by Sable Hunter
When they reached the quarry, Rowan led them to the nearest hole, a depression in the ground about four feet deep. There were large rocks in the hole and Gillian directed the children to kneel between the boulders, using them as shields. “Hold on to the rocks!” She draped her body over Bethany and Cassidy as Clint and Rowan did the same with Colleen and Kyd. Huddled together, they listened as the gargantuan tornado roared by.
Clint couldn’t help but glance up and what he saw would be with him for the rest of his days. The black clouds looked like they were in a blender, a deafening tumult of wind and debris. Timbers, aluminum, insulation, and a thousand other unrecognizable remnants of homes, cars, and God knows what else churned in the vortex overhead. He could feel the pull against his body and for a moment, Clint was afraid they’d all be plucked from their hiding place and sucked up into the belly of the beast.
For what seemed like an eternity, they clung to the rocks. When Clint realized he could hear his mother praying and the children crying, he knew the worst was over. The rushing sound of a thousand freight trains was dissipating. The tornado had passed over and moved on. For a few more minutes, they remained where they were, afraid to leave the safety of their sanctuary. Finally, Rowan stood up to peer over the side of the hole. “Holy shit…”
Clint untangled himself from Kyd’s clinging arms. “What do you see?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?” Clint echoed.
While Gillian comforted the others, the two brothers surveyed what lay beyond the quarry. Rowan had been right. Nothing remained. Their neighborhood was completely gone. Where thirty-eight homes stood minutes before, only concrete foundations were left. The very ground surrounding the quarry was stripped of every blade of grass, scoured down to the bare earth. Neither boy uttered a word. The sight rendered them speechless.
Slowly, the family emerged from their shelter and started moving across the muddy field to where their home once stood. Along the way, they passed unbelievable things. Twisted steel beams, utility poles snapped into kindling. Unrecognizable parts of vehicles and other machinery. And worst of all, they passed indistinguishable chunks of meat, like someone had emptied a butcher shop and tossed the contents randomly over the area. “Look up and straight ahead,” Gillian instructed them in a shaky voice. “Don’t look down.” Clint didn’t obey, he couldn’t not look. He only hoped what he was seeing were the remains of the cattle who’d grazed in the nearby fields. Anything else didn’t bear contemplating.
When they entered the subdivision, there were a few other people standing about. Like the Wilder family, they were dazed and stunned at what they’d just endured and what lay before them. With Colleen and Cassidy clinging to her skirt, Gillian turned in a circle, trying to locate exactly where their house had stood. “Was it here? Or over there?”
It didn’t really matter, nothing remained at either place. No house. No car. No furniture. Nothing. Even the asphalt on the streets had been sucked up and scoured clean.
For hours, they remained at the site of their former home as first responders and police came. Everyone felt shocked and helpless. Clint hovered near the firemen and the cops, listening to what they had to say. He learned the tornado had been a slow moving F5 with winds approaching three hundred miles an hour. Twenty-seven people were dead, and the neighborhood was obliterated.
“Where will we go?” Rowan whispered to Clint.
“I don’t know,” he replied. “Mother will figure something out.”
Gillian gathered her children near as they gazed upon the spot where their home once stood. Clint looked down as Colleen tugged on his sleeve. “What?”
“If we leave, how will Daddy find us?”
Her question made Clint’s chest hurt. “He won’t have to. Don’t worry. We’ll find him.”
Jensen at Twelve, Fall 1997
“I can’t wait to see Daddy.” Jensen beamed as she pulled on the hem of her official Rams sweatshirt. “Mistretta. Number 18. Looks good, doesn’t it, Mama?”
“Yes, it does.” Her mother pulled into the fancy Dallas hotel where the team was staying. Since the Rams were playing so close to home, mother and daughter planned to surprise Gable Mistretta with a visit. “Daddy will be so proud.”
