by Lara Zielin
“Why?” Cat asks.
“Because then she’ll be better. And I can come home.”
“Okay, but even if your mom went to rehab, which she didn’t, it probably would be good for you to stay there anyway. You know? Just get some space. Let her figure out things on her own for a while.”
Cat is saying the same thing Ethan had said. Which was the same thing Max had hinted at too. Was I really so wrong about all this?
“But—Jesus, Cat. I mean, if what you’re saying is true, think about how in pain someone has to be to fake rehab. How screwed up. It’s probably because I’m down here that she’s doing all that. I can’t just sit here while she goes all Leaving Las Vegas at the liquor store.”
“Yes. Yes, you can. It’s not up to you to fix her.”
“But what if she dies? I mean, she could drink too much and pass out and choke on her own vomit.”
“That’s been a possibility all along. If you’re really so worried now, call a neighbor. Have the cops come in and check on her. But don’t go home.”
I’ve never heard Cat sound so cold.
“She’s faking rehab! It’s a cry for help! She needs someone!”
“A trained professional, Jane. But not you.”
I shake my head. “I don’t know how you can be so dense about this. I just—I can’t stand by and wait for my mom to die.”
“If you come home now, you’ll only make things worse.”
“In your eyes.”
“And in my eyes,” Cat says, “if you come home, then we can’t be friends.”
“Enough with you and your rules,” I cry. “Screw you and your note! You don’t know how things are. It’s not your mom!”
Cat hangs up with a click.
From the front seat, Victor turns around. “Everything okay? Were you just yelling?”
“I’m fine,” I say, not looking at him. “Forget it.”
For a second, Victor doesn’t move. Then, slowly, he faces front again.
I’m so pissed at Cat, I dig my nails into my palms until they leave deep welts. Tears are pooling in my eyes, but I won’t let them fall. I absolutely will not bawl. I just need to think. I need to figure out when I can get back to Minnesota. My mom needs me, and the Torbros hate me. There’s never been a better time to exit stage left.
Outside the van, Stephen is motioning with his hands. “Check Polly, and let’s head out!” he says. “The twister’s gone, and looks like rain might move in after all. We need to get off this road!”
The back of the van opens up. Ethan and Mason slide Polly in, then slam the doors shut. Within seconds, we’re tearing down the dirt road, trying to beat the rain. The whole team is chatting about the twister. Even Victor’s asking questions.
I’m in the backseat, invisible once again. Which, for the first time all day, is fine with me. It means no one will notice when I get the hell out of here.
27
That night, we land at a motel in Shawnee, Oklahoma. When I look at a map in the lobby, I’m relieved to see the town isn’t too far from Oklahoma City. I figure if I can get there, I can find transportation home. A bus, a train, a plane—something.
The minute I’m locked inside my musty room, I open my suitcase on the bed and unzip the inside pocket. I pull out the money I’ve saved from Ethan’s paychecks, plus the little bit of cash I’d pooled together from babysitting jobs before I left. I count it twice, just to make sure I have the exact amount. It comes to $274.
Outside of getting robbed, I know I can get home on that with cash to spare. Easy.
A soft knock at the door has me shoving all the money underneath my clothes. When it’s buried, I squint through the peephole and am surprised to see Hallie standing outside.
“Can I help you?” I ask, not opening the door.
“Jane, come on,” she says. She pulls off her cowboy hat and holds it in her hands like a gentleman caller or something. “We need to talk.”
“About what?”
“Come on. Don’t do this. Just open up.”
Reluctantly, I turn the lock and crack the door. “What?”
“You’re not going to invite me in?” she asks.
“Probably not.”
“Fine,” she says. “Then I just came by to tell you not to take what happened this morning too hard. Stephen’s upset he’s losing the other half of the Tornado Brothers. But he doesn’t blame you for telling Max about Victor. No one does. At the end of the day, this is Victor’s doing, not yours.”
“Oh!” I say, smiling as if I’m finally getting a punch line that had eluded me all day. “Is that it?” I laugh. “Then, okay! Everything is totally fine!”
