Sultry with a Twist

by Macy Beckett

  His heart accelerated, and despite the new chill in the air, he lifted a shoulder to wipe sweat from his temple. He’d really cut it close this time, but everything would work out all right. Worst-case scenario: he’d clear just enough to buy his land and then crash with Pru while taking on small projects to build up more capital. Start flipping hovels again, just like before. The idea of living with Pru, especially at his age, made his stomach feel heavy. He wanted stability and independence, not only for himself, but for June. It was hard feeling like he deserved her. Unnatural. But if he could get that land, build a fine home near the pond, show he had something real to offer—maybe then she’d get someone else to run Luquos and come back to Sultry Springs.

  “Hey,” June said, giving their linked fingers a tug. “Where’d you go?”

  Luke gave an apologetic smile and brought her hand to his lips. “Nowhere special.”

  “Looks ominous.” She raised her chin to the sky, which had transformed into a sickly shade of green in the brief time he’d zoned out. Heavy clouds began to race past while the wind whipped the ends of his hair into his eyes. He picked up the pace, and by the time they rushed through Pru’s back door, the putrid sky opened up and pelted the earth with tiny hailstones.

  June shook out her hair, and chunks of ice the size of frozen peas clinked to the linoleum floor. While she scooped up the mess and tossed them into the sink, Luke grabbed a peanut butter sandwich from the picnic basket and joined Pru in the living room.

  “Had no idea this was comin’,” Pru said, gesturing to the same faded oak console television where he and June had watched cartoons as kids. Weatherman “Pudgy Paul” Stockman warned in a chipper voice to expect a series of violent storms throughout the day and swept his hands over a local map splotched with greens and reds to indicate rainfall.

  Luke plopped down on the sofa. “Guess fishing’s out.”

  “We can lie around here just as well as the pond,” June said. “Scoot down.” He moved to one end, and she stretched out, resting her head in his lap. Sliding a gaze at his sandwich, she opened her mouth for a bite.

  He broke off one corner and touched the bread to her lips before yanking it back again and popping it into his mouth. When she puffed out that pouty lower lip, he bent down to kiss it. Pru pretended not to see their playful exchange, but he noticed a smile dance across her cheeks, before she turned and left the room.

  “Plus,” June added, “it’s been too long since we had a good storm.”

  That’s right. He’d forgotten how much June loved thunderstorms. She used to sit on the front porch and watch them roll in, until the lightning came too close, and Pru would make her come inside. By that time, she’d be half soaked, with snarled, windblown hair, but always grinning. Like she’d harnessed a force of nature or something.

  He tore his sandwich in two and handed June half while finishing the rest in one overstuffed bite. Then a mixture of drugging sensations—the steady, rhythmic pelting of ice against the roof, sunlight slipping behind dark clouds, June’s soft curls tangled within his fingers—lulled him into a trancelike state, until his eyelids grew heavy as cinder blocks. He knew better than to take June upstairs to his bed, even for a chaste nap. Pru would beat him senseless with her heavy, hardback Bible. Instead, he lay down beside her on the narrow couch and pulled her tightly against his body. She burrowed her cheek into his chest, and he was out cold within minutes.

  The next thing Luke knew, Pru’s large bony hand was clamped around his shoulder. “Come on,” she said, giving him a hard shake. “Time to move down to the cellar.” In her other hand, Pru gripped an emergency radio with a built-in flashlight.

  “Huh?” Still in a fog, he helped June sit up and then stumbled off the sofa. How long had they slept? The room was black as night, but it didn’t seem like that much time had passed.

  “Tornadoes?” June asked in a cracked whisper. Her eyes widened, reflecting the dim, flickering light from the television. June’s love of thunder and lightning didn’t extend to tornadoes, which had always transformed her from a brave, smiling girl to a quivering, weeping mess huddled in the corner.

  “Yep,” said Pru. She nodded toward a stack of neatly folded blankets on the recliner. “Grab those.”