After the valet took the car, Laura held Jensen’s hand as they strolled through the lobby to the registration desk. When the clerk looked up, Jensen’s mother asked for the number of Gable Mistretta’s room. “I’m his wife and this is his daughter,” she announced with a smile. “We’d like to surprise him.”
“Of course.” The clerk returned her smile, then turned to check the register. When he didn’t immediately give them the information, Laura leaned over the counter. “Is there something wrong?”
“Uh.” He reached under the counter and came out with a candy cane. “Here, little girl. Would you like to go sit next to the fountain and eat this?”
Jensen glanced at her mother in confusion.
Laura gave her a nod. “It’s okay. Do as the man asked you to do.”
“But I don’t want…” Her protest was quelled by a stern look from her mother. “Yes, ma’am.” She took the candy cane and moved away. Instead of going all the way to the fountain, she stopped at a large planter filled with greenery. From here, she could still listen to the adults talking. Her dad always told her that she’d inherited his good hearing. Of course, he’d always warned her that sometimes she might hear something she didn’t want to hear. No matter, Jensen’s insatiable sense of curiosity always won out.
“What seems to be the matter?” her mother asked the clerk.
The man looked sheepish and leaned forward. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but there’s already a Mrs. Mistretta staying in the room with Mr. Mistretta.”
Jensen’s mouth flew open. How could that be? She watched her mother’s face, but instead of shock and surprise, she saw hurt and sadness. “I don’t care. I want the key.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.” He shook his head with a solemn look on his face.
“Well, fine. Just tell me the room number.”
“Very well, 324.”
“Jensen.” Laura whirled around and held out her hand. “Let’s go.”
“If you wish, the little girl can wait in the lobby. I could watch her for you.”
Laura kept walking. “I don’t leave my daughter with strangers.”
As they stepped into the elevator, Jensen hugged her mother. “I’m sorry.” She wasn’t a child, she wasn’t naive. After all, she was almost thirteen.
“It’s okay. Some things never change.”
Her mother’s hopeless words brought tears to Jensen’s eyes. She loved her father, but she knew he did things that made her mother sad. She’d overheard many of their arguments.
When the elevator stopped, Laura took off down the hall, still holding Jensen’s hand. She checked the room numbers, then sped up, zeroing in on 324. “Stand over there.” Laura pointed down the hall about ten yards.
Jensen moved to the spot her mother indicated and waited while she knocked sharply on the door. She heard her father ask, “Who is it?”
“Room service.”
Her mother’s retort brought a nervous giggle to Jensen’s lips.
When the door opened, she could hear her father’s gasp of surprise. “Laura!”
Her mother looked past him into the hotel room. “Well, I can see you’re busy.”
“I wasn’t expecting you.” He peered around the door toward Jensen. “Hello, honey.” She could see her father’s face was flushed a bright red. Whatever he’d been doing, he was embarrassed to be caught. “Hold on.”
The door shut in her mother’s face and Jensen’s heart broke for her when Laura Wilder covered her face with both hands. “Mother, I…”
Jerking her hands down, she held out one arm, palm up. “Don’t move. Stay right there. This won’t take long.”
“Are we leaving?”
Laura didn’t get a chance to ans
wer before Gable Mistretta came out of the room, buttoning his shirt which wasn’t tucked into his jeans. “You don’t have to leave,” he told his wife. Pointing over his shoulder, he frowned. “This doesn’t mean anything.”
“Doesn’t mean anything?” She hit Gable in the chest with the flat of her palm. “We don’t mean anything to you.”
Her father glanced at her, then made a shushing noise to her mother. “Don’t say that, it isn’t true. I’m glad you’re here.”
“We were worried about you, Daddy,” Jensen chimed in from her spot down the hall “We saw you take that hit. You lay on the ground a long time before you got up.”
“Oh, I’m all right, honey.” He poked his temple with one forefinger. “Hard head, you know?”
“We’ll be heading back now. Don’t bother coming home next weekend.”
