The Secret Storm

by Peggy Trotter

  His stomach rumbled with hunger, so he collected his supplies to head back to the pole barn. The back porch light flipped on as he trudged down the slope, and his mother stuck her head out the door.

  “Got chowder.”

  He paused and turned. His mother spoiled him. “I’ll be back.”

  After returning the shovel and rock salt to the garage, he headed up the incline and then thumped up the wooden stairs he’d cleaned the night before. His mother spooned up the thick white soup into the heavy crock bowl as he shoved the door shut. Clam chowder. His favorite. He slid into his usual chair.

  “Is Pop good?”

  Mom patted her puffy white hair and took the chair opposite. “Fair to middlin’. And he’s sleeping now. How’s my sweet boy?”

  Ake shrugged. “Fine. Great now with this chowder. I got your walk cleaned.”

  “I heard ya. Wish you didn’t have to babysit us.”

  He laughed and then bowed his head for a quick prayer of thanksgiving over his meal. “Just taking care of things.”

  Silence settled between the two of them until he brought up his gaze. “Something wrong?”

  Mom ran her left hand knuckles up and down her cheek. “Hoge said you met a woman.”

  Ake set the spoon in the bowl and leaned back in the chair, crossing his forearms across his chest. “Yeah. Her name’s Stormi. She’s not from around here. I think the snow throws her for a loop.”

  His mom dropped her eyes and fiddled with the edge of the light blue placemat. “Your brother seemed concerned.”

  “Why?”

  She shrugged. “We don’t want you to get hurt, Ake.”

  “No worries, Mom. Women never take to me.” He stood and placed the bowl in the sink.

  She rose and hugged him. “If you’re sure…”

  “I’ll stop by tomorrow and see if you need anything. Love ya, Mom.” He stepped to the back door and tugged it open. Women never did notice him, and that was okay. Besides, he didn’t want just any woman.

  He wanted Stormi.

  Chapter Six

  Ake stomped to the bottom of the hill and entered his front door. He knocked the snow off of his boots and then lined them up on the rubber mat before padding into his bedroom. In the dark he stripped down and pulled on a pair of baggy shorts and a black t-shirt. Then he meandered to the extra bedroom.

  His eyes flicked to the clock as he came through the door. Near nine o’clock. Just enough time to pump some iron, and then he’d finish up his current project. He headed to the treadmill in the corner and punched on his favorite Christian band on the CD player. He finished his run in good time before moving to his weight bench.

  Counting methodically as he pumped the fifteen pound weight with his left arm, his thoughts strayed to his mother’s last topic of conversation. What had Hoge said to cause her to fret? Sweat dripped down his forehead, and he reached for a towel while focused on finishing the set.

  He stood, shook out his shoulders, and reached for one of the water bottles. His fingers worked it from the plastic package of thirty-six. Once he twisted the lid off, he guzzled half the bottle in one swig.

  The wind picked up outside as he strolled through the darkened house. Despite the weather, inside it was too quiet. He cleared his throat just to hear a noise. With another swig, he finished the water and tossed the container into the sink. The plastic bottle rattled around in the metal tub, accentuating the stillness. With a shrug he returned to the extra room and went to the desk in the corner.

  A red Austrian crystal and pearl necklace lay on the velvet cloth, awaiting a clasp. Then he’d begin the matching bracelet. Then earrings. There’d be no problem finishing it before Mother’s Day. The problem came when he faced Hoge’s ribbing. He grasped the tiny clear faceted bead and slid it onto the nylon thread. It fell to its place beside the opalescent pearl. Now a pearl, then a clear. It didn’t matter. Mom would be thrilled.

  He flicked on the small lamp on the desk and hunched forward. A turquoise bead rolled across the black velvet and settled against his hand. Same color as Stormi’s beanie. Perhaps when he finished, he’d begin a jewelry set for her. Would that be the color Stormi chose? Maybe he’d ask her.

  ***

  Stormi pressed save on her new podcast and snatched her phone from the counter. Seemed her phone never rested. The flash indicated a new text. Hmm. Alan. She pressed the balloon to access the screen.

  You find it?

  Leave it to Alan not to forget. She laughed and thumbed the phone with her message. No, haven’t looked yet.

