by Beth Wiseman
Brooke slipped off her flip-flops and pulled her legs up under her on the couch. Maybe the worst of the hurricane would miss them. Her mother had already called this morning wanting to know if Brooke and the kids were okay. Brooke had assured her mother they were fine and quickly made up an excuse to get off the phone. Despite everything, she was glad her mother wasn’t alone right now.
“Mommy, is the electricity going to go off?” Meghan had just come downstairs. Brooke reached for the remote and turned off the television.
“I don’t know, but just think how fun it will be to get out our candles and sit around and play games.”
Meghan’s eyes started to tear. “I don’t want the electricity to go off.”
“Quit being such a baby.” Spencer threw himself on the couch, grabbed the remote, and turned the TV back on.
Brooke held out her hand. “Give me the remote or watch something else. We’ll check on the storm from time to time, but we don’t need to keep the Weather Channel on the entire time.”
Spencer huffed but started flipping channels. Her son had such an attitude lately, and Brooke wondered how much of it had to do with Owen. She walked to the window and peered out. Even though it was raining, there wasn’t even a breeze. The trees were still, as if waiting for something.
As she walked nervously around the house, she pulled out her cell phone, tempted to call Owen. And say what? That she was a huge baby and would he please come over and stay with her and her children while the storm came through?
Why not? They were friends. That should be acceptable. She slid into her bedroom upstairs and called him.
“Ready for the storm?” she asked when he answered.
“Well, I figure this house has been around a hundred years. It must have weathered a few of these. Just hoping the patch-work on the roof holds.” He paused, and Brooke thought she heard another voice in the background, but she couldn’t tell if his guest was male or female. “What about you? Ready? I saw this morning that it’s a category two now. We’ll probably have some high winds and thunderstorms out of it.”
“At least. But, yeah, I guess we’re ready.” She sat down on her bed, then lay back, pulling the phone mouthpiece away as she sighed. He had company, so she wasn’t going to ask him to come stay with her and the kids. “Hope it doesn’t get too bad.”
“I think we’ll be okay.” He paused, and Brooke heard the voice again. She strained to hear if it was a female. “Hey, can I call you back in a little while?” he said. “Would that be okay?”
“Oh, sure.” She sat up, wishing she hadn’t called. “No big deal. I—I was just—just checking to make sure you were ready.” She squeezed her eyes closed, thinking she sounded silly.
“Okay, I’ll call you back.”
Six hours later Brooke, Meghan, and Spencer were upstairs in her bedroom in the dark, huddled together under the covers as lightning flashed, rain pounded, and wind howled.
And no word from Owen.
Eighteen
Owen had been surprised when Hunter showed up for work at eight o’clock. He’d just assumed the boy would stay at home and ride out the storm with his grandma. Owen had asked him repeatedly if he needed to go be with his grandmother, but Hunter said she’d just be mad if he didn’t go to work and that she was fine.
Owen was really glad Hunter was here, though. It took everything they both had to keep the attic from flooding. Less than an hour after the storm hit Smithville, high winds ripped the patches off the roof, and a steady stream of water had been filling the empty planters Hunter had found out in the backyard. The ceramic containers were too heavy to carry up and down the stairs, so every time one filled with water, they poured it out an attic window.
He’d thought about the possibility of a hidden bunker all morning, wondering if the past tenants had hunkered down somewhere during a storm. He doubted they’d been doing this.
“Guess I need to add new roof to the top of my list of things to fix. I should have made that a priority before hurricane season started.” Owen lifted one planter while Hunter opened the window. Rain hit them both in the face, but it was the lesser of the two evils. Hunter slammed the window shut as Owen hurried to reposition the container under one hole in the ceiling. “What a mess.” He kicked the container. “I don’t know why I even bought this house. Stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”
“Why did you buy it?” Hunter lifted the window as Owen picked up the other planter. They both closed their eyes as Owen dumped it and rain pelted them again.
