by Edie Claire
Laney’s heart skipped a beat. But no, it couldn’t be. Her mother had been perfectly fine yesterday! She drew in a long, slow breath and regrouped. The person to worry about wasn’t her mother; it was Gran. May’s mind had been slipping for a while now. She’d been repeating herself in conversation for years, cracking jokes about senior moments, misplacing things. But during Laney’s last visit home to Missouri at Christmas, Gran had seemed noticeably worse. She couldn’t add numbers in her head anymore, a talent she had always been proud of. She hadn’t done any of her usual holiday baking, and she seemed reluctant to leave the house, even for a shopping trip to Poplar Bluff. Laney had expressed her worries to her mother at the time, but Christi believed it was merely old age. May was nearing ninety, after all.
“Gran?” Laney asked in as calm a voice as she could manage. “What do you mean exactly? I just talked to Mom yesterday. She was fine.”
“No, she wasn’t,” the gravelly voice argued. Gran didn’t sound like herself at all. Having smoked cigarettes half her life, she’d never had the voice — or the demeanor — of an angel. But the tone Laney was used to was steady and tolerant, not sharp and agitated. “We’re at the doctor’s.”
Laney’s pulse quickened. Her mother had said something about a doctor’s appointment today, but she hadn’t sounded concerned. “What did the doctor say?”
“She’s got cancer,” May barked. “It’s bad, honey. Real bad. She—” There was a gulp. Then Laney could hear her mother’s voice in the background, indistinct and muffled, followed by a scuffling sound.
“Laney, don’t you listen to her,” Christi’s voice came through, strong and angry. “She doesn’t know what she’s saying.” The next phrase was slightly muffled again, and evidently not directed at Laney. “I can’t believe you took my phone!”
“Mom,” Laney broke in. “What’s going on?”
After a pause, her mother answered. “Your Gran is just a little upset, that’s all. She’s overreacted to something the doctor said.”
“Which was?” Laney demanded.
“Nothing!” Christi insisted. “I just went in for a checkup over some minor thing, and then they wanted to do these tests, but it’s nothing to worry about!”
The hand that held Laney’s phone began to tremble. She knew her mother too well to take such a blithe analysis at face value. Christi had always hated going to the doctor. Being generally healthy, she’d skated through life with relatively few medical intrusions and no complaints. Laney should have been more suspicious when her mother mentioned an appointment yesterday, considering that she’d mentioned nothing of the sort in years. “Mom, please tell me the truth,” she begged. “What did the tests show?”
There was another long pause, during which Laney was certain she heard a sniffle. “I just need surgery,” Christi replied, her voice suddenly thin. “And maybe some chemo. That’s all.”
In the background, Laney heard a hoarse, keening sound that chilled her. Her grandmother — the pride of Peck, the famously strong woman who comforted others but never shed tears herself, not even when she’d lost her husband of 49 years — was sobbing.
“Mom,” Laney said firmly. “Hang in there. I’m coming home.”
Chapter 3
Tofino, British Columbia, Present Day
Jason rose to his feet as a familiar man in a white lab coat stepped into the waiting room of Tofino’s ten-bed hospital. “Hey, Jason,” the doctor greeted solemnly. “They told me you were out here.”
The men shook hands, and Jason quickly introduced Ben, who had been sitting next to him for the last hour. After Laney was taken away in the ambulance, the two of them had dropped by Jason’s place in town just long enough to change out of their dripping clothes before following her here. “So how bad is it, Steve? Is she going to be okay?” Jason asked anxiously. He knew the doctor well; he had taught both the man’s sons how to surf.
The doctor drew in a breath. “She’s still unconscious, I’m afraid. Is it true that you don’t know anything about her? She hadn’t stayed at the lodge before?”
“No. I only just met her when she checked in.”
“I was afraid of that,” the doctor replied, sounding disconcerted. “And there was no one with her?”
“No.” Jason was feeling increasingly disconcerted himself. “The paramedic got her wallet; have you reached her next of kin?”