Hallie shifts her cowboy hat in her hands. “Are you upset because Max blabbed all this?”
My anger rises. “I’m upset, Sherlock, because everyone was a total asshat to me today. Including you. And guess what? I don’t need it. I don’t care about any of it. Not about the Torbros or storms or Polly or the Blisters or the stupid Weather Network. So whatever. Have fun with my brother and enjoy yourselves. I hope your lives turn out great. I hope you catch a zillion tornadoes. Best of luck to you. Just leave me out of it.”
Hallie blinks. “Jeez. Hostile much?”
“You came to me, Hallie,” I say, losing patience. “I didn’t even want to have this conversation. But you’re here. So I’m not just going to say, ‘Oh, no problem, everyone can be a jerk to me for an entire day, but it’s totally cool.’ Because it’s not cool at all.”
“We were just upset,” Hallie says. “The group’s been chasing together a long time is all. Victor wasn’t always this way, and it’s been hard for us to admit that having him in the field wasn’t just going to work itself out. So, excuse us if we had to blow off some steam for a while. But that doesn’t mean you’re not one of us. It doesn’t mean anyone hates you.”
“Huh,” I say. “Could have fooled me.”
Hallie purses her lips. “What’s really going on here?” she asks after a moment. “You don’t seem like yourself.”
“That’s probably because you don’t know me.”
Hallie sighs and puts her cowboy hat back on. “We’re eating at the Golden Corral across the street tonight. We’d all like it if you’d join us.”
“Thanks, but I think I’ll be dining in,” I say. I don’t tell her I have a trip to plan. I don’t tell her I hope I’m gone within twenty-four hours.
“Suit yourself,” she says.
I slam the door.
* * *
While everyone is across the street eating, I duck into the motel’s “business center,” which in this case is more like a closet with a giant computer that looks older than I am. I wait for what feels like an hour as the thing boots up, its processor grinding.
The second I have an Internet connection, I start researching bus routes into Oklahoma City. There’s one out at 4:14 P.M. tomorrow, arriving in Oklahoma City around six. The bus stop is a few miles away, but it’s totally walkable. If I leave at three, I’ll be there in plenty of time.
The trick, of course, will be evading the Torbros long enough to actually get on the bus. Plus, if they want to pack up early tomorrow and chase weather, there’s no chance I’ll be able to sneak away. If, on the other hand, they sit around and wait to see what the weather will do, I might have a shot.
Either way, I tell myself, if it doesn’t work out tomorrow, it could work out the day after. Or the day after that. Even a town like Patchy Falls would have a bus. Or a taxi. And all those can take me somewhere with bigger modes of transportation—big enough to get back to Minnesota.
I just hope I can get back before anything drastic happens. On a whim, I pull out my cell and dial my mom. The phone rings and rings, then goes into voice mail. I scroll through my contacts and find our neighbor Henry. I click Talk.
He picks up on the third ring. “Yeah?”
“Henry. Hi, this is Jane McAllister? From next door?”
“Oh, yah. How you doin’,
Jane?”
“I’m fine, but I wonder if you might do me a favor and run next door to check on my mom. She . . .” My mind goes blank. The lies that used to come so easily aren’t there anymore. I’m out of practice. I squeeze my eyes shut and concentrate. “She hasn’t been feeling well,” I continue, “and that flu medicine makes her so dizzy. I can’t get in touch with her, and I’m worried she might have hit her head on the edge of the tub, you know?” I laugh, but it winds up sounding more like a grunt.
“Yah, sure,” Henry says after a second. “I’ll go check for you. You want me to go now?”
“If you don’t mind. You can take the phone with you. I can just listen. If she answers the door, I’ll know she’s okay. But can you keep it a secret that I’m asking after her?” My mind races faster, thinking how awful my mom will feel if she knows I know she’s not in rehab. “She doesn’t like me checking up, so maybe you can just ask after the washing machine.”
