by Sarra Cannon
I am normally not afraid of elevators, as long as they work. Broken elevators? Well, that just makes me think of plunging to my death in a fiery explosion.
Outside, the rain is still coming down hard, and the sky is as dark as night even though it's only six-thirty. I wonder if the worst of the storm has passed, or if there is more to come.
“I was so worried about you,” Mrs. Wright says. She has both her hands on her son's cheeks and his face has gone beet red. “Why didn't you call us right away? I've been trying to get in touch with you for over an hour, wondering if you somehow got stuck in all this mess.”
“I had my phone off for the meeting,” Preston says. “I forgot to turn it back on.”
“Stuck in an elevator for an hour and a half and you forgot to turn it back on?” His mother clucks her tongue. “You should have called. I was worried to death.”
“Hank, here, had it all under control. Didn't you, Hank?” Preston reaches his hand out to an elderly black man with gRobing hair and a nice smile. He's wearing a blue suit with a gold name-tag.
They shake hands and Hank beams at Preston.
“Thank you, Hank,” Mrs. Wright says with a passing glance at the security guard. She turns back to Preston. “If we had known you were stuck in here, we would have rerouted everyone to get you out as fast as possible. Who knows what might have happened?”
His mother still had yet to even notice or acknowledge me, which was no surprise. Should I duck out and make a run for my truck? I feel stupid hovering here near the door, watching them.
“That's exactly why I told him not to call you,” Preston says. “How are things going out there? Any news on the damage?”
“Oh, honey, it's just terrible,” his mother says with a frown. “The Wilkes' farmhouse is completely destroyed. There's a lot of damage out that way.”
“Was anyone hurt?” he asks.
“One of the Powell children is still missing,” she says. “Their little girl, Anna.”
“She's only four years old,” Preston says.
I step closer at this news. A four year old little girl missing? I can only imagine what her family is going through right now.
“Where was she last seen?” I ask.
Preston's mom turns, noticing me for the first time.
“Oh, goodness, I didn't even see you there, sweetheart.” Her eyes drop from my face to Preston's sweater, still draped on my body. She makes a slight face, but recovers quickly.
I take a deep breath. I'm used to that kind of look.
“Mom, you remember Jenna Lewis,” Preston says. “She's a good friend of Leigh Anne's. We were stuck in the elevator together.”
His mom's eyebrow twitches, and I'm sure she's wondering why in the world I was here with her son. Wisely, she doesn't ask.
“Of course, I remember Jenna.” She reaches her hand toward me. “You're the girl who took Penny to that awful pawn shop last year.”
She says it as a matter of fact, and I cringe. We aren't exactly off to the best start. “Yes, ma'am,” I say. I have no good excuse for what I did. Hopefully she understands I was only trying to help her daughter when she needed me.
“Well, that's all in the past,” she says, a thin smile on her heavily made up face. “The little Powell girl was in her mother's arms when the tornado hit. They didn't have a storm shelter, so they were all huddled together in the hall closet when the roof was torn off the house. The force of the wind carried her little girl right out of her arms and they haven't been able to find her.”
My hand flies to my mouth and my stomach feels sick. “Oh, God,” I say.
“What can we do?” Preston says.
“Your father is meeting with some of the town council members. They're coming up with a plan to get folks back on their feet,” she says. “A few people have already headed over to the Powell house to search for the little girl. I sure hope they find her soon. It looks like we might not be done with the storms for the night.”
I pull my cell phone from my back pocket and dial Leigh Anne's number. She picks up right away. “Hey, are you okay?” I ask.
“Jenna, thank goodness, I tried to call you,” she says. “Can you believe these storms?”
“It's awful,” I say. Preston is still talking with his mother so I step toward the door. “Did you hear about the little Powell girl?”
“No, what's going on?”
“She's missing. She got carried away by the storm,” I say. “Is Knox free? I was thinking maybe we could all head over there and help them search for her.”
Preston puts a hand on my back and whispers in my ear. “Mason's already on his way in his truck,” he says. “If they want to come with us, tell her and Knox to meet us here in a few minutes.”
I turn to him, surprised he's coming to help.
“I don't think that's a good idea,” his mother says. “The storms might start back up and I don't want you and Mason out there in all this.”
“All the more reason we need to get out there looking for this girl,” he says. “Go home, Mom. I'll call you when we have news.”
She makes a deep sound in her throat and lifts her chin. “I don't know what has gotten into you and your sister both,” she says. She doesn't explain herself further. She just kisses him on the cheek and nods to a man standing in the corner. He straightens and rushes to open the door for her.
The man grabs a large umbrella that's propped up against the side of the building and holds it over her head as she walks toward the car.
We watch as his mother gets into the back of a sleek black car with tinted windows. The tall man closes the door, rushes around to the driver's seat, and takes off just as the rain begins to pour harder.
“Jenna?” Leigh Anne says through the phone. “Was that Preston's mom? Where are you?”
“Yes, sorry,” I say. “We're over here at the Fairhope Building downtown. Do you guys want to meet us over here and go looking for that little girl?”