The doctor scratched his chin. “Not yet, I’m afraid.”
Jason frowned. Nobody should be alone in the hospital, particularly in another country. “She’s going to be okay, isn’t she? I mean, I can’t help feeling responsible for her. She…” He stopped talking when he realized he had nothing rational to say. He’d talked to the woman for all of five minutes and knew virtually nothing about her.
“I’m sure you don’t need to feel responsible,” Steve assured, misunderstanding.
Jason shook his head. He didn’t blame himself for Laney’s injuries. He knew that he and Ben had done everything they could to prevent a worse catastrophe. But Jason did feel responsible to her. She might be ignorant of basic ocean safety, but five minutes was all he’d needed to know that she was a strong, self-sufficient person who would find her current state of helplessness mortifying. She might not have taken to him personally; doubtless she would have preferred he mind his own business rather than try so hard to be friendly. But she’d walked into his establishment healthy and vital and she’d left it on a stretcher. He was not okay with that.
“You really can’t locate her family?” he pressed.
The doctor’s thin lips smiled sadly. He seemed to come to a decision. “I’m afraid that right now, the two of you are all this woman has got. Her wallet had her driver’s license and a student ID, and we did reach the university she attended. They said she wasn’t currently enrolled, but they were willing to pass on her emergency contact information. We tried both names, her mother and her great-grandmother, but every number was disconnected. So the staff did a little digging online. It turns out that the patient’s mother died less than a month ago, and the home address listed for both of them is up for sale.”
Jason felt a sudden weight on his chest. He’d felt sorry enough for Laney before. He stole a glance beside him. Ben hadn’t said a word, but in his eyes Jason saw the same, involuntary empathy — and irrational sense of responsibility — that he himself was feeling.
“Do you have any idea what brought her to Tofino?” the doctor asked. “Did she mention knowing anyone here? Meeting friends?”
“No. She only said she was here to see the ocean.” Jason replayed everything he could remember from their brief conversation. “She said she’d never seen it before. But she did ask about renting a car, and she’d booked the room for a full week, so she must have had something specific in mind. Something besides surfing.”
The doctor’s brow furrowed. Then he let out a sigh. “Well, Jason, I can tell you this much. She has a cut on her scalp and some nasty bruises, but her main problem is concussion and the fact that she’s been unconscious so long. We’ve got a neurologist in Victoria managing her case remotely, and he’s advised monitoring her here, at least for now. As long as she shows some improvement over the next twenty-four hours, which he seems optimistic that she will, she should be all right. Hopefully she’ll wake up soon and tell us all we need to know herself.”
“Hopefully,” Jason repeated. But hope had never been enough for him. Action was always preferable. “When she does wake up, will you let me know? She’s bound to be confused, finding herself in a strange place. Maybe seeing my face and being able to go over what happened will help. Call me, day or night. I can be here in fifteen minutes.”
The doctor smiled. He leaned in and shook Jason’s hand again. “Will do.”
***
Jason turned his master key in the lock of room number eight, opened the door, and slipped inside. Whether what he was about to do was technically legal, he didn’t know. He didn’t particularly care.
/> He took a look around the small but functional hostel unit that held a single twin bed, a dresser, a built-in closet, and a small sink. Laney couldn’t have spent more than a few minutes here before heading out to see the ocean, but she had apparently used her time well. She’d hung her wet coat on the peg near the heater and scattered the soggy contents of her backpack across the floor to dry. Then presumably she’d put on the rain jacket, slipped her thin wallet and room key into a pocket, and taken off.
Jason surveyed what she had been carrying in the lightweight backpack. She had evidently expected the contents to get wet, because she’d stuffed it with nothing but wadded up clothes and toiletries. He surmised that anything she didn’t want to get soaked, she had packed in the suitcase protected by her raincoat.
