9. Annie
Chapter 9
Annie
4 Years Ago
June 10 th
T he phone call comes like I knew it would, and I’m finally ready to answer it on a sunbaked Kansas highway, kicking pebbles and waving at other chasers as they drive by. I was fooling myself, thinking Justin wouldn't dump me if I didn’t return his calls. That four years of my life wouldn’t come crashing down, even if they’ve been falling for the last twelve months. For longer, if I’m honest.
There’s no yelling or screaming. No accusations, no begging. No tears are shed. Justin tells me long distance isn’t working for us. We’ve grown apart in the seven months since he took the job in Seattle, and he wants me to be happy.
I want him to be happy, too. I wish him the best, then end the call as the storm Chris and I are chasing goes tornado-warned. There’s no sign of a funnel—barely even a wall cloud. But the storm is looking good, and we’re out in the middle of nowhere, Kansas, on what might be the last chase of the season.
Something has to happen, right?
“There’s good rotation, but I don’t think we’ll get a tornado yet,” Chris says as I join him. “This one is going to cycle a few times before it does anything.”
I laugh. “I’ve never related more to the weather.”
His brows draw together, but he doesn’t ask if my comment relates to Justin’s call. “Let’s move farther ahead of it.”
We gather our tripods and cameras and head down the road to get a better position as the storm ramps up.
It looks promising. Inflow is streaming in, and the storm has taken on the horseshoe look as the rear flank downdraft cuts into the updraft base. We set up again and stand side by side—Chris with his arms crossed, me with my hands stuffed in the pockets of my shorts.
“What did Justin want?” he asks in a tone that tries for casual and fails.
We’ve hardly spoken about the missing member of our chase team this season. In all honesty, Justin and I have done a pretty good job when it comes to keeping our drama out of chasing. But in the past, whenever it leaked through, Chris was there, poking us to talk it out and ensuring we had the space to do it. His silence this year has been unexpected but welcome.
“Oh, you know,” I say, going for nonchalance, “the usual— how’s the season going? Get any good tornadoes lately? Chasing today? Oh, by the way, long distance isn’t working anymore, so let’s break up .”
Chris shoots me a glance, then a longer look when I don’t laugh it off like a bad joke. “He broke up with you?”
“Yeah.”
“Over the phone just now ?” His voice is rising, and I think he might be more upset about this than I am.
“Yeah.” To be fair, it wasn’t like I answered his calls. I haven’t spoken to Justin since Meadow Springs nearly three weeks ago. Today just…felt like the right time to accept that it’s over.
“I’m sorry.”
“Let’s focus on the chase,” I tell him. I don’t want to dissect why, after four years together, I let this relationship fall apart.
He looks at me again, nods, and then asks about another storm we’d been watching. It’s got a spotter-confirmed tornado on the ground, and I have a sinking feeling we should have gone for that storm. It’s moving too fast, too far from us—no chance to catch it.
Our storm cycles, the old updraft base falling apart as a new one forms, and the RFD pushes out the clear slot—that horseshoe shape—again, and we wait, but nothing happens.
“This time,” I say to Chris from our new position down the road as it cycles again.
Nothing.
“This will be it,” he says after yet another cycle. There’s so much hope in his voice, and I don’t know why, but I think we need this one. I could use a win.
The whole thing goes outflow dominant, giving us the middle finger the way only a promising-looking storm can.
“Fuck it,” Chris says, and we climb into the SUV. Instead of heading home, he parks us near an abandoned, ramshackle old barn where we can watch the light show of distant storms we can’t catch. I set my camera and tripod up for a time-lapse and join Chris, sitting under the open hatchback in the back of the SUV.
“He’s an idiot,” Chris says.
“He’s not. Things haven’t been good for a while.”
“He shouldn’t have gone to Seattle.” There’s less conviction in his voice now.
I shift to place my feet on the back of the SUV so I can wrap my arms around my knees. “He’s happy.”
“Are you?”
I stare out at the softly swaying grass and the billowing anvil of the distant storm and smile. “Yeah, I’m good.”
I can feel him look at me, but I keep my gaze on the storm. It’s putting on a hell of a light show. And I am good. Maybe I’ll cry a little later because it doesn’t feel good when things end, but new beginnings are exciting, and I already feel like a weight has been lifted.
“I’ve hardly talked to him since he moved,” Chris admits after a few minutes of silence. I figured as much. They were always chase partners, never close friends. Or perhaps they were close friends once before I joined them. They had years together on the road before I came along, so what do I know?
I don’t say anything. I’m ashamed to admit that I’ve hardly talked to Justin either. It was easier to ignore the problems than to fix them, to let him go slowly. To run away and wait for the inevitable to catch me, knowing every inch of space I gained would make the end hurt less. I do that when things don’t work out, and I’m not tired of running yet.
Chris won’t understand, and I don’t want the pain of feeling like I’ve failed. So I keep my mouth shut and my eyes on the storm.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks softly.
I bump my shoulder into his. “Yes.”
A firefly flickers by the long grasses near an old fence. We sit in silence, and it’s nice.
“What are you going to do?” he asks.
I shrug. “Have my little remaining faith in cis-hetero men destroyed by dating apps?”
He bumps me with his shoulder, and I laugh as I tip sideways, letting go of my legs to catch myself.
“I meant now that our season’s over, smartass,” he says. “Are you moving to Texas?”
To my tiny home. I’ve been staying with a friend since Justin moved, the idea being I’d follow him to Seattle at some point.
“I think I will. Or at least, that’s where I’ll base myself. Maybe I’ll travel and pick up some freelance work. But I’ll be back next season.” I tip toward him until my head rests against his shoulder.
After a moment’s hesitation, he tucks me under his arm. “You’d better be,” he says, resting his cheek against my head.
“I wouldn’t miss it.” I wrap my arm around his waist. I like the way he feels. I like a lot of things about him. Chasing has come to mean a lot to me. It’s making me a better photographer. But half the reason I want to return next season is sitting beside me. I don’t think anything beats an early summer evening with Chris, watching a storm do its thing.
He lifts his head, and I lift mine, and we both turn to look at each other. We’re so close, inches apart, and for a split second, it feels like earlier when we were watching the storm. Like something could happen. Like we’re both waiting for it.
Nothing happens. Chris turns away to look at the view in front of us. I lean my head against his shoulder, and we sit in the peaceful evening air until darkness falls and Chris finally moves. He helps me with my tripod and camera. Then he drives me home.