree. I’ve never paid attention to it before, but all of the storage bins back up against trees.
I jump out of the car and race to help him. The temperature has risen in just the past few minutes, casting a muggy heat over the earth, instantly making my skin sticky. Large drops of rain sprinkle from the sky, painting my shirt in a tie-dye look. The wind whips my hair in my mouth. I grab a hair tie from my wrist and wrangle it as I race to his side. “Ry!”
He has a pile of ratchet straps dangling over his shoulder, and he’s still bent over, strapping one of the storage bins to the tree behind it. His eyes grow wide. He was so concentrated, so focused, he didn’t even hear me pull up. You can tell he’s torn. Torn between the urge to take a break and wrap me in his arms versus the urge to secure all of his possessions in place, trying his best to protect everything he owns from the storm.
In the end, practicality wins over emotion.
Tightening the strap, he yells over his shoulder. “Lulu, what the hell are you doing here? A storm is coming.”
“You didn’t answer your phone. I was worried.”
Finishing with the bin, he stands up, wrapping me in his arms. “I’m sorry, it’s in my truck.” He pulls back and studies me. A large raindrop runs down his cheek. “Are you okay? I can’t believe you drove out here. It’s supposed to be bad. What were you thinking?”
The wind picks up and I have to raise my voice. “I was thinking of you. No one is at the shop. Where’s Harlan?”
“His son came and picked him up about an hour ago. They have a basement at their house.”
It starts raining harder. “I have to finish securing everything. Go home. I’ll meet you at your house, Lulu. Your parents are probably worried.”
“My parents aren’t even here. Dad’s a guest speaker at another medical conference. They’re in Las Vegas. And I’m not leaving without you. Tell me how to help.”
“Leave.”
“No.”
He drags a hand over his face, spreading rainwater in his facial hair. He hasn’t shaved in a few days, and it makes him look dark and dangerous. He watches the darkening clouds, settling lower around us. “Fine. But we have to hurry. We’ve got to get the hell out of here. Stack the Adirondack chairs over by that tree. I’ll come strap them down when I finish with these bins. And grab my computer bag before it starts pouring.” He points over by the firepit.
I run around, and we each complete our assigned tasks with super-sonic speed. The barometric pressure is rising; I can feel it making my ears hurt. We make the homestead as secure as possible, trying to protect our home from damage. By the time we finish, it’s pouring rain. We are both drenched from head to toe.
“I’ll follow you. Drive safe, but hurry.” He kisses me and slams the door to my car.
I can barely see what’s happening around me. I carefully turn onto the main road, sitting forward in my seat to see through the rain. I turn up the volume on the radio as loud as it will go to hear the announcements of the weatherman over the pounding on my windshield. The wipers are flipping back and forth at the fastest speed. I can barely see the lights from Ry’s truck behind me. The storm is close. Really close. A tornado has been confirmed on the ground, and based on the street names and highway numbers being announced on the radio, it’s heading straight in our direction.
A burst of rain and wind pushes my vehicle across the middle line, scaring the crap out of me. I can’t even see. My vision is blurry. It’s definitely not safe for me to drive, so I yank the car over to the side of the road. I’m fumbling for my phone to call Ry when my driver-side door opens.
He’s standing there in the pouring rain. “Move over!”
I scramble across the center console and fall backward into the passenger’s seat. Ry jumps in. I turn in my seat. His truck is pulled over behind me. Half of everything he owns is in that truck right now. He can’t leave it on the side of the road. “Ry, what about your truck!”
He grabs my face in his hands. “Fuck my truck! You’re the only thing that’s important.”
I don’t know how he drives so fast. In the flooding rain. In the tossing wind. The first few seconds frighten the shit out of me so I close my eyes. I listen carefully to the forecast instead. By the time we get into the city limits of town, the tornado sirens are blaring. The tornado is chasing us. Chasing us down every street, past every turn, clipping our heels.
I pray. I don’t think I’ve ever prayed so hard in my life.
Well, except for my prayers for Carrie.
A shaky breath of relief pours from my body when Ry finally pulls the SUV into my driveway. Flinging ourselves from the car, we run into the house. Ry follows me down the long breezeway that connects us to the Big House. “The decoration room is a safe room! Tornado proof.”
Ry pushes past me, grabbing my hand, making me run even faster. Hurling me into the room, he flips on the light and locks the door. He’s not happy with what he sees. “Your dumbass mother is the only person I know whose storm room is covered in breakables, scissors, and large paper cutters.”
We’re both out of breath. Water drips all over the floor, puddling around us. “Sorry.” I’m not really sure what else to say, so I just say that.
All of a sudden, the overhead light flickers and then goes out. The constant hum of electricity wafting through the house dies. It’s so quiet. Too quiet. My heart thunders in my chest, bouncing a tennis ball against my eardrums. I grab the phone from my shorts and turn on the flashlight.
And then… the noise starts.
News reports are right. Tornados sound like a roaring train. Like a huge waterfall. Like a jetliner flying directly overhead.
Ry grabs my shoulders, pressing his body against mine. Not waiting for permission, his tongue delves into me, kissing away my fear. Kissing away my every worry.
The noise gets louder. Louder. Louder.
He tips my chin up. His whisper is raspy and deep. “You’re the love of my fucking life.”
I can’t even respond. I’m not given the chance. And I want to. I want to, so badly. But I can’t.
A terrible, ripping sound drowns everything out. He grabs me and forces me onto the floor, covering my body with his. Tears stream down my face. Fear and anxiety blur the edges of consciousness.
I love you too.
But I don’t get a chance to say those words back to him before all hell breaks loose.