“Of course,” she says. “Let me throw on my boots and we'll head over. Do you need anything?”
“Bring some flashlights and umbrellas if you have them,” I say. “And if you have a spare pair of boots, I'd appreciate it.”
I look over at Preston in his nice black pants, loafers, and a shirt and tie.
“Maybe bring some old jeans and boots for Preston, too, if Knox has something he could spare.”
“Sure thing,” she says. “See you in a few.”
We hang up and I stand at the doors with Preston, looking out at the heavy rain.
“I hope we find her,” I say. “Can you imagine how terrified she must be right now out there all alone in this?”
“If she's even conscious,” he says quietly.
At my side, I feel his hand slip into mine and squeeze. Warmth wells up within me. How could he have heard about my past and still even want to be around me? Have I completely misjudged him?
Or has the storm distracted him for now?
I stare out at the rain and wonder if my confession will mean the end of us before we even had a real beginning.
Chapter Fifteen
Jenna
Mason and Knox pull up at almost the same time. Preston opens his umbrella and we run out to greet them together.
I climb into the truck with Leigh Anne. She hands Preston a plastic bag with some clothes and boots, and a look passes between us before he closes the door and runs up to get in the truck with Mason.
Something has changed between us, and I can't tell yet exactly how, or what it means. All I know is that the more time we spend together, the more my walls start to come down. Walls I built for a reason. I watch him until he disappears into Mason's truck.
“Where are we headed?” Knox asks. “Out to the Powell place?”
“Yes,” I say. “Preston's mom said there's already a group gathered there to start looking.”
“What a nightmare,” Leigh Anne says. “Can you imagine?”
“Is everything okay a
t your place, Knox? That's out toward that same side of town isn't it?” He's put so much work into restoring his mother's old house. I would hate to hear that anything had happened to it.
“Yeah, but I'm trying not to think about it right now,” he says as he pulls out of the parking lot, following Mason and Preston in the other truck. “I'll head over and check it out after we find the girl and things settle down a bit. Not much I could do about it anyway, with it raining like it is.”
“Where were you guys when it hit?”
“At my apartment,” Leigh Anne says. “It didn't get too bad here in town. Just a lot of scary wind and rain. The power went out, but I think it's out all over town. What were you doing here?”
Like Mrs. Wright, Leigh Anne notices Preston's sweater right away and raises an eyebrow.
I roll my eyes. “Stop letting your imagination run away with you,” I say. “I came here to pay my electric bill. I got on the elevator and Preston got on the floor below me. The power went out and we got stuck in there for a little over an hour.”
“So much for your plan to stay far away from him,” she says with a giggle.
“You're telling me,” I grumble. “Of course someone leaked an invite to the party last night, after I told them I didn't want to see Preston for a while.”
I glare at Leigh Anne, and she looks up at the ceiling of the truck, biting back a smile.
“Maybe nature is trying to tell you something,” Knox says with a laugh. If Leigh Anne wasn't sitting between us, I would punch him on the leg.
“It was a coincidence,” I say. I don't mention the water tower last night, but yes, it does seem that there have been a lot of coincidences bringing Preston and me together lately. “Thanks for coming, by the way. It sounds like they can use as many eyes as possible out there right now.”
“Don't try to change the subject,” Leigh Anne says. “What happened in the elevator?”
“I'm just wearing his sweater because I was cold, okay? Don't make a big deal out of it.”
She throws her hands up. “Who is making a big deal? I was simply asking how it went. Did you guys talk?”
“He didn't ask me out if that's what you're getting at,” I say. I don't know why I'm so grumbly with her, except that maybe I'm a little embarrassed about what happened between us in that elevator. And last night on top of the water tower.
I never dreamed Preston would be so easy to talk to. So understanding. What does all of it mean? It's going to be hard to go back to being just friends after what we've been through.
I shake my head and stare out the side window. I can't think about that right now.
Still, the sound of his voice telling me I'm beautiful rings in my memory like a gift. I scrunch down in the seat and hide a smile at the thought, despite myself.
The Powell farm is only a few minutes outside the city limits, but it takes us nearly half an hour to get there in the pouring rain. Leigh Anne hands me an old pair of boots and I toss my sneakers onto the floorboard of Knox's truck and pull on the boots. They're a little big, but they'll do.
“Thanks,” I say.
There are about six other cars in the driveway. A small crowd is gathered on what remains of the porch. Most of the roof on one side is gone. My heart is sick just looking at the scene.
A woman in a flowered house-dress stands on the porch, her face a splotchy mess of tears. A man in overalls and boots has his arm around her. They look up as the five of us approach.
“Oh, my goodness, y'all are just such good people,” the woman says. She starts crying all over again. “I can't thank you enough.”
She buries her head in the man's overalls and he wraps his arms around her and rests his cheek against the top of her head.
They look familiar to me, and I'm pretty sure they've come into the restaurant before, with their three kids. Their little girl's face flashes in my memory, and I feel tears creep into my throat. She's a pretty little thing with long, sandy blond hair and the brightest blue eyes. She always orders grilled cheese and asks for those little cherries from the bar.