  “Lucky!” June shouted, whipping her head from side to side. She didn’t have to wait long. A soft mew sounded from the hall, and Lucky hopped in with that awkward three-legged gait. Luke grabbed him in a football hold, determined not to let the scraggly thing blow away once they stepped outside.

  June scooped up the blankets and held them against her chest, gripping them like a pillow and burying her face in the fabric folds. He wrapped one arm around her shoulders, leading her out the back door behind Pru.

  The sudden change in pressure made Luke’s ears pop, and he tucked the cat between his body and June’s to protect it from hailstones and the hard, scraping wind. The sky’s eerie glow barely illuminated the heavy aluminum doors in the ground that led down to the cellar. Bits of dried leaves and dust sandblasted Luke’s neck as he ducked his head and pulled June forward, her muscles rigid beneath her cotton dress. He released her only long enough to heave one door open and usher her inside, followed by Pru. Then he stepped down and bolted the doors shut, hearing ice clunk and ping off the metal. Luke felt along the damp cement wall for the light switch and flipped it on, bathing the dank space in the flickering glimmer of a single fluorescent bulb.

  Warped wooden steps creaked beneath their feet, replaced by the grit of dirt beneath their shoes, as they descended into an area no larger than a generous walk-in closet. The air was thick with mildew, and a sharp metallic scent emanated from a rusted shelf pressed against the far wall. Two tattered canvas cots lined the remaining walls, dusty, but certainly more welcoming than a seat on the bare earth. A lone cricket chirped, competing with the howling, whistling wind from above.

  With a groan, Pru eased onto the far cot and began tuning the radio to the strongest station, and once Lucky’s paws hit the ground, he gave a half-hearted hiss and joined her. “Too bad we’re a bunk short,” Pru said. “Hope you two don’t mind sharin’.” She did a better job of hiding her grin this time.

  Luke uncurled June’s fingers from the blankets and spread one onto the other cot, then sat down and pulled her onto his lap. Instantly, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his shoulder.

  As a kid, he’d never liked spending the night in the storm cellar—who would?—but June used to cry in great, hiccupping sobs that had made his lungs feel heavy. He’d always tried, without much success, to distract her with stories or jokes, but this time he held her tightly in his arms and rocked her from side to side.

  “You’re safe down here,” he whispered. “Nothing can touch you.” She nodded and loosened her grip a bit. “Anyway, it’s just a precaution, right Pru?” He raised a brow at June’s grandma, hoping she’d play along.

  “That’s right. Worst’a the storm’s in the next county.”

  He wasn’t sure which county Pru was referring to, and he was afraid to ask. Jesus, please not Hallover. Anywhere but there. He’d always teased June, saying her bad luck was more contagious than measles, but Luke didn’t really believe in luck. He hated the idea that his failures were someone else’s fault. He and June had a measure of control over their fates, just like everyone else.

  But listening to the radio, Luke began to wonder.

  “…in Hallover county, where reports indicate a touchdown with significant property damage…”

  Maybe control was an illusion.

  Something heavy clattered outside the cellar doors, and June jumped in his arms. She cleared her throat and said, “Probably nowhere near your house.” Her trembling fingers stroked his hair as she tried to offer comfort. “It’s a huge county. Could’ve touched down anywhere.”

  “…now four confirmed touchdowns in Hal—”

  “Hey,” June said, three decibels too loud. She took his cheek and steered his gaze
away from the radio as Pru turned it down to a low murmur. “I just remembered something. A bad dream I had last night, something about snakes. It reminded me of a hypothetical question I read in a book once. If someone offered you a million dollars, would you agree to have horrible nightmares every single night for a year?”

  “Kind of random, isn’t it?” Luke wasn’t fooled for one second by June’s sudden interest in conversation starters. She was trying to distract him, just like he’d done for her all those years ago. Sweet, but ineffective. Nothing short of having her naked beneath him on that cot would push the thoughts of storm damage from his mind.