  She flopped onto the air sofa and blew up her bangs. Man, she was tired.

  2 Tim. 2:22, flashed in her message balloon.

  Right. With a grunt, she reached and grabbed the Bible from the far side of the couch and flipped through it, settling on the reference he’d given. She preferred the actual book, adding notes and dates. Sure enough. Run away from youthful lusts—pursue righteousness, faith, love, and peace with those who call on the Lord out of a pure heart.

  Perfect. The exact one. She picked up her phone. Bingo. Is there one that tells me whether I have to visit my mom on Thanksgiving?

  She pressed the back of her head against the sagging couch and pushed her feet out farther. The empty fireplace mocked as she shivered. The place was downright frigid. She’d start a fire if she knew how. And if she had wood.

  Her phone flashed. There is.

  Alan’s message caused her to sit up. Was he kidding? Seriously?

  “Brrr,” she muttered and stood to search for a thick hoodie. After slipping one on, she checked her phone. The words caused her to roll her eyes.

  Number 5. Honor your father and mother.

  She grabbed a fuzzy turquoise afghan and sat on the far end of the couch. Air swooshed to the other end below her rear while the far end rose off of the floor. Stormi shook her head. At least she had new lamps, a new frame of art, and a new carpet at her feet. Still, the air couch was pushing her last nerve.

  She rotated the phone horizontally then tapped the screen, and had to backspace four words. Didn’t want to send “That sou D’s like a crop.pout.” Shocker. Auto-checker? Pshaw. Auto-incorrector.

  Instead she sent, That sounds like a cop out.

  She flipped her Bible to Exodus twenty and perused the Ten Commandments. Yep, number five. How did he know which one? Oh, and there was more about elongating her days if she chose to honor her parents. She growled.

  God’s precepts cover a myriad of things. Alan. Being so Alan.

  Thanks for ruining my day! She added a smiley face and stood. The phone in her hand began to ring. A quick glance told her it was an unknown, but she thought she might know who was calling.

  “Hello?

  “Is this Stormi Zobroski?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is Ray’s Auto Body. Your car is ready if you’d like to pick it up at your convenience.”

  Satisfaction washed through her. At last. And it had only taken two extra days. “I’ll be right down. Thanks.”

  She hung up and headed straight for her white puffer coat hanging by the door. Beanie on, coat zipped. She couldn’t wait to get her little baby back. The stiff wind reminded her why she hadn’t gone to the docks this morning, even though she longed to see Ake. But this couldn’t be helped. She had to get her car back.

  A few relentless snowflakes fell here and there as she made the corner of Calvert’s Grill. She shivered and resisted the urge to barge through and soak up the warmth. Instead she lowered her head and kept walking. Some twenty minutes later, she swung into the shop. This time the place was empty of customers.

  She stood a few moments at the door just breathing in warm air. Shaking off the cold, she stomped her new white boots and stepped to the counter. The door to her right swung open before she could even press the buzzer.

  “Afternoon.” Young Ray sauntered to the counter with a huge smile.

  “Hello. I’m here to pick up—“

  “T
he beige Saturn Ion.” He held up the keys with one finger through the keyring. “Got it all ready. Even vacuumed the interior, topped off the fluids, and filled her with gas.”

  She squelched a rude noise burst. And how much would she pay for that? She pulled the keys from his hand.

  “On us, of course. For your inconvenience.” He stepped to the cash register and punched in the number from the yellow form in his hand. “If you’ll sign here, and pay this, it’s all yours.”

  Her purse. She’d walked right out without it. Her mouth dropped open. “I can’t believe I’ve done this, but I forgot to bring my money.”

  His brows lifted.

  She met his questioning eyes. “I…could I just drive it home and pick it up? I promise I’ll be right back.”

  “I suppose I could do that. If the price were right.”

  Her eyes flared. What was he pulling now? “What do you mean?”

  A smile lit his face. “Dinner and a movie? You never answered earlier.”

  Oh great. Bargain Bob, glad to do anything for you with plenty of invisible strings. She glanced outside. The snow had picked up. “It’s not really ethical, is it?”

  He laughed. “I suppose not. But, we don’t get too many gorgeous women in here, and I can’t resist your charms.”