He glanced at the sorry, mud-spattered roller bag that sat beside the bed. It was still standing upright, fully zipped. Unless Laney had taken her phone to the beach and then lost it in the fall, it should be inside. Her phone and, with luck, some evidence of where she was headed.
Jason didn’t hesitate. He lifted the bag up onto the bed and unzipped the main compartment. If she was protecting any electronics, she would have buried them deep. He pushed aside an assortment of cotton sweatpants, heavy sweaters, and thick socks with a smile and a shake of the head. Americans. They thought of Canada as nothing but snow and pine trees. Never mind that even in January, the coldest month of the year, the temperature in Tofino rarely dropped much below freezing. If Laney had done her research, she would have left the bulky stuff at home in favor of some quick-dry, insulating layers and a good pair of wellington boots.
He paused a moment, wondering if she had, in fact, done any research before boarding a plane — or a bus? — and heading someplace as offbeat and out of the way as Vancouver Island. Or had she packed up and taken off in a hurry, desperate to put both time and space between herself and her recent tragedy?
The corner of what appeared to be a laptop case peeked out from behind a pair of mittens, and Jason quickly unearthed it. He pulled out the computer, set it on the bed beside him, and booted it up. While it chugged and whirred to life, he dug a bit deeper and discovered her phone. He clicked the button, expecting to be stymied by her password but hoping for some clue from her home screen.
The picture that popped up filled him with unexpected sadness. It was a selfie of Laney with a middle-aged woman, both smiling broadly for the camera against the background of a family Christmas tree. An open, natural smile lit up Laney’s face, displaying good cheer and a loving nature — neither of which Jason had had the pleasure of witnessing before.
The other woman in the picture had to be Laney’s mother. Their comfortable posture with each other betrayed a tight bond, and the older woman’s illness was painfully obvious. She was bone thin, her skin sallow and splotchy, her bald head partially covered by a Santa hat. But her smile, like her daughter’s, was defiantly cheerful.
Saddened all over again, Jason blew out a breath and returned the phone to the suitcase. If Laney’s great-grandmother was still alive, he intended to find her. The hospital had tried, but probably hadn’t dug all that deeply. The medical staff had other duties, after all.
The laptop chimed, announcing its reawakening. Jason turned to it, but all he could see was a password prompt on a stock image of blue swirls. He shut the computer down again and closed it with a snap. Then he rifled through the remaining compartments of Laney’s suitcase. She must have been carrying something helpful that wasn’t password protected. Trip maps? A physical calendar? A note pad? At last, inside a separate zippered section, he hit pay dirt. A vinyl pocket folder.
He pulled it out and laid it across a knee. The folder was the same crimson color as her raincoat and was emblazoned with an intertwined O and U. Ohio? Oklahoma? He wasn’t much into U.S. college sports; he would look it up in a minute. First, he would look inside.
The first thing that met his eyes was the distinctive dark blue cover and shiny gold eagle of an American passport. Behind it were a few other items, the first of which was a yellowed piece of newspaper, folded and encased in a loose-leaf sheet protector.
Jason looked at the passport first. Laney looked younger in the mugshot; her blond hair was longer and her cheeks a bit more round. Which made sense, given that the passport had been issued nearly seven years ago. Laney Carole Miller had been born in the state of Missouri in September, 1992. She was now twenty-seven years old. As far as he could tell from the lack of visas or stamps on the pages following, this was her first trip out of the country.
He set the passport aside. Then he drew in a breath and unfolded the fragile section of newsprint. It was the front page of a paper called the Daily Republic, from the city of Poplar Bluff, Missouri, dated May 14, 1994. The headline was bold and stark.
Peck Tornado Claims 3 Lives, 1 Still Missing
Ten minutes before noon yesterday, the National Weather Service reported that a funnel cloud had been sighted approximately one mile southeast of the city of Peck. Within fifteen minutes, a powerful tornado touched down in a field near a bend of the St. Francis River and then plowed its way across the train tracks and Highway 51, tracking up along the east side of the city and a stretch of Highway 60 before disappearing over fields to the northeast. As of press time, three people have been reported killed and one individual is still missing.