  “I wouldn’t do it,” Pru said. “Only got so many nights left. Don’t wanna waste ’em.” She scratched Lucky behind the ears and cocked her head to the side, as if in thought. “But young’uns like you? Maybe the money’d be worth it.”

  “Yeah,” June mused. “I don’t know. A million dollars would give me a lot of security, but all those nightmares would drive me crazy after a few weeks. And losing sleep would affect my health. So I guess it comes down to which is more important—financial security or emotional security. I think emotional. So, no, I wouldn’t do it either.” She squeezed Luke’s arm. “How about you?”

  Heaving a sigh, he shook his head. “Doesn’t matter anyway, ’cause it would never happen, but I guess I would. I can take a few bad dreams.” The words stumbled from his lips, but he wasn’t thinking about nightmares, or listening as June and Pru continued the debate. Only wondering how much damage his house could sustain and still be ready for closing within a week. He could handle a few missing shingles, replace some siding and a window or two. Beyond that, who could he call to help with repairs? Trey and Pauly, for sure. Maybe a few other guys from the crew. He couldn’t pay them until after closing, but they’d probably be okay with that. Yes, it could still work out. But despite that thought, his heart still thumped against his ribs. If only he’d known about the land auction, before he’d tied all his money up in that damned house.

  “What do you think?” June asked, tugging at his shirt sleeve. “About cutting off both thumbs to add ten years to your life?”

  “Hmm?” Her shoulders sagged as she probably realized the distraction wasn’t working. He remembered the feeling. None of his best jokes could ever keep her from crying until the threat of twisters was over. “Sorry, Junebug. Too much on my mind. Let’s just lie down, okay?” He needed quiet, to think through all the possibilities and all his options. No matter what, he had to find a way to buy his land. Pru used to say there was a key to unlock every door. His mind reeled with the quickest ways to fix storm damage with no cash on hand, to find the key.

  They nested together like spoons on the cot, but neither slept. June continued to flinch at every sound, while Luke drove himself half-mad envisioning a timber-littered hole in the ground where his house used to be. And wondering who would scoop up his land at auction. How many years would pass before it came back on the market, if ever?

  Many hours later when the wind died down, he gave up on sleep and unbolted the cellar doors. A fallen branch blocked the way, but he managed to dislodge it enough to wriggle out, pull the branch aside, and then let June and Pru out into the muggy, early morning haze.

  Glancing around, Luke noticed some superficial damage to Pru’s wood siding, one cracked windowpane, and a couple trees he’d have to cut down before the next storm, but nothing that required his immediate attention. He circled the house and did one more inspection—both inside and out—to be sure they’d be safe when he left.

  “Wait,” June said, grabbing his forearm. “I’m coming too.”

  Luke shook his head. “No telling what’s going on over there. Could be live power lines down, the roads might be blocked. I might have to walk at some point.”

  “But—”

  “Unh-uh. Stay here, and help Pru clean up the yard. I’ll call when I know something.”

  Before she could object again, Luke planted a quick kiss on her forehead and hopped into the truck. He didn’t know what he’d find in Hallover, and if he broke down, he didn’t want June there to witness it. Or worse—to patronize him and stroke his face and say everything would be fine.

  Though it went against his every instinct, he drove ten miles below the speed limit and kept his eyes trained on the road. Everything’s gonna be okay, he promised himself. But repeating the words didn’t ease his mind, so he cranked up the radio and let the thumping bass push out all conscious thought.

  Chapter 22

  It took a few minutes for June to identify the cause of her unease. It was too quiet. For the first time since her arrival at Gram’s house, the whip-poor-wills, doves, and quail had fallen silent. Shielding her eyes, she gazed at the battered, half-stripped trees and wondered where all the birds had gone. Even the crickets and cicadas were mute. Maybe they’d burrowed underground or simply blown away. Who knew? But no wind blew now, that was certain, and it didn’t help counter the sun’s brutal rays. June heaved a sigh and raked another bag full of leaves and twigs before returning to the sanctuary of Gram’s air-conditioned kitchen.