I press my lips together tightly to keep control of my tears.
“What can we do to help?” Knox asks. “Do we have a plan?”
“I don't know how much we can do while it's still storming like this,” a man says. I don't recognize him, but Preston seems to know him. They shake hands. “It's getting darker and the rain doesn't seem to be letting up any.”
“We have to try,” Preston says. He looks to the couple near the door. “Mr. And Mrs. Powell,” he says, shaking the man's hands. “I'm so sorry about Anna. We're going to find her safe, okay?”
Mrs. Powell tries to smile, but sobs instead.
“How are the rest of your little ones?”
“They're doing okay. A little shaken up,” Mr. Powell says. “They're over at my sister's for now.”
“Good,” he says. Everyone on the porch is now looking to Preston, as if he has suddenly outranked them and taken over as the natural leader of the situation. I'm impressed with how quickly he's taken charge. “Do you have any idea which direction the wind may have carried her? Where do you think we should start looking?”
“I don't know,” Mrs. Powell says. “It all happened so fast.”
“It's okay. Let's try to figure this out. Anyone know which way the storm was traveling?”
“It came from the northwest, I think,” a redheaded man says. “And if you look out across the farm over that way, you can clearly see the path of the storm in the pattern of the debris.”
“Good,” Preston says. “Thank you, Dale. I think we should head that way, then. Southeast, after the direction of the storm. Let's form a straight line starting here at the edge of the property and walk through slowly. Keep your eyes on the ground in front of you, pick up any easy-to-move debris to make sure she's not hiding underneath, trying to get out of the rain. Make sure nothing's got her caught or trapped. Let's get moving before it gets too dark out to see anything. Does everyone have a flashlight and an umbrella?”
“We have a few extra flashlights,” Mr. Powell says. “I'll go fetch them.”
Preston quickly divvies the supplies among the group and gets us into a line on the southeast side of the property.
Within ten minutes of our arrival at the house, we are actively searching for the little girl. I keep my eyes glued to the ground, squinting through the rain, but my thoughts are locked on Preston.
I'm impressed and surprised by the way he took charge and moved these people to action so quickly. How long had those men been standing on that porch doing nothing but talking about how tough this was going to be?
He's a natural leader, a role I haven't seen him in before. It makes sense considering he's had his father to watch and take after all his life, but it still surprises me how easily he stepped into the role.
My feet sink into the ground with each step. Water falls so fast it's running like a river all through this stretch of farmland. There's debris everywhere. Pieces of the torn roof. A broken windmill. Branches from nearby trees. The field is a landmine of hiding places and dangers. She could be anywhere.
I lean down and lift up a big piece of wood that might be large enough to hide the body of a small child, but after almost an hour of walking in a straight line, I'm starting to panic. What if we don't find her?
What if she's hurt or bleeding? What if she hit her head and needs immediate medical attention?
We could be running out of time.
Preston walks beside me, and I take a moment to look over at him. He senses my eyes on him and meets my gaze. I see he's just as worried as I am.
“We've got to find her soon,” I say, trying not to raise my voice too much. The girl's father is at the end of the line. He looks terrified.
“I know,” he says. “I'm really worried, and it's getting very dark out here. This rain just isn't letting up.”
“Maybe we should spread out more?” I say. “Cover more area faster.”
<
br /> “That's not a bad idea.”
He calls everyone in, and they stop and gather in a crowd around him.
“It's getting dark real fast, and I'm thinking maybe we'd do better covering more space,” he says. “Mason, Leigh Anne and Knox, why don't you three keep on this path but spread out a little. Dale, Mr. Johnny and Felix, you three take Mr. Powell and head down to the south side of the field. There seems to be a lot of downed trees over that way. Jenna and I will take a look over in the wooded area on the other side of the field.”
“Should we meet up at a certain time?” Dale asks.
Preston looks at his watch. “Let's give it another good hour and head back to the farm house and regroup around eight-thirty,” he says. “If we still haven't found her by then, we'll make some calls and see if we can get some more help out here. Things should be a little more settled in town by then.”
Everyone spreads out toward the assigned spots. Preston and I track our way through thick mud toward the tree line.
“What's going to happen if we don't find her in the next hour?” I ask.
“God help us,” he says. “I don't know. I saw a few more cars pull up over at the house, so hopefully we can get more people looking and cover more ground. I've heard stories of people carried half a mile by a storm like this. There's no telling where she is.”
I have to double-skip to keep up with him. We're both completely soaked from head-to-toe. I've stopped using the umbrella. It wasn't helping anyway, and I wanted my hands free.
But as we reach the trees, the rain begins to let up. We both look toward the sky.
“Whew, that's our first break,” he says. “Maybe we can look faster without the rain.”
He props his umbrella against a tree and starts walking.
It's darker here in the woods and we swing our flashlights across the forest floor, looking for any sign of the little girl. I call her name several times, but hear no response.
Half an hour later, though, I see a tiny blue shoe stuck in the mud.
Chapter Sixteen
Preston