  Oh, brother. She blinked and set her mouth in a line. Fine. Dinner and movie, period. It would save her a long walk in the snow, and this creep would have to pay for the food and entertainment. Perhaps she’d order filet mignon or lobster.

  The smile she pulled was stiff. “I guess it’s the least I can do for a favor.”

  He nodded. “Great. How about Saturday?”

  She clamped her hand on the keys and headed for the door. Maybe she’d stand him up. That might be fun. “Sure.”

  “It’s out front to the right on the side of the building—“

  The door clipped the rest of his sentence while she hurried to her little car. The vinyl seat greeted her with an icy firmness. But she didn’t care as she eased the vehicle from the lot. Being out of the wind was blessed Heaven. It didn’t take long to ride across town on Firestones and retrieve her purse.

  When she arrived back at the shop, disappointment filled her to see Ray’s Auto Body’s friendly neighborhood flirt master in charge of the gray counter. She harrumphed as she pulled herself from the car and tramped toward the glass office.

  “That didn’t take long. You must live nearby.”

  Smooth as a laxative. “Yes, on Shore Drive.”

  She pulled her bank card from her purse and handed it to him.

  He swiped it and returned it. “So Saturday. Six okay?”

  Her mind spun on how she nailed the time in her mythical conversation. “Actually…”

  “We can do five, or even seven.”

  Her chest swelled with an impatient breath. “Fine. Seven.”

  She left her address with him, all the time wondering why. It wasn’t a sin to date the man, but it sure put her on a similar track of where she’d been. It left a sour taste. With a last wave she hurried from the waiting room and got in her car. When she lifted her eyes, he stood at the door. She shoved the keys into the ignition and started the motor, anxious to be away as quick as possible.

  What had she done? And why? She hammered the heel of her hand into her forehead. Man, she was thick. How could she have a lower interest in this man? And there were now prerequisites. She rolled her eyes. Snap.

  The car slid to a stop in her driveway, and she wasted no time getting inside. It wasn’t like she had to marry the guy. A simple date. Then finito, over, see-ya-later, Charlie. Yep. She could handle that. 2 Timothy 2:22.

  She dismissed it from her mind. Instead, she’d find a new recipe and try it out. Definitely more pleasant.

  ***

  “Ma, must we always listen to Christmas music? For Pete’s sake, it’s Thanksgiving for crying out loud.” Hoge’s voice rang out over the table.

  Pop chimed in. “For Pete’s sake.”

  Ake grinned as he glued his eyes to the sweet potato casserole on his stoneware plate. Wouldn’t do for Hoge to see him grinning. Every year was the same.

  “Now, Hoge. Don’t you get all sideways now. It’s the beginning of the holiday season.”

  “And it’s tradition.” Mom’s sister, Phoebe, tweaked her fork in the air to give her point an extra emphasis.

  Mom’s brother, Ralph and his wife, Donna, chuckled at the usual turn of conversation. Hoge harrumphed, and Ake let his eyes settle on the Christmas tree straight in his line of sight in the living room from the far end of the table.

  “I like it, Grandma.” Hoge’s youngest at five, Lucy, wreathed in smiles and curling blond hair, stuck up for her grandmother.

  Ake’s mom laughed and patted the kindergartener’s hand. “I knew I could count on you, Lucy. Now, you remember when you’re a grown-up lady to have your Christmas music on when you put on your Thanksgiving meal. And always have your tree up.”

  Lucy’s smile widened, and she sought Ake’s eyes. He winked.

  “Ma, please. Don’t force that nonsense on my daughter.” Hoge groused.

  Mom just laughed, but her face sobered when Pop stood. He didn’t move, just stood there. Ake rose as well. “I’ll get him, Mom.”

  “Thank you, Ake.”

  Linus, Hoge’s oldest, took the distraction as an excuse to leave the table and isolate himself in the living room with his phone. Ake tried to catch his eye to give an encouraging grin, but the boy ignored him. Deacon and Crew, Hoge’s two middle boys, seemed bent on poking one another hard enough to unseat the other. With a sigh Ake guided Pop to the bathroom down the hall. As he waited outside the door, the conversation floated to his ears.

  “…you don’t say. Well I’m thrilled. ’Bout time that boy found himself a woman.”

