He nods and picks up the cellphone sitting on his dashboard. I watch out the window, taking in the random debris as he has a conversation with a buddy of his. There’s trash strewn about everywhere—plastic grocery bags sway in the breeze as they hang stuck in tree branches, random pieces of wood and metal are scattered about the fields. We have to weave around a tire that is sitting in the middle of the road.
When we drive through the residential areas directly south of the high school, the debris becomes thicker. Three turns later, I understand why. The tornado made direct contact with the street behind where my father pulls his truck to a stop. As he parks, I look through the white picket fence of one lovely, untouched house and see nothing behind it but a foundation where another home should be. A foundation and a pile of rubble. Chunks of brick, bits of sheetrock, and a smattering of furniture—these are all that is left of someone’s home.
“Okay, let’s go help,” Dad says as he opens up the door and hops out of the truck.
We pick our way through the wreckage, heading toward the destroyed houses. It’s exactly what you see on the news after a storm, and yet it’s different. The devastation is more in-your-face when seen in the flesh. The sounds, the smells, the sheer amount of damage—it’s unlike anything I can describe.
My dad stops and puts a hand on my arm, holding me in place, as he waves to someone I don’t recognize. “Listen, before we go any further, you should know there may be bodies in the area,” he warns as he rubs the back of his neck. “I’d prefer you not see that.”
“M’kay.” I square my shoulders, readying myself. “I’m fine. Whatever I can do to help, I will.” Shit. Dead bodies. Shit. I wonder what I’ve gotten myself into, but I paint on a brave face.
I spend the afternoon helping wherever I can. The street we’re on used to have ten homes, yet it looks as though all of Texas emptied their doors and scattered their life belongings here. Books, papers, pictures, clothing, and toys are littered everywhere. I find a washing machine standing alone in the middle of a back yard. A car is upside down and propped up against a tree as though it’s a matchbox toy.
As I work, the scent of food rotting in the hot Texas sun fills the air gags me. The smell mixes with the smoldering odor of an electrical fire that was contained hours ago but refuses to die, adding a hazy smog quality to the air. My eyes burn, my nose stings, my mouth is dry, but I keep working. Hour after hour, I find something to do or someone to help.
A few hours before dusk, my father learns of several missing people in the area so he moves me away from the heavily impacted homes and puts me to work helping secure the less damaged houses on the neighboring road. I help board up broken windows for an older couple and secure tarps for a single mom whose home sustained heavy roof damage.
I join others in helping clear limbs and random pieces of furniture, bikes, and lawn equipment from the neighborhood streets to provide access for vehicles. I find myself comforting a woman whose home wasn’t touched, but can’t find her family pet.
And I sit next to a boy, about ten years of age, and talk sports because he tells me today was supposed to be his first game of the season. Late in the afternoon, I sift through the life of a young family we’ve been told didn’t survive.
I work until my hands are bleeding, my heart is shattered, and the sun is setting. Then, after a hot shower, I fall into bed and wonder how Jules is doing as I come to grips with what we survived and what we lost.
Ten
I’m hovering between wakefulness and a nightmare. I’m in a box, the air around me thick with dust. My hands probe the space, searching for a way out of the blackness. Pushing the ceiling above me, the top gives, allowing me to sit up. Light blinds me as I spot freedom yards away; all I have to do is stand and walk. My lungs burst with the need for fresh air as I pull my body up. The touch of a cold hand on my leg stops me. Twisting around, my pulse quickens as I find Jules below me. Her eyes meet mine, a tear slipping out at she speaks.
“Please don’t leave me.”
I’m confused, she wasn’t here a moment ago. Was she?
“Jules? Come on, we can get out.” I reach down, offering my hand. “Let’s go.”
“I can’t.” Her gaze flicks to her legs; she’s pinned. She’s not leaving this box.
I look out at my escape, at the light calling to me, at the fresh air beyond this box. Then I back up and squirm into the spot next to Jules.
“Save yourself,” she whispers, jerking her head up to the opening as she grabs at my hand.