“What?” Gable looked shocked. “I told you. This means nothing.” About that time, the elevator door opened and two of Gable’s teammates came strolling out with scantily clad women on their arm.
“I suppose those women don’t mean anything either.” Her mother wiped tears from her face. “You’re just a typical football player. You think if it happens on the road, it doesn’t count.”
Jensen pressed her lips together. She felt so torn. Part of her wanted to run and hug her dad, but she didn’t want to appear disloyal to her mother – so she kept her distance.
“Let’s go, Jensen.”
Gable grabbed his wife’s arm. “How about your doctor’s appointment? I’m coming home to go with you for the tests.”
“What test?” Jensen asked. This was news to her. “Why are you going to the doctor?” A spike of panic rushed through her.
Laura glared at her husband. “Now, look what you did.”
Walking quickly away, she took her daughter by the hand. “Let’s get out of here and go home. There’s nothing for us here.”
As Jensen hurried alongside her mother, she glanced back over her shoulder to get another glimpse at her father – but he wasn’t there any longer. He’d already returned to his room.
Jensen at 22 – September 2007
“Come on, Dad. You need to eat something.” Jensen hovered over her father holding a tray of food.
“I told you I’m not hungry!” He flung his arm up and hit the bottom of the tray, sending it flying across the room. The soup and crackers she’d prepared went everywhere. “Dad!”
“Where’s your mother?”
His question broke Jensen’s heart. “She’s gone, dad. Mom’s been dead for years.”
“How did she die?”
If he’d asked this question once, he’d asked it a million times. “Cancer. She died of breast cancer when I was fourteen years old. Don’t you remember?”
“No. No, I don’t remember.” He leaned forward and placed his hands on either side of his head. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me!”
She risked his wrath by leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. “You just need some rest.” Picking up the remote, she selected a sports channel. “I’ll bring you a soft drink.”
“Make it a beer and you’ve got a deal.” Gable Mistretta gave her a disarming smile.
“All right.” Anytime she saw a glimpse of the man he used to be it thrilled her. Sadly, those glimpses were few and far between. Yes, she’d been so angry at him for so long. He’d treated her mother abominably, making one mistake after another. Affairs. Broken promises. Not being there for his family as much as he could’ve been. But…those days were over. How could she hate him for his sins when the worst possible punishment he could have received had been dealt to him in spades. As she hurried to the kitchen to fetch the beer and some paper towels to clean up the mess on the floor, she could still hear her father mumbling.
“I just don’t know what’s wrong with me. I just don’t know.”
Jensen didn’t know either. Not for certain. The diagnosis he’d received from the doctor was ‘early onset Alzheimer’s’. While that might be true, she believed the root of his condition lay in another direction.
“When’s my flight, Jensen? I don’t want to miss the big game.”
“You’re retired, Dad. You haven’t played football in six years,” she explained as she gave him an open can of beer, then knelt on the floor to wipe up the spilled soup. “You’re a man of leisure now.”
“Why did I retire?” He grasped his head again. “I don’t remember!” He growled. “Why don’t I remember?”
“You took a hard hit. A bad concussion.” One of the many concussions he’d received throughout the years.
“Is that why I have such trouble thinking?”
“Yes, I think that’s part of it.” A big part.
“I just can’t recall anything, honey. I feel so helpless.”
“I know you do.” He couldn’t even remember they’d had this same conversation dozens of times. Jensen rose with the dirty towels and walked to the kitchen to throw them in the garbage. As she passed the counter, she checked the time on her phone. The Home-Help nurse should be arriving any minute. “I’ve got to get ready for class, Dad.”
“What grade are you in now?”
His question made her laugh sadly. “I attend Baylor College of Medicine here in Houston. I’m going to be a doctor. A neurologist. I plan on learning all I can so I can help you and people like you.”
“Oh. That’s good. Where’s your mother?”
Jensen didn’t answer, she just shook her head. At that moment, the doorbell rang. “Mary’s here to take care of you. I’ll let her in.”