Henry mumbles something. Even though I can’t quite make out what it is, I can probably guess. Something about this being overly complicated because, at the end of the day, I doubt I’m fooling him. After all, he’s seen my mom wobble as she’s pointed to the leaky faucet that needed repairing; she’s slurred when explaining how the stove’s pilot light doesn’t work. He probably even saw her that day she was under the bushes. Henry probably knows exactly why I’ve phoned and what this is all about. But the pretenses are a part of it I just can’t drop.
Maybe I’m only doing it to fool myself at this point, I think.
I hear him rap on the door. Then voices. I can only catch snippets. “Washer okay?” “Sweet of you.” “Need just ask.” Then the slam of the door, and Henry’s back on the phone.
“You hear that? She’s okay.”
I breathe a little easier. “Thanks, Henry. I really appreciate it.”
“You take care, Jane.”
“I will.”
We end the conversation, and that’s that. I head back to my room, where my $274 sits tucked away, waiting for my big break. But before I get there, I get another text. This one from Max.
Where r u staying tonite? I’m ovr in Ada.
From staring at maps all day, I know that’s southeast of here. A few days ago, I might have conjured up some kind of plan or scheme to go meet him. But now there’s not a snowball’s chance in a warm front. Not after what he did.
I don’t reply, but another text comes through anyway.
Havnt heard from u all day. U ok?
Then another. We stopped in a town 2day actually called Okay. LOL
I can’t bleve I said LOL.
LOLOLOL.
They won’t stop.
Where r u?
Am I talking to the cosmos?
If ur mad at me, tell me, k?
I care abt u. I’m sorry if we left things weird. I’d like to c u agn. Somehow.
If u played the vortex game and it were me or the Pig & Spit, but only one cld survive a tornado, which wld u pik?
I kno their ribs are good, but I hope u pik me.
A laugh escapes my lips. How can he be so clueless about why I’m mad? How can he just pretend like nothing’s wrong?
I force the smile off my face. I can’t do this. I turn off my phone, once and for all.
But even after I hit the lights and curl into the cheap bed, my fingers itch to text him. Finally, I lie on my back and pin my hands underneath my head so I don’t do anything stupid. After staring at the ceiling for what feels like hours, I finally fall asleep.
* * *
At breakfast the next morning, my first ray of hope that I might get back to Minnesota before next week comes in the form of bickering. Stephen and Ethan are standing next to a bucket of yogurts packed into ice, arguing that we should head north into Iowa. But Hallie and Mason disagree, saying it’s best to stay put and watch potential activity to the west, which they say could put twisters into our backyard by sundown.
Bingo.
I grab a cup of coffee and am trying to really tune in to the details when I realize Victor’s not in the mix.
“Hey,” I say to Mason when their disagreement has simmered down, “is Victor around?”
“Naw,” Mason says, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Left last night after dinner at the Golden Corral.”
He’s gone, and I didn’t say good-bye. Because I was too pissed at the team to even have dinner with them.
I take a sip of java, telling myself it’s a good thing he’s gone. He’s happier now. Even though that’s true, it still doesn’t make me feel any better.
My phone buzzes, and I stare at another text. Hey u! I figure at first it’s Max again, but then I realize—it’s my mom. At that moment everything goes quiet, and I’m not sure if it’s because there’s less noise in the room or because there’s a roar in my ears that blocks out any other sound.
I simultaneously want to throw the phone across the room and hug it to my chest.
I punch the only reply I can think of: Hi mom! How r u?
I hit send and wait.
Gr8! The ppl at the rehab cntr r SO nice. They have ben helpfl & r letting me go early!!
I know it’s a lie. But that’s okay. I knew this was going to get messier before it would get simpler. That’s awsm. I was thinking Id come hm & we cld hav the rest of the summer togethr.
Her response makes my stomach knot.
Naw, I am comng to c u. I have frequnt flyer miles. Am at the airprt, direct flight leavs in 20 min. Can u believe it?
