Chapter 29 - Callie
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Callie
Jim Bann’s suit jacket is still on.
Despite the darkening sky and the pink Tornado Watch banner at the bottom of the television screen, I’m not in panic mode—at least not yet.
A warm spring almost always means severe weather, so I’ve come to expect it. But even though I grew up riding out my fair share of storms in a basement with the tornado sirens blaring, I’ve never really gotten used to the feeling of being at Mother Nature's mercy. I’m not sure I ever will.
“Don’t you worry,” I say to Peaches, who’s snuggled up next to me on Jensen’s leather couch. “We’re gonna be just fine.” I know she can’t hear me, but talking out loud helps distract me from the uneasy feeling souring my stomach.
Despite earlier reports that most of the bad weather would be hitting north of us, the storm has shifted course and is now projected to hit central Alabama head-on.
The local news has been broadcasting nothing but severe weather coverage for the last hour, and they keep showing a map of Alabama with various colors—green, yellow, orange, and red—indicating the projected threat.
Dayton Springs sits smack in the middle of the red.
It’s not the first time that’s happened, but still, it’s unsettling.
Peaches feels it, too. Ever since I walked in the door, she’s been glued to my side.
I check the time. It’s nearly four in the afternoon which, hopefully, means Jensen will be on his way home soon. Just the thought of seeing him again makes warmth rush into my cheeks.
The last few days with him have been some of the best of my life, and sweet magnolias, I’ve fallen so hard for that man I can barely stop myself from yelling it at the top of my lungs every time he smiles at me.
We’ve been practically inseparable since the photoshoot at the waterfall, and ever since he opened up to me about what happened with Kase and Anna, it’s like all the walls have been knocked down between us.
Our initial connection is nothing compared to the one we have now.
I didn’t know it was possible to feel so close to someone, but when I look at Jensen everything inside of me screams “that’s my person. ”
I have no idea what the future holds, but I want Jensen by my side—especially right now.
I’d feel a whole lot better about facing whatever the weather is about to throw at me if he were sitting beside Peaches and me, his arms around us both.
I can’t imagine a safer place to be, but since that’s not exactly an option at the moment, I’m just going to have to put my big girl panties on and deal with it like I’ve done a hundred times before.
“It’s going to be fine,” I say again, more to myself this time.
“It’s going to be just like every other time.
” Over the years, I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve been in instances like this, with Jim Bann on my screen and the sky howling outside.
When you grow up in Dixie Alley, the South’s equivalent to the Midwest’s infamous Tornado Alley, it’s just part of life.
Tornado drills in school, monthly siren tests, and storms every spring that wake you up in the dead of night.
You can almost time it—when the flowers start blooming and the pollen fills the air, it’s a relief that winter is finally over, but it’s also time to make sure your emergency supplies are stocked and your weather radio is still in good working order.
“Don’t panic, be prepared,” my father used to say whenever I was worried about a storm, and he always had our safe space ready to go by the time the first warning hit.
Still, spring is my least favorite time of year and this is why.
Thunderstorms in general make me a little jumpy, but a thunderstorm in April is a whole other matter entirely .
“We might as well try to eat something,” I say to Peaches as she nuzzles up under my palm.
“Are you ready for dinner, Sweetness?” I give her the sign Jensen taught me for “eat,” and her ears perk up.
“I take that as a yes,” I chuckle, pushing the throw blanket from my lap.
Peaches hops off the couch and trots over to her food bowl, waiting for me.
She sits on her haunches, her eyes trailing me as I move over to the pantry where her food is kept.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” I tell her, scooping out the correct amount to dump in her bowl.
The house shakes as a loud clap of thunder erupts overhead, startling me so much, dog food spills over the measuring cup in my hand.
Peaches doesn’t seem to mind that half her dinner ended up on the floor, but my “that can’t be good” spidey sense is tingling.
Outside the kitchen windows, the sky is getting darker by the minute, but it’s still light enough to tell that the atmosphere is churning overhead.
Angry, fast-moving clouds move across the sky and there’s a haze to the air that gives it a weird color. Not quite gray, but not normal either.