“I guess because I’m a spiteful man.” He ran an arm across the sweat on his forehead. It was hot up here—no AC upstairs. Incredibly humid. Two big holes in the roof. It was all just a little too much today.
“By the way . . .” Hunter reached into his pocket and pulled out two soggy twenty-dollar bills. “These are yours. I think I musta picked ’em up by mistake when I was here.” He pushed them in Owen’s direction, and Owen took them, knowing he should be thankful that Hunter had come clean about it, but irritated with everything in his life at the moment.
“Picked them up by mistake?” He grunted. “I guess that can happen.”
“Look, I gave it back, all right?” Hunter was soaking wet like Owen, and as they faced off, Hunter’s bottom lip began to tremble.
Owen had hoped that by giving him a job he wouldn’t need to steal. “Well, today’s payday. You’ll have another four hundred dollars to blow.”
“I didn’t blow it!” Hunter gripped his fists at his sides.
Owen nodded for him to open the window so he could dump more water out. When he was done, he took a step toward Hunter, who now had his chest pushed out. “I don’t care what you do with it. It’s yours to do with as you please.”
Hunter shook his head. “You would think, wouldn’t ya?”
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing. Never mind.”
Owen thought for a few moments. “Did your grandma take all the money?” Owen could understand Hunter helping her out with bills and food, but shouldn’t the kid be able to keep some of it?
“No.” Hunter stepped over to reposition one of the planters. “I gave Grandma some for her pills, food, and stuff. The other half she said was for me, that I’d worked real hard.”
“And you did. So I don’t care if you did something fun with it. Just don’t steal any from me.”
“I didn’t steal your money! I gave it back!” Hunter’s bottom lip was trembling again. “And I didn’t do anything with the rest of the money! My dad saw to that!”
Owen put his hands on his hips, looked at the soaked floor, and shook his head. “Your dad stole your money?” He looked up at Hunter, who now had tears in his eyes. Owen couldn’t imagine his own father ever doing anything like that. Or blackening his eye.
Hunter blinked back the tears and lifted his chin, breathing hard. “Like father, like son.”
Owen realized that it had stopped raining—almost like someone had turned off a faucet. He stared at Hunter long and hard. “You don’t have to be like your father, Hunter. That’s not something in your genes. You can choose a different life.”
Now Hunter seemed to be struggling for air, his mouth opened wide. “I gotta go.” He headed for the stairs, but Owen was right behind him.
“Wait. What’s wrong?”
Hunter didn’t turn around. “I just gotta go.” But when he got to the bottom of the attic stairs, he stopped and bent over at the waist. “I can’t breathe.”
Owen wound around him and squatted down, his own heart racing. “What do you mean you can’t breathe? Do you have asthma? What is it? Tell me.”
Hunter, still bent over, was fighting for each breath. “Oh man. It’s happening, and I think I’m gonna die.”
Owen grabbed Hunter’s arms and pulled them both to their feet. “Don’t move. I’m calling 911.”
Hunter grabbed his arm. “No! Don’t. Grandma will kill me. That costs money, and . . .” He bent at the waist again. “
Just let me go home, and it’ll go away.”
Owen glanced out the window. It wasn’t raining, but the wind was still blowing hard, and he didn’t think Wild Bill was done with them yet. “What will go away?”
“Oh man.” Hunter stood up, gasping for air, and with both hands he grabbed Owen’s arms. “I ain’t gonna make it, man. I’m gonna pass out.”
Owen spoke slowly, unsure what was happening, but he recalled a few times in his life, years ago, when he’d felt something similar. “Hunter, is this a panic attack?”
“That’s what Grandma calls ’em, but I don’t know. I just know I feel like . . .” He squeezed Owen’s arms harder. “Like I’m gonna die.”
“Come on. Let’s get you to the hospital. Don’t worry about the money.” Owen put an arm around Hunter, and they walked to the car. Tree branches were down everywhere, and Owen hoped they could get there without incident. He was glad to see his car still intact. Adding a garage was on his growing list of things to do. If this really was a panic attack, Hunter would probably be all right, but Owen wasn’t going to take any chances.
