Chapter Twenty-Five
A whimper simmered below the blinky dairy in Stormi’s stomach. Do we have to?
“You said manic phase. Was she unwell?”
Stormi crumpled the napkin in her lap. Dumb. Dumb. She knew better than to bring this up. Why couldn’t she just learn to keep her big fat mouth shut? How many times had she tried to explain her mother to outsiders only to have them tell her what a wonderful person she seemed to be. Of course, that was before Mother trounced them over some insignificant disagreement and refused to ever speak to them again. Ever. Lucky victims.
“It’s hard to explain. Ummm. She only noticed us when we did something that brought her attention. You know, kind of narcissistic.” Okay, everyone back up. The Award for Worst Daughter was about to be given. Stormi stirred the cold soup. Ake’s hand caressed her shoulder.
“Oh. That must have been difficult. Was she on medication?”
Lands, it wasn’t going away. “No. She never admitted to having any problems.”
“I see.” Joni’s voice was too gentle.
Stormi stood. “Excuse me. Bathroom this way, right?”
Her hostess nodded and she hiked a quick getaway.
***
Ake rose and picked up his bowl and reached for Stormi’s. Hoge had disappeared into the family room, a.k.a. the “man cave.”
“I’ll get that, Ake,” Joni protested.
“Nah. It’s okay.” He continued to grab the children’s bowls and headed into the kitchen. Hearing the pain in Stormi’s voice had left him restless. She always came off confident, bold. Reckless, even. But obviously, there was a lot he didn’t know.
Joni joined him at the sink and clutched his arm. Her expression told him she’d absorbed the significance of Stormi’s raw confession.
“Rinse or load?”
Ake gave a small sad smile. “Rinse.”
Joni smiled. “You always fall into the position of support, Ake. And I think that’s exactly what your new wife will need.”
He thought over Joni’s statement as he stared at his wife later that night. Stormi sure was quiet. She’d barely said a word the entire evening. He eyed her sitting on the couch with her legs drawn up, filing her nails. The dark skinny pants accented her well-