Rolling to my side, I touch her face. “I can’t. We’re in this together and I’m not leaving you.”
Closing my eyes, I tilt toward her lips for a kiss. Our foreheads touch, my lips part, and a puff of air brushes across my mouth as something knocks into my head. What the . . .
“You’re damn lucky you’re alive, dude, cause now I don’t have to kill you.” I open my eyes to find Austin hovering above me. Reaching over my body, he grabs a pillow and smacks me across the back of my shoulders.
“Damn it, Austin. What the hell?” I growl, pushing blindly at his body.
“I’m happy to see you too, baby bro.” He punches my side as he sits on the edge of my bed, and I groan.
“Yeah, I can tell by your oxymoronic statement, you jack wad.” I scooch over, making room for him. Austin remains silent as I lie face down, waiting for the remnants of my strange dream to clear away. My mind is slow to let go of the way Jules’ spoke, the way her hand grasped mine, the way I refused to leave. I will it all away; it was only a dream. When the pull of Jules’ blue eyes is the only thing lingering in my memory, I flip over and face my brother.
“When did you get here?” I ask, sitting up and scrubbing my hands over my face.
“A few hours ago. Dad forced me to let you sleep. He says you’ve been through the ringer.” His voice is tight with concern. The big brother, always worried about me.
“You could say that.”
“I can see it,” he counters.
I follow his eyes and look at what he’s staring at. My shirtless torso is covered in bruises, cuts, and scratches. Add the injuries to the all-around weariness my body feels today and it’s as though I’ve been hit by a truck, or I’m back at football camp doing two-a-days and being tackled at the line over and over. I’m a mess both inside and out.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks as his eyes bore holes into me. He’s trying to size me up, trying to figure out what’s going on in my head.
I consider sharing, for a moment. Only two years older than me, Austin’s more of a best friend than a brother. I can tell him anything, but I’m not sure I’m ready to share this yet. I clap my hands together and paste on a grin. “I want food.”
Worry mars my brother’s features before he smiles and stands. “Then get yo’ ass up, punk. Food we’ve got,” he says all gangster-like. I bust out laughing, the rush of air making my ribs ache as I roll out of bed. “Although, you’re looking a little out of shape, maybe you ought to back off the donuts.”
I roll my eyes as I throw on a pair of sweatpants. “Dude, you wish. I can outrun your sorry ass, tornado hangover and all.”
“In your dreams,” Austin laughs, slinging his arm around and placing me into a headlock.
“Challenge accepted.” I lean against his side, taking his weight on my shoulders. “After breakfast,” I add, elbowing him in the gut and slipping away from his grasp before he can get me back.
“You look better this morning,” Dad says as I slip into the kitchen with Austin on my heels. “Finally get some sleep?”
“Yeah, I feel better. Just sore.” I stretch my arms over my head, feeling the tightness of skin around the gash I received Friday night. It seems to be holding with all of the movements I’ve been making, though. Next I roll my head from side to side, working out the kinks. Dang, everything is stiff.
“Are you heading out again?” I ask Dad, noting his clothes and empty breakfast plate.
&nbs
p; Swallowing his coffee, he shakes his head. “I’m spending the day with my boys.” He looks back and forth between Austin and I. His eyes are dull with weariness, but I don’t dare suggest he get rest. I know where us boys get our stubbornness from.
“Speaking of, where’s Carson?” I ask.
“He wanted to be here, but he was busy at work, and Mindy has some project due at school that she’s not finished with.” I frown at Austin’s explanation.
“Uh, work and school won out over seeing if his family is alive?” I’m more than a little surprised to not see my oldest brother standing here this morning.
Austin snorts as my dad shakes his head. “Don’t insult your brother. I spoke to him late last night and ensured him we’re good.”
Austin bumps into my side. “I’m totally telling Car you doubted him.”
Ignoring Austin’s gibe, I ask, “Cell service is up then?”
“It’s spotty, but yes. I’ve been making calls this morning.” Dad’s face is somber and I read between the lines into what he’s not saying. He’s checking on people and getting news.