They were driving to the Smithville Regional when he remembered that he hadn’t called Brooke back. I hope they’re okay.
When the rain and the lightning let up, Brooke edged out of bed. Meghan had fallen asleep, but Spencer got up and followed her to the window. A lawn chair she’d forgotten to put away had blown out in the middle of the yard amid a lot of small tree branches, but she didn’t see any real damage.
“Is it over?” Spencer pressed his nose against the glass pane.
“I don’t know.”
“When will we have power?”
Brooke walked away from the window. “Don’t know that either. But I need to figure out something for dinner.”
Spencer followed her downstairs. Brooke fought the irritation she felt, angry at herself for caring as much as she did that Owen hadn’t called. She didn’t need this kind of aggravation, these hurt feelings.
She opened the door to the pantry, tapping her fingers against the wood as she peered inside. Not many options without a stove or microwave. She glanced at Spencer, who was sitting at the kitchen table eating a banana. “Peanut butter and jelly or ham and cheese sandwiches?”
“Neither,” he said through a mouthful.
Brooke wondered how long they’d be without power. She didn’t want to lose the food in her refrigerator, and it was getting hot in the house. She also hoped that everything at the hardware store was all right, but she wasn’t sure the storm was over, so she didn’t want to drag the kids out to go see.
“Well, I can’t cook without a stove.” She opened the refrigerator and quickly scanned the contents before closing the door. She could remember her father telling her to keep the refrigerator closed when the power went off so everything would stay cold. She wondered how her parents were doing. Sighing, she sat down at the dining room table. After a few moments, she decided to take advantage of some alone time with Spencer.
“Spencer, is something bothering you?” She propped her elbows up on the table and cupped her chin. “Is it Owen? Or something else?”
Spencer shrugged.
“I thought you liked Owen, and you know I’m not dating him, and—”
“Then why does he come over all the time? And you talk on the phone a lot now. He gave you flowers, Mom. That’s more than friends.” Spencer reached into the fruit bowl and started turning an orange over and over.
Brooke tried not to smile. Something about her son’s statement brought on a tinge of joy, but she tried to stay focused. “I don’t think so, Spence.” She paused, thinking. “But even if that were true, no one will ever replace your father.”
“I know.”
Maybe Spencer just needed time to process what was happening. What is happening? Brooke sat taller and took a deep breath. Nothing, apparently. Owen hadn’t even called her back. And her cell phone was working, so she assumed his was as well. She decided there wasn’t any reason to have this conversation with Spencer, so she stood up and started gathering sandwich fixings.
I wonder who was at Owen’s house when I called. She shook her head, wishing she could stop thinking about him.
Then a disturbing image blazed through her mind. Surely Tallie Goodry hadn’t gone over there today. She might not be Owen’s type, but she was beautiful. And pushy.
Owen slowed his car down, then stopped in front of Hunter’s house.
“Go make sure your grandma is okay before I leave.” He put the car in park, glad that the wind and rain had stopped. He still had a big mess upstairs at his house.
Hunter opened the passenger door, but before he stepped out, he turned back to Owen. “You really think these pills will help?”
“The doctor said so.” Owen had worried that maybe they wouldn’t prescribe anything without one of Hunter’s parents or his grandma being present, but they had—maybe because the ER was crowded or they assumed that Owen was his guardian. Or maybe it was because no insurance was involved and Owen was paying cash. “And, Hunter, I’ve had panic attacks before. I know they can make you feel awful, but I’m glad you got checked to rule out something else. Try the medicine and see if it helps.”
“You said it’s not like drugs, though, right? Grandma takes some stuff that makes her all loopy. I don’t wanna feel like that or get hooked on nothing.”
Owen appreciated Hunter’s attitude. “No, you take those pills every day, and they won’t make you loopy. You heard the doctor. Some people have a chemical imbalance, and the medicine helps.”