It strikes me as almost funny that the biggest lie in that text is that she has frequent flyer miles. I’ve never known her to fly. Not once in all my seventeen years. So no way she’s at the airport. Just like no way she got let out of rehab early.
The part that isn’t funny is that she seems to be spiraling. The lies are getting worse. I need to get home fast before she does something seriously bad.
I ask her which airport she’s flying into.
Oklahma City. Closest airprt to Ethan’s house! R u nearby?
Actually yes, I type back. Dwn the road.
Gr8. When I get there, u will be first 2 kno.
Ok, I reply. Only after I hit Send do I realize the team’s made a decision.
We’re staying put for the time being.
* * *
By noon, I’m prowling around the motel, restless. Mason and Hallie made the right call—the radar shows strong potential for a tornado outbreak to the west—and any minute we might jump into the vans and chase. But we haven’t done it yet. The possibility that we could is making little beads of sweat break out on my upper lip.
Should I wait until closer to three to make a break for it? Or leave now and risk them realizing I’m gone? I doubt they’ll track me down—nobody cares that much—but still. What if they try?
God, Mom, I think. Why does this have to be so complicated?
Like she knows I’m thinking about her, my phone rings with her name in the caller ID. I hit Talk immediately.
“Mom?”
“Janey!” Her voice is so loud, I keep the phone a few inches from my ear. “I’m here! I made it!”
The motel hallway is suddenly sweltering. “What? How?”
“I flew! I told you! I bought a ticket, and I flew to see you!” I can tell from the way she’s overarticulating her words that she’s been drinking. She’s trying too hard to sound sober. “This nice man from the airport brought me to my motel in a shuttle, and now I want to see you! I don’t have a car, though. Can you drive here from wherever you are? Are you chasing close by, or will it take you a while to get here?”
Her voice is so loud. I don’t remember her being this earsplitting. “Mom, where’s here?”
“I’m at the Super 8 on Shilling Road. In Oklahoma City!”
That’s only twenty minutes away. If you’re not taking the bus.
“I don’t—I don’t have a car,” I say. “But then, it doesn’t matter, right? You’re not really there.”
“What are you saying? Of course I’m here. I told you I was coming. When you pick me up, bring Ethan. Maybe he’ll talk to me now that I’ve been to rehab.”
My head is pounding. I’m having a hard time thinking.
“Mom, I just—I can’t believe it. Is this really real? How did you get the money for the ticket?”
“Don’t you worry about that, honey. I’m here, and that’s all that matters. Now, get your brother and come see me. I’m at the Super 8 in room 211. On Shilling Road. Got it?”
I stall, confused. The details are so real. She’s not usually this specific when she’s lying. But how am I supposed to go see her? “I don’t know, Mom—”
“I didn’t fly all this way to hear I don’t know. You can find a way. You’re my smart girl.”
I’m stunned into silence.
“I’ll wait. When you get here, I’ll be ready.”
“Um. Okay?”
“Bye, honey. Love you, see you soon!”
My right eardrum is buzzing from all her yelling. I shove my cell phone in my pocket and make my way to the lobby, where the remaining Torbros are sprawled out, studying computers and radars. Cables and wires are everywhere in this makeshift base camp. The motel manager has even set up a pot of fresh coffee and a stack of Styrofoam cups for them.
Hallie’s jiggling the van keys and staring at an atlas, like she’s ready to drive away now.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“We’ve got action to the west,” Ethan says. His gray-blue eyes are locked on the computer screen, his angular face focused. “We’re watching it. If it keeps building, we’re going to hit the road soon.”
I glance out the window. It’s not yet one o’clock, and the sun is bright. It looks like it’s time to barbecue—not chase. But I know how quickly weather can change.
“Ethan,” I say, “I need to talk to you.” Hallie glances up at my tone.
“Now?” Ethan asks.
“It’s important.”
He leaves the computer, and we step over to a coffee table scarred with the pale rings of a hundred sweating drinks. “What’s going on?” he asks.
“Mom called me.”