“And?”
“Forty-five.”
Holy . . . my chest tightens. It’s as though the oxygen is sucked out of the kitchen and my hand goes to my throat as Austin and I exchange glances.
“Forty-five deaths?” Austin clarifies.
Dad moves in between us and places a hand on each of our shoulders. “Forty-five. Eight of them were students at Hillsdale. It’s people we know, guys. Ms. Kathy, Steve Conners, the Jessups.”
The blood drains from my face. “The Jessups?” I repeat. “As in all of them?”
“The whole family. Their house—” Dad’s voice wavers and Austin moves in for a hug. I join in, but I’m numb. Another family gone. I was the lucky one. Jules, Katie, Jeff—all of us trapped in the house were lucky. Thank God for a basement that saved us from a house falling on our heads.
“There’s a candlelight vigil tonight, at Center Park.”
A vigil. The urge to shudder is strong, but I resist.
The small town of Tyler is broken in two. One half is the clean, quaint southern Texas town it has always been and the other is a disaster zone. Shredded landscape, flipped cars, buildings tagged with spray painted warning signs from FEMA, body counts.
As Austin, my dad, and I talk with people at Center Park we hear implausible stories of the storm’s strength. The force of the wind was so immense that it threw cars over one hundred yards. Concrete parking stops with rebar were ripped out of the ground and tossed. Steel beams became paper, mangled into nothing, while trees were debarked. Everything mere children’s toys to a storm of this magnitude
We hear more tales of death, too. North of town, a nursing home sustained severe damage, killing multiple residents. Bodies are being identified in parts. Half of the deaths were people in their homes; trapped and crushed on a Friday night while watching television or sleeping. I shift back and forth on the balls of my feet, my knuckles rapping into the palm of my left hand, as we listen.
I don’t want to hear this.
My dad looks at me. He reaches over and clasps my shoulder, and I still. Trying to contain my emotions, I stuff my fists deep into my pockets. When a family friend begins retelling the tale of a toddler ripped from her parents’ arms as they ran for a backyard shelter, I can take no more. Excusing myself, I wander aimlessly through the crowd gathering at the park as the sky darkens.
“West!”
I crane my neck, looking for the body attached to the voice calling my name and I spot Melody Wade approaching through the crowd ahead of me. Melody’s a friend of a friend. A random hookup from last year, but we’re on good terms.
“Hi.” She hugs me tightly. “I heard about what happened with you. I’m so glad you’re okay.”
I’m unsure of how to respond. Thanks? Do you thank someone for telling you they’re happy you’re alive? A young girl grabs my attention. She’s clinging to a framed photo and wearing an oversized men’s shirt as she holds on to a woman, probably in her mid-twenties, dressed in all black. Somehow I can’t consider saying thank you as they walk by.
Melody waves for me to follow her, and I find myself joining a small group. I stand there pretending to be a part of their conversations as they take turns talking about where they were Friday night when the tornado struck. I have the feeling this conversation thread will be repeated for years to come. “Where were you when the 2013 tornado hit Tyler?” someone will ask. What will I answer? The person next to me coughs loudly and I refocus on the circle.
Most of these teens go to Rossview and live across city limits, so they weren’t in Tyler when the storm hit. They speculate about the horrors we lived through, but they have no idea what it truly felt like. One of the guys, a stoner I’ve seen at a few parties, has the balls to ask me about Grier house. My reply is a glare. Melody changes the subject.
Restless, I scan around the park. Each time I spot a red head, my pulse quickens.
“I wonder where they’ll put the Hillsdale students,” someone says.
“I heard it’s completely destroyed,” Melody says, although it sounds as though she’s asking me for confirmation instead of stating a fact. Eyes turn my way. This is not where I want to be right now. I fight the urge to glare at them all again as I shrug their questioning glances off.
“Hell if I know.”
I hadn’t thought about the school; I hadn’t even realized we didn’t have a building anymore. When I spot people passing out candles, I bend close to Melody’s ear. “Hey, I’m going to find Austin and my dad. It was good seeing you, Mel.”