“Good. She can take me to the airport. I don’t want to miss my game.”
Jensen sighed. She wished she’d never heard of the game of football. She didn’t approve of the lifestyle most of the players led or the brutality of the sport. As far as she was concerned, her father was in the shape he was in today because he’d taken repeated hits and suffered from a half dozen concussions over the years. She couldn’t prove it, but she was certain her father was suffering from CTE. Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy. A progressive degenerative disease found in the brains of those who have suffered severe head trauma. Unfortunately, a positive diagnosis could only be made at an autopsy. Obviously, at that point, it was too late. Jensen feared it was already too late for her father. The man she once knew made very few appearances.
“Come in, Mary,” Jensen welcomed the caregiver.
“How’s our patient today?” The pleasant middle-aged woman took off her jacket to hang it over the back of a chair.
“He seems to be more confused than ever,” Jensen admitted as she gathered her things to leave. “I’ll be back once classes are over to give you a hand with supper.”
“Take your time.” She looked over at Gable Mistretta with kindness in her eyes. “We’ll be just fine. He’s always real gentle to me.” Mary leaned over to whisper in her ear. “Sometimes, he thinks I’m his mother.”
“Oh, my.” Jensen wasn’t really surprised.
“If you want, go out with some of your friends.”
Jensen frowned and laughed. “My social life is nonexistent, Mary. I haven’t been on a date since Dad came home.”
“You poor girl. I’m so sorry. Well, I’ll be glad to stay over any night you want to go out on a date. You don’t even have to pay me for the extra hours.”
“You’re too sweet.” She stopped to give the woman a hug. “I’ll think about it. Okay?”
“You do that.”
“All right, I’ll see you later,” she told the woman with a heartfelt smile. “Bye, Dad!” she called, but got no response.
Making her way out of the house, Jensen rushed to her car. She didn’t want to be late. College wasn’t cheap and she didn’t want to waste a moment of lab time. If it weren’t for the insurance money she’d received upon her mother’s death, Jensen would have to be working as well as taking classes. With her father’s disease, that would’ve been impossible, unless she opted to put him in a home and the cost o
f living in a nursing facility fulltime was sky high. Faced with such choices, she was managing as best she could.
As she backed out of the drive, she smirked at herself in the rearview mirror. “A date? Huh.” The only men she was ever around were the ones in her classes and they were all as busy as Jensen. Besides, none of them really appealed to her – not that she’d given the idea much thought. “You’re not in the market for a serious relationship, so stop being so picky. You just need to have a night of fun every century or two.” As she drove slowly down the street toward the college, Jensen let out a long sigh. “Just keep your distance from jocks. The last thing you need is to get mixed up with a football player.
Clint at 22 – April 26th, 2012
“Want some butter pecan pie, Clint?” Colleen waved a saucer of the delectable dessert under his nose.
“No, thanks. I’m too nervous.” Surrounded by family and over a hundred friends, Clint sat in a booth at a Walk-on’s restaurant in Waco, clutching his phone as he waited to find out if he’d been chosen in the NFL Draft. A bottle of champagne with ten balloons tied to it sat at the start of a receiving line for food. One of the balloons was a Waco Bear’s football. Another read ‘Congratulations.’ Everyone was waiting on the same thing – for Clint’s phone to ring with the news he’d been drafted by one of the NFL teams.
“You have no reason to be nervous, you’re Waco’s most decorated receiver, that phone will ring any minute,” Rowan clapped him on the shoulder as they stared at the jumbo flat-screen television on the wall where the draft was being televised – live and in living color.
Clint nodded as he stared out the window. Rain was falling so hard; the streets were flooding. “I hope so.” He was projected, almost across the board by the experts, to be drafted in the first five rounds. Last week, two days before the draft began in Philadelphia, one of the most respected talent evaluators, the NFL Network's Mike Mahoney, ranked Clint the 30th best player among the year’s prospects.