  Hoge’s huff sounded loud even down the hallway. “She isn’t the woman for him. She’s a citified floozy.”

  “Hoge.” His mother’s voice carried censure. “Be kind.”

  “I am telling it like it is. He’s fascinated with her. She’s all slicked up with her fancy hairstyle and expensive boots. For all I know, she’s some kind of crazy Wiccan.”

  “What’s that?” Phoebe’s voice cut into the conversation.

  Dad’s flush inside the bathroom shut out the answer. The door flew open, and Pop stepped out. He turned and hiked down the hallway toward the dining room as if Ake weren’t there. Like the invisible man, Ake followed.

  “Are you dating a witch, Ake Pearson?” Phoebe’s shocked eyes widened.

  Ake settled into his chair and pulled it forward once his father was seated. “Ain’t dating no one.”

  “Well, your brother said she’s some kind of wicked woman.”

  “Wiccan, Phoebe.” Mom corrected. She turned sympathetic eyes to his. Poor Mom. Always taking up for him.

  Ake shook his head. “Not sure who you’re talking about. Could you pass the stuffing?”

  “Dummy, you know full well who we’re talking about.”

  “Don’t call your brother names.” Pop preached with his finger directed at Hoge.

  His brother paused only a moment. “Yeah, yeah, okay, Pop. We’re talking about that wild woman at the harbor you talk to all the time.”

  Ake took his time spooning the homemade oyster stuffing onto his plate, feeling the eyes of the ten people at the table. Wishing to stop the silence, he shrugged. “I just talk to her. She’s nice.”

  “I think it’s lovely.” Hoge’s wife, Joni, chimed in, shooting daggers at her husband.

  Hoge grumbled and went back to his mashed potatoes. Lucy grinned at him, and Ake’s heart lifted. Mother’s eyes lingered, studying, and Ake’s lightened mood took a dive. She was worried. Phoebe saved the day.

  “You remember Fred Havernam from high school, Maude? He was two years below you, four years below me. Done married him a Muzleem. Yep. Right there in front of God and everyone.”

  Thankful the conversation
turned to another subject, Ake glanced out the dining room window. Snowing lightly again. Stormi’s grey eyes invaded his thoughts. Much like the sky. He took a deep breath and spooned more stuffing into his mouth. Why they discussed his association with her puzzled him. A woman of her caliber would never be interested in him.

  He turned his attention back to the ruckus at the table. Pop had spilled his drink. Mom and Phoebe leaped up to grab towels. Hoge’s disgust with the get-together glared from his face. Pop stood and shuffled off into the living room. Even though the holidays still had some of the same elements of the years before, it wasn’t quite the same.

  Chapter Seven

  Stormi eyed the buffet restaurant through the rain-soaked windshield. Was she kidding?

  “Park over there. Not here.” Her mother’s voice soured. “Over there. I knew I should have driven.”

  Her mother swung from the vehicle, slammed the passenger door, and opened an umbrella.

  “Happy Thanksgiving,” Stormi muttered to the empty interior of the car. With a sigh she grabbed her purse from the backseat and exited the car. Her mother had already entered the restaurant which had quite a crowd for a national holiday of home cooking. Stormi parked her purse on her head to shield herself from the rain and hurried to the front door.

  She was soaked by the time she entered and spotted her mother at the cash register. With an impatient wave, Stormi rushed to catch up.

  “You’ll have to pay for your own. I don’t have much money this week. ShaVonn always tries to make me pay.” Mom grabbed a black tray. “Decaf coffee.”

  Stormi pulled a tray from the stack and collected napkin-covered silverware. She ordered a soft drink and paid for her meal. Mom had already selected a booth in the far room.

  “My turn.” Mother swished by.

  Stormi reached the table, sat, and bowed her head. After she’d thanked God for her food, she prayed for the energy and patience to endure Mother’s holiday hysterics. Lucky ShaVonn. Ensconced in her mother-in-law’s luxurious home, enjoying a deli-baked turkey and the fixings. Still, when her sister did show up, she would face Mother’s ever frothing jealousy that ShaVonn loved her mother-in-law more. That miserable exhibition would take up most of the evening meal from the local fried chicken establishment in town. At least they had good coleslaw.