She nods, squeezing my forearm. “You, too.”
Ignoring every glance sent my way, I make it back to Austin within ten minutes. He’s chatting with some girls, but the moment I arrive, he excuses us and we walk deeper into the crowd.
“Are you okay?” he asks when we find ourselves blocked in by people on all sides. The crowd has doubled in the last few minutes as people make their way closer to the front of the park where town officials have set up.
I’m handed a box from behind and stand there clueless as to what to do. My mind is shutting down. There are too many people, too many sad faces. I want to block it all out.
“West?” Austin says my name as he removes two candlesticks with small white cups around them from the box I’m holding. “Are you okay?”
Nodding my head, I pass the box to the person next to me. “Yeah.”
I take a candle from him. My fingertips dig into the taper, etching a groove into the hard wax as I stare blankly ahead. “No,” I admit after a moment. I don’t think I’m okay. How can anyone be okay? “I don’t know.”
My brother moves closer, our shoulders brushing as he speaks low, “What’s going through your head? You can lie to Dad all you want, but I know you.”
What’s going through my head? Wind, a house, blood, screams, Jules . . . I lift my eyes to his. “I thought a lot about Mom during those moments.” I think back to the voice I heard. “When Jules was knocked out and I only had my own thoughts to deal with it was Mom I heard the most.” I didn’t necessarily mean to speak the words aloud, but I did. I spoke them and Austin closes his eyes.
“I’m not surprised.” He nods as the stranger beside me extends her lit candle to mine, igniting the wick. “She’s always with us, isn’t she?” Austin asks as he borrows my flame and lights his candle next.
A hush extends over the crowd so I lower my voice. “Yeah, she is. I screwed up, man. I’ve—” I cut my explanation short as I spot Jeff on the other side of the park, facing in our direction. I’m a dog in the park who’s spotted a squirrel. My conversation with Austin is forgotten by the sight of Jeff because wherever Jeff is, Katie will be close by. And where Katie is I’m positive Jules will be found. Squirrel!
My eyes survey the heads and faces near Jeff. No red hair or soft blue eyes. Skimming the empty space beside him, I lower my gaze and spot Katie. She’s kneeling o
n the ground in front of the memorials that have sprung up around the huge tree at the end of the park, and next to her is Jules.
I see her hair before her face and it’s as though she’s a damn magnet. Everything within me longs to go to her. She lifts her head and her eyes roam over the crowd much as mine have been, and as though we truly are a set of magnets destined to constantly attract each other, she finds me. In a crowd of thousands of mourners, we connect. A conversation is spoken without saying a word. Her eyes remind me of my dream this morning; they have the same pleading look she had when she asked me to not leave her.
Austin says my name as he knocks into my side, and I reluctantly look away from Jules. “I need to go,” I nod toward the tree and my friends, “over there.” Without bothering to wait for his reply I move.
I haven’t fully explained Jules to Austin yet. I’m not sure if he’d understand our tie or what he’d say about it. Apologizing to the people around me, I snake though the crowd on my way to reach Jules. I make it to the tree where the memorial is set up for victims as the speeches begin. While the mayor talks about perseverance and finding hope, I stop and take in all of the items left for those who died in the storm. The flowers, pictures, and mementos remind me of my mother’s funeral. I hurry on, unable to face these memories tonight.
I locate Jeff in time to watch Jules hug Katie and walk away from them. Where is she going? I wonder, following behind her. Her petite stature makes her difficult to track and I lose sight of her before I make it to the edge of the crowd. Breaking through the wall of people I search for Jules.
The unnaturally bright light of a camera crew draws my attention to a news team. Standing in the spotlight, her face stricken, is Jules.
“Can you describe your experience Friday night?” a reporter asks Jules. “I understand you were with four of the victims at The Ice Shack on Friday, and that you were almost a victim yourself as you took refuge in the old Grier house with other classmates of yours. Can you tell us about that?”
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