by Lisa Wingate
Drew reached past me, jerked open the silverware drawer and grabbed a clean spoon, then shoved the drawer closed. “You believe what you want to believe.”
“I don’t want to believe it. I want you to tell me it isn’t true about you and your kids.”
“Darla brought all of it on. She took the kids and she moved out. It was her choice.” He sat down and huddled over his supper. “There, how’s that?”
I realized I had no idea where the truth really lay. “I don’t know,” I said more calmly. “How is it?”
He shook his head, not looking at me as I sat down beside him. “It stinks.”
“Well, at least you and Darla agree on something.” I stirred the chili around in my bowl, my anger spent. “She didn’t sound very happy either.”
Drew stopped eating and looked at me, surprised. I could tell he wanted to know if that was true. He was too proud to ask. I didn’t say.
We sat in silence for a long time while Drew ate and I stirred the contents of my bowl back and forth.
“Better eat that,” Drew grumbled finally, his idea of a peace-making gesture.
It made me think of the mornings when I was little, and he made oatmeal for us, then slapped it down on the table with a big huff like we were too much trouble. Better eat that, he’d say. Mama forgot to give me any lunch money for today. Guess I’ll try to make us a sandwich or somethin’. He would always figure something out so that Nate and I didn’t have to go without lunch. After he went away to the army, I realized how hard that could be sometimes.
Maybe he did the best he could. Maybe that’s what all of us are doing.
Drew finished his chili quickly, as if he couldn’t wait to be away from the table, and me. He put his bowl in the sink, then grabbed the dustpan and brush and swept up the broken glass on the counter and floor. “My old bed still back there?”
“It’s still there. Daddy lays his guns and stuff on there when he cleans them, so check before you lay down.”
“Good night, Jenilee.” There was a false calm in his voice, a pleasantness that was transparent. He grabbed his cell phone from the table as he passed.
“Drew?” I watched him, standing at the entrance to the hallway, seeming out of place in his National Guard uniform.
“Hmmm?” He didn’t turn around.
“Thanks for coming back.”
“You’re welcome, Jenilee. I should have done it sooner. I’m sorry.” And he walked slowly down the hall to the door at the end, opened it, and disappeared inside.
I heard the faint beep of him dialing his cell phone, then the low cadence of his voice, his words hushed, intimate. I hoped he was talking to Darla.
I put the dishes in the sink and went to Nate’s room. He stirred, and I leaned over him, touching his forehead. In the dim lamplight, he looked younger, more like the little boy he used to be.
He opened his eyes and smiled at me.
“Hi, there,” I whispered. “How you feeling?”
He blinked drowsily, thinking about it. “Better. My leg hurts again.”
I checked the time, then got a pain pill from the table by the bed. “Here. The doctor said you should take one of these every four hours. He thought you’d be feeling a lot better by tomorrow. Here’s some water.”
Nate sat up against the pillows and took the glass of water from my hand. “Thanks, Jen.” He took the pill, then laid back. “Sorry I’m not good for much right now.”
“It’s all right.” I chuckled, tousling his sandy hair. “I’m just glad you’re back.”
“Me too.” His eyelids drifted lower.
“I love you, you know,” I whispered.
I expected him to roll his eyes and get embarrassed like he always did these days when I told him that. Instead he opened one blue eye and smiled on one side. “Thanks for taking care of me.” His smile said, I love you, too, even if he wouldn’t say it out loud.
“That’s all right.”
He slipped his hand into mine, and I sat looking at the cuts and bruises on his fingers as he closed his eyes again. “You gonna sit here awhile?”
“Yeah,” I whispered. “I’m gonna sit here awhile.”
“Good.”
I curled up in the chair beside his bed like I had so many nights after Mama died, when he was all I had left to hold on to.
My mind began to drift, and I let my eyes fall closed, thinking of what a long, strange day it had been.
A thunderclap startled me just as I was drifting into sleep. I jerked upright and jumped to my feet. My heart hammering, I stood in the center of the dark room, a sense of panic rushing through my body like an electrical current.