The tornado, tentatively designated as an F3 by the National Weather Service, was estimated to have been packing winds of 160-200 mph. An unidentified couple, apparently traveling on Highway 60 in a sedan with Tennessee license plates, were found deceased several hours after the storm. Their bodies were discovered in a field some distance from the highway, while their vehicle was flung off the road and was severely damaged. A third storm-related death occurred when Chuck Weimer, a 76-year-old Peck resident, suffered a heart attack and died while taking shelter with his son Adam in a first-floor closet of the family home on Third Street. A fourth resident, thirty-seven-year-old Trixie Davis, is considered missing. Anyone knowing her whereabouts at any time after nine AM yesterday is asked to immediately contact the Butler County Sheriff’s Department.
Residents stated that although the storm siren sounded a few minutes before noon, they had little time to react before the dangerous winds bore down. Vehicles were tossed into nearby structures, utility poles were toppled, and over a dozen homes, including that of the missing woman, had significant roof or structural damage. Trees lost leaves and branches and many were felled. Several residents received minor injuries from fallen and flying debris.
In one miraculous story, a young mother faced near-disaster when the mobile home in which she resided with her 20-month-old daughter on the northeast side of the town was tipped onto its side and its front door blown off. Twenty-five-year-old Christi Miller emerged from the wreckage of her home to find her daughter missing, and a search was immediately undertaken by friends and neighbors. Four and a half hours later, the child was found wandering in a field nearly a mile away. Both mother and daughter were taken by ambulance to Lucy Lee Hospital in Poplar Bluff, but witnesses reported that neither appeared to have suffered major injury.
Currently, all 354 residents of Peck are without power, as are approximately 23 people in the surrounding…
The hand holding the news article dropped onto Jason’s lap. He sat in a daze. For a long moment, all he could see was an image of Laney standing on the bare face of the boulder, her hair streaming behind her as she faced the wind.
Door blown off… found wandering in a field nearly a mile away…
He shook his head in amazement. Was what the news story implied even possible? How could a small child be lifted up into a funnel cloud… carried some distance… and lowered down again… only to “wander” away? Uninjured?
It couldn’t be possible.
He gave himself another shake. Fascinated as he was by the information, he was still no closer to finding a living relative of Laney’s. He refolded the article and plac
ed it back in its sheet protector, only to notice several other, similar articles behind it.
First things first, he lectured himself, pulling out his phone and clicking to the internet search bar. He typed in the name of Christi’s mother and “Missouri” and within seconds had found what he sought: an obituary. Christi May Miller had died on December 17th at the age of fifty, from causes undisclosed. She was survived by her daughter, Laney Carole Miller, of Norman, Oklahoma, and her grandmother, May Burgdorf, of Peck, Missouri.
Jason quickly began a new search on May. He wondered if the hospital had already done so, and if he were about to hit the same dead end. He’d tried a simple search on “Laney Miller” earlier and come up empty-handed. He would have recognized her in an image, but she had zero social media presence, and there were too many Laney Millers in the U.S. for him to pin her down, at least with what little information he’d had before. He could do better now.
The results from his search on Laney’s great-grandmother flickered to life, but were disappointing. The only hits were the obituary he’d already read and a bunch of scammy background-check sites, which were useless aside from offering the address of the house in Peck where the family no longer lived. He scrolled around to see if any other relatives were named, but only Laney and her mother Christi popped up.
No matter. He had plenty to go on now. Using the address, he looked up the real estate listing and placed a call to the agent.
One ring. Two rings. Voicemail.
Dammit. He left a message that made it sound like he wanted to buy the house. Then he took a breath and returned to the newspaper articles in Laney’s folder. The second was another front page spread of the same newspaper, dated one day later, two days after the tornado. He unfolded it carefully and began to read.
Missing Woman Found Safe After Peck Tornado, But Death Toll Rises to Four