Hunter sighed. “I sure hope so.” He stepped out of the car but didn’t shut the door. “I don’t know when I’ll ever be able to pay you back all that money for the hospital.”
Owen smiled. “I’m not worried about it. Now go check on your grandma.”
Hunter didn’t move. “And about the forty dollars . . . I’m real sorry.”
“I know.” Owen was ready to go. He wanted to stop by Brooke’s and make sure she and the kids were okay. He felt bad that he hadn’t called to check on them, but between the water pouring in his house and worrying about Hunter, he just hadn’t gotten around to it. And then, when he did think of it, he had trouble getting through. Maybe a cell-phone tower was damaged.
He nodded at Hunter. “Go check on her.”
Hunter finally closed the car door and made his way to the front door. Less than a minute later he stuck his head out the door and waved for Owen to go. As Owen started toward Brooke’s house, he got a whiff of himself. He was still wet and sweaty. But before he could decide whether he should go clean up first, he was at her house.
“I can’t come in. I’m filthy,” he said when she opened the door. He could see the darkness behind her. “No power? That’s odd. I have electricity. Phone keeps going in and out, though.” He held up the cell phone in his hand.
She was wearing that pink T-shirt Owen liked so much, and when she brushed her hair over her shoulders, Owen had the strangest sensation flood over him.
“We haven’t had power since the storm hit. I called the electric co-op. They’re working to get it fixed, but we haven’t had any power since late this morning.” She stepped back. “You can come in.”
He glanced down. “I don’t know. I had all kinds of problems at my house, and I’m a mess.”
She motioned with her hand to come in. “We’re eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches by candlelight in the kitchen. Want one?”
Owen realized that he and Hunter hadn’t eaten all day. Once the water had started pouring in, they’d kept busy doing damage control. “That’d be great.”
Meghan and Spencer were sitting at the table when Owen walked into the kitchen with Brooke. “Hey, you two.”
“You never did call us.” Spencer put his sandwich down and eyed Owen.
Brooke stepped toward her son. “Spencer, hush. I’m sure Mr. Saunders was busy. He said he had some problems with his house.” She paused, frowning. “What happened?�
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Meghan spoke up before Owen could answer. “We were so scared! We were all huddled together in Mommy’s bed, and the thunder was so loud I put my hands over my ears and cried.”
Owen swallowed hard, then squatted down by Meghan at the table. “I’m really sorry, Meghan.” Then he looked up at Brooke. “Sorry.”
“I wasn’t all that scared.” Spencer picked up his sandwich and took a bite. “But Mom and Meghan were crying.”
Owen stood up and looked at Brooke. Her face was red as she stared at the floor and shook her head. “Thanks for that, Spence.”
Spencer stood up from the table. “Well, it’s true. I’m done. Can I go play video games?”
Brooke smiled. “Not without any power.”
Spencer let out a heavy sigh. “Come on, Meghan. Finish up, and let’s go play a game or something.”
Brooke cleared their plates from the table. “I already ate with the kids, but everything is on the table, so sit down and help yourself.” She dumped the paper plates and turned to face him. “So what did happen with your house?”
Owen walked toward her, uncomfortably aware that he probably smelled as dirty as he felt. “I’m sorry. Were you really that scared?”
She bit her lip. “I am not a very good role model for my children when it comes to storms.”
“Oh, Brooke.” Owen rubbed his chin for a moment. He wanted to hug her, but he didn’t dare. “I wish I would have been— Oh, excuse me.” His cell phone was ringing. He picked it up and pressed Talk, listened a second, then let out an exasperated sigh. “Cut off again.”
“That’s funny. Mine’s been working fine. Anyway, tell me about the house.” Sitting down at the table, she moved the peanut butter, jelly, and bread closer to her. “Sit down, tell me, and I’ll make you a sandwich.”
Owen couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Virginia had hated peanut butter—anything with peanuts—so there had never been any in the house. He watched Brooke swiping just the right amount of peanut butter and jelly on two slices of bread.