“You took my kids away!” A voice boomed through the house. Daddy’s voice. My breath caught in my throat. I rushed out the door and closed it behind me, so Nate wouldn’t hear.
I stood in the hallway, my gaze darting around in the flickering lamplight, my mind trying to make sense of what was happening. Was I dreaming? Did I dream it?
“You took the kids, Darla!” I realized it was Drew’s voice. “You took everything, and you left. I came home from work and everything was gone! You’re the one with all the psychology classes. You tell me how I’m supposed to feel about that!”
He paused, then growled, “Talking about it’s not going to do any good. You didn’t want to talk about it when you let your father hire that jerk of a lawyer to keep me away from my kids, Darla!” His voice started to crack as he said her name. “I call your parents’ house, and they won’t give me your number. I can hear Alex and Amber there half the time, and they won’t even let me talk to my own kids.” The sentence was punctuated by the sound of the phone beeping, then clattering against the wall.
I realized I was standing outside Drew’s room with my hand on the doorknob. I was afraid to go in.
“Drew?” I whispered. He didn’t answer. I turned and walked away.
In the living room, I curled up in a corner of the couch, wrapped a blanket around myself, and waited for morning to come.
“Jenilee? Jen … wake up.”
I startled awake.
Drew was leaning over the coffee table, looking at me with an unreadable expression. “You were talking in your sleep.”
“I was? What did I say?”
“I couldn’t quite tell. It’s morning, anyway.” He walked to the kitchen and set two bowls on the table. “Milk’s gone sour, so all we have is instant oatmeal with water.”
I stood up, rubbing my eyes, trying to remember what had really happened the night before, and what I had dreamed. “That sounds fine.”
“I gave Nate some oatmeal. He was pretty hungry.” Drew sat down and started eating. “He said his leg was still hurting, so I gave him a pain pill.”
I glanced up, surprised that Drew had tended to Nate, and that Nate had let him. “Oh … well … good. That’s good. But you could have woken me up. I would have done it.”
“It’s all right. We got it taken care of.” For just an instant, there was a pleased look on his face.
I wondered if something good had happened between him and Nate. “Can I borrow your truck for a little while to go to the armory?” Maybe if I left them alone together, they would talk things out. “I want to hang the pictures we gathered yesterday and tell Mr. Jaans his cows are all right.”
Drew looked suspicious. “I can take that stuff down there for you, and tell Jaans about his cows.”
“Oh, I know,” I said. “But I wanted to do it myself. He … might be upset about his bull still being gone.”
Drew frowned one-sidedly, like he knew I was scheming to leave him there alone with Nate. “Jaans knows that bull will come home.” He paused to eat a bite of oatmeal, then pointed the spoon at me. “That bull does this every time there’s a storm. I remember after that big flood on Caddo Creek, Charlie disappeared for a week. All of a sudden one day he walks right into the sale barn café. I thought Jaans was going to kiss him right there.” A rare grin lit his face. “Oh
, Lord, old Mrs. Abshier was mad. She went to cussin’ Jaans and chasin’ after him and that bull with a kitchen broom in her hand and a fire in her eye.”
“I never heard that story.” I was struck by how good it was to see Drew smile.
He took another bite of his oatmeal, squinting thoughtfully. “Guess you were in school. I ditched that day so I could make some money working at the sale barn.” He looked down at his bowl and shook his head. “I remember old Mrs. Abshier ran halfway down the street waving that broom with that bull bellowing and Jaans hollering behind him.”
Picturing the scene, I laughed with Drew.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys and cell phone. “You better take my cell phone, too. So you can come get us if the hospital calls about Daddy. I called around four a.m., and there was no change.”
“All right.” I picked up the keys and the phone, wondering how we could have been laughing about Jaans’s old bull just a moment before. “What if Darla calls?”
The grim look on Drew’s face said as much as his words. “Darla won’t be calling.” He stood up, tossing a napkin on top of his bowl. “I’m going out and feed the cows. I’ll be back in a minute.”