  “Luke call yet?” she asked Gram, while blotting her face with a paper towel. Three agonizing hours had passed since he’d left, and she’d expected to hear something by now.

  “No.” Grammy offered a cool glass of iced tea. “But Burl did. Shooters lost power, so no need goin’ to work tonight. Said to tell you good-bye and good luck in Austin.”

  “Oh.” That’s right. Her month of service was over in a few days, and she’d have to return to Luquos. The thought left her with a stirring of excitement in her breast, as well as anxious tingles prickling the surface of her skin. But she couldn’t leave without knowing Luke would be okay. “Gram? What if Luke’s house is too damaged to list? Is there another way for him to get the cash in time for the auction?”

  “Sure. I could take out a second mortgage, but he’d never agree to it.” Grammy shook her head and smoothed the front of her blue cotton dress. “Prideful man. He’ll do it himself or not at all.”

  “Can he use the Hallover house as collateral for a loan?”

  “No.” Gram’s expression hardened into a look June knew well. “That ex-wife ’a his ruined his credit before the divorce. Ran up all the cards before shackin’ up with another man. That’s why he uses cash from every sale to buy the next house.”

  “How much do you think it’ll take to win the auction?” Maybe she could scrape together a couple thousand bucks, if she picked up a few bartending shifts.

  “Hard to tell without knowin’ who’s biddin’.” With a shrug, Gram glanced to the side like she was calculating numbers in her head. “I think it went for sixty last time, but it could go for less. Could go for a hundred. No way to tell.”

  Whoa, a hundred thousand dollars? June squeezed her eyes shut and said a quick prayer for Luke. Hopefully, his house was still in decent shape, and all this speculation was for nothing; otherwise, she’d be useless as boobs on a bull.

  Deciding the break was over, June headed back outside to continue raking. She made a deal with herself—if she didn’t hear from Luke in one hour, she’d go looking for him. Yeah, that sounded perfectly reasonable to her. Luke had said to stay put, but he’d also promised to call. She’d give him one hour to honor his side of the bargain before she tracked him down.

  Fifteen minutes later, a humid breeze from her car’s open windows tossed her curls into the air as the miles passed by. She twisted her stereo dial to find some local information about road closures, but the six stations her dilapidated radio picked up yielded nothing useful. The scene outside her window seemed promising though. Nothing worse than the damage at Gram’s house—a few trees uprooted in the fields, and leaves carpeting the asphalt—so far, she’d only had to slow down once to steer around a branch protruding onto the road.

  As June approached Hallover County, the knot in her chest began to loosen. Luke’s phone battery had probably died—that’s why he hadn�
�t called. After all, there’d been no way to charge it last night in the cellar. She’d just relaxed into her seat and released a quiet sigh of relief when she saw it: the mahogany desk with beveled etching along the top. The one she’d selected from the furniture rental store because it complimented Luke’s master bedroom perfectly. Now it lay in the middle of the road with its legs broken in half like matchsticks. A cold weight settled in June’s belly as she slowed down and passed it on the grassy shoulder.

  Before long, she spotted Luke’s black truck parked alongside the road in front of a massive fallen oak that had blocked the way. She pulled up behind him and continued on foot.

  ***

  From a battery-operated radio in the kitchen, The Police complained about getting wet beneath the world’s umbrella. How fitting. Luke switched the radio off, clutched it in his palm, and then threw it out a broken window and into the sodden backyard. It landed with a dull thud beside a cluster of wilted golden flowers June had planted out front last week. He was wet, all right, just like everything else inside this goddamned house. Funny thing about a roof—it only worked as long as it was attached to the walls.

  He pounded his fist against the granite countertop, then winced in pain, remembering too late that he’d put that same fist through the drywall a couple hours earlier. Cradling his hand against his chest, Luke scanned the kitchen again, taking in the splintered furniture, the soaked walls, and the warped wood floors. And that was just the surface damage. His place was in worse shape than the Jenkins home had been, and how long had the crew worked on that project? Six months, at least.