“Green,” I whisper, my heart rising in my throat.
If the sky turns green, a tornado is ‘bout to be seen —the old adage pops into my head, each word like a booming bass drum, and when my phone starts ringing, I jump.
“Callie?” The tone of Mabel’s voice on the other end makes my stomach flip over. “Where are you?”
“I’m at Jensen’s house. Have you looked outside? The sky’s turning green. I’m kind of starting to freak out.”
“I know, me too.” There’s a sharp intake of breath and then, “Sullivan called.”
The sense of uneasiness churning in my stomach becomes a tidal wave. Mabel’s ex calls frequently, but he’s a meteorologist who chases tornadoes for a living. If he’s calling on a day like today, it can only mean one thing.
“He called me yesterday, and I didn’t answer,” Mabel says, the quiver in her voice impossible not to hear. “But then he kept calling. Over and over. I just got off the phone with him. He’s right outside of town, Callie. He’s tracking it.”
I swallow the fear rising in my throat. “How bad?”
“Nothing on the ground yet, but the radar doesn’t look good. The storm is moving fast and it’s strong. He said it could drop at any minute.”
The words claw down my spine, and instinctively I look toward the TV. Even as I turn around though, I know what I’m going to see.
Jim Bann is still front and center on the television screen but somewhere in the span of me feeding Peaches to Mabel calling to now, the jacket has come off and his suspenders have made their appearance. “No, no, no,” I hurry over to the couch, sinking down into the cushion as I turn the volume up.
“The storm is intensifying and we’re now getting confirmed reports of rotation.
We’ve issued a tornado warning for all of Jefferson and Clayton County.
If you’re in Clay-Chalkville, Trussville, or in the Dayton Springs area, you need to head to your safe space.
Get to the lowest level of your home, a basement if you’ve got one.
Otherwise, go to the center of your house in an interior room with no doors or windows. ”
The radar he’s pointing to has changed, and red fills the screen. “This thing is coming right down highway 59 and it’s moving quickly, so make sure you get to those emergency places in your homes.”
Outside, rain batters the ground as a high-pitched keening slices through the air. “Sirens,” I breathe into the phone.
“I know, I hear them.” I can hear her rustling around in the background, I know my cousin is grabbing the emergency bag that she keeps in the pantry and heading for the hall bathroom. There’s no basement, but the bathroom sits at the heart of the bungalow. It’s the safest spot she could be.
“Alright, folks. We’re getting reports of a confirmed tornado on the ground now, I repeat there is a large tornado on the ground, just outside of Dayton Springs.
This is a tornado emergency, do not wait.
Seek shelter now.” Jim Bann’s voice is calm, but urgent, and the giant screen behind him highlighting the pronounced, dark red hook that indicates tornado rotation makes my pulse spike.
“I gotta go, Mabel. I need to call Jensen.” I end the call without waiting for a reply and tap the screen to dial Jensen. The phone rings several times but there’s no answer. I try again. “Come on, come on, come on,” I whisper, as the sirens wail outside.
“If you live in Clayton County and you can hear my voice, you need to take shelter,” Jim Bann’s voice floats in and out competing with the sirens that demand me to move.
“Go to the lowest level of your house. If you don’t have a lower level, find a room in the interior of your home without any windows.
We have confirmed sightings now that a tornado is on the ground.
I repeat, we have a tornado on the ground. ”
“We gotta go,” I tell Peaches, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge and the throw blanket from the couch.
I snatch Peaches’ leash from the hook by the door and clip it to her collar.
The farmhouse has a basement, but I have no idea if Jensen keeps supplies on hand for emergencies, and I stupidly never thought to ask, so I’ll just have to make do with whatever I can grab in the next sixty seconds.
I shove my feet into the tennis shoes I kicked off by the door and hurry to grab the flashlight Jensen keeps in the junk drawer by the fridge.
Outside, the battering rain morphs into a rattling sound that at first, I can’t place, but as the sound intensifies, I realize that large hail is pounding the roof. It sounds like baseballs are being dropped out of the sky. It’s so loud, I can barely make out the sirens anymore.