I hurried through getting dressed and saying good-bye to Nate, so I could get out of the house before Drew came back and changed his mind about letting me have his truck.
“I’ll just be gone for a little while,” I promised Nate. “Drew’s here if you need anything.”
“Great,” Nate grumbled.
“Nate, don’t be that way,” I pleaded. “Drew’s trying his best. Don’t be so hard on him. He’s your brother. Hating him won’t do either of you any good.”
“That’s what Darla said.” Nate picked irritably at the loose strings on his comforter. “You know, I heard him hollering at her last night on the phone.”
“I heard it, too.”
“I told him this morning when he came in here—I told him I heard him, I mean. I told him he shouldn’t be such a jerk to Darla. Darla’s nice.”
I swallowed hard. “Geez, Nate, what did he say?” I wondered how I could have slept through Drew and Nate talking just down the hall.
“He said he didn’t blame Darla.” Nate squinted up at me, his blue eyes reflecting the morning light from the window. “He said Darla was only doing what Mama should of done years ago.”
The words rolled like molten lead in the pit of my stomach. “Oh, Nate,” I breathed. “What did you tell him?”
Nate shrugged, pulling a string loose and dropping it over the side of his bed. “I told him it wasn’t the same thing. He isn’t Daddy and Darla isn’t Mama.”
Love filled me in a rush, and I reached out and hugged him.
He gave me a hooded glance, twisting his lips to one side to ward off a smile, then lay back against his pillow, letting out a long sigh. “That medicine makes me tired.”
“I’ll be back soon,” I said, turning to leave. “Be good.”
“Um-hmm.” He closed his eyes, grinning.
I left him there, grabbed Drew’s keys and cell phone, took the bag of pictures by the door, and went to the truck. In the pasture, I could see Drew feeding and checking the cows as I left. Bo was jumping up and down, yapping at Drew’s heels, finally home from his wanderings.
Driving down Good Hope Road, I watched Mrs. Gibson’s place pass, watched the twisted-metal orchard, watched the path of the tornado as it zigzagged back and forth across the road. Nothing but bare dirt and ruined trees where it hit. Everything almost normal where it didn’t. Even now, after seeing it again and again, I still found it hard to believe.
The storm overnight had filled the ditches with dirty water. Bits of paper were floating beside shreds of wood and pieces of insulation. I looked at the bag of pictures and papers in the seat beside me. This is probably all that is left. After last night’s rainstorm, everything else will be ruined.
A shiver went through me as I topped the hill and saw Poetry. With the frenzy of activity slowed, it looked more desolate than ever, like a bombed-out city after the war is over. Even the armory was quiet. The wail of emergency vehicles was gone from the air, no sign of the soup line except for two men washing out a kettle. Cars were parked in the armory lot, but there were no people in sight.
I shouldn’t have come here, I thought as I got out of the car. It’s too sad, being here now.
Taking the bag of pictures from the seat, I walked slowly up the steps, hearing the hum of voices inside. Not hushed whispers of grief, but people talking, laughing.
I stepped into the doorway, a breath of wonder filling my lungs, stopping me beneath the ancient stone arch. The walls of the armory were filled with pictures, hundreds and hundreds of pictures, as far and as high as the eye could see.
Groups of people moved along the fringes of the room, gazing at the walls. Friends, neighbors, strangers. Bits of their conversations drifted on the air.
“… Wandalene’s wedding picture. Lordy, look at that hair! Must be a foot high …”
“… Gann family reunion. Remember Uncle Bubba with his guitar?”
“That’s Malena’s birthday party. Right there. See that one? That’s right before she hit Papa in the head with the piñata stick.”
“… that trip we took out to Yellowstone in ’fifty-four.”
“… my old yellow T-bird …”
“… that Farmall tractor with the narrow front. Remember …”
Laughter rang in the center of the room, and I noticed for the first time that there was a row of lawn chairs there now. The garden club ladies were carefully peeling apart pictures and laying them on the floor to dry. On his cot nearby, Mr. Jaans was helping them, while Caleb Baker shuttled pictures back and forth between them and Mrs. Gibson, who was handing them up the ladder to … to Dr. Albright?
I stared at him, atop the ladder, cheerfully taping larger pictures up high.
“You listen to me, Brady.” A woman’s voice nearby caught my attention. I watched as she took the picture of the newborn baby girl with the sky blue eyes from the wall. She turned to the sheriff’s deputy. I recognized her. Melanie Anderson, whose newborn girl had been swept from her crib by the tornado.
“This is her. This is my baby.” She swallowed hard, wiping her eyes. “I know she’s out there somewhere. A mother’s heart just knows, Brady. I know she’s out there somewhere.”
The deputy, Brady Farrel, looked worried. “It’s been two days… .”
“Don’t say that! Don’t you say that.” Melanie leaned closer to him, her eyes filled with fire. “My baby girl is out there. My baby girl is coming home.” She clutched the picture to her chest and started toward the door with the sheriff’s deputy following. “If this picture can make it through the tornado, so can she.”
CHAPTER 15
EUDORA
I noticed little Jenilee standing there as I handed a stack of pictures up the ladder to Dr. Albright. “Well, good mornin’, Jenilee,” I said, but she didn’t hear me. She just stared at the Taylor family, who were chuckling together over some pictures from last year’s Halloween carnival. Caleb Baker was helping them take down some of the higher ones.
“Good mornin’, Jenilee,” I repeated, walking closer to her.
“I can’t believe all the pictures …” she muttered, but I wasn’t sure she was talking to me. She seemed in a daze, staring at the wall with them big brown eyes glittering. A tear spilled over and traced a line down her cheek. She didn’t seem to notice.
“Well, don’t cry about it,” I said. “You done a good thing here.” I slipped in beside her and squeezed her shoulders, even though I knew she wouldn’t like it. I wanted to hug somethin’, and she was the only thing close enough.
“It’s … wonderful,” she whispered, loud enough so that only I could hear. “It’s just the way I dreamed about it.”
“Well, that must have been a good dream.” I give her another squeeze, and to my surprise, she laid her head on my shoulder like it was
the most natural thing in the world. “It’s a help to folks. They come in, and they look for their pictures, and they read that old letter, and when they go out, they feel some hope.”
“It’s perfect,” she breathed, watching the old letter twitter in the breeze like a leaf barely clinging to a tree.
“Yes, it is,” I agreed, laying my head on top of hers. Right then at that moment, she felt like one of my own. “It’s perfect.”
She stood there with me for a minute, quiet and still. I didn’t move. I didn’t want to break the spell.
A car door banged outside, and she jerked upright. She moved away from me as Caleb come by and offered to take the bag out of her hands.
“All right,” she said, and let him take the bag away to June’s bed to dump it out for sorting.
“No one came for the old letter?” she asked.
“Nobody yet,” I said. “But it brought comfort to a lot of folks, so maybe it’s meant to be here for a while. It’s easy to get to dwelling on what you’ve lost. All the physical things, I mean. Sometimes folks forget that what really matters is the love you got in you, and there’s not a storm in the world that can blow that away. I think that’s what the letter says.”
“I think so too,” she whispered, running her hands up and down her arms like she had a chill, even though the morning was already warm. Her gaze traveled along the wall until it reached the ladder, and she saw Dr. Albright.
The look on her face made me chuckle. “Must be some kind of divine grace in this wall,” I said. “It’s even got Dr. Always Right up on the ladder hanging pictures.”
Jenilee smiled, a little dimple forming where her cheeks blushed pink. “How did you get him to do that?”
I shrugged, not quite sure myself. “He just come up yesterday when I was getting started on this, and I put him to work. He come back this morning with a ladder, ready to help again.”
She looked around the room, her sandy brows knotting in the center. “Doc Howard’s still not back?”
“Still in the hospital, but just as a precaution. Mrs. Howard said they weren’t takin’ no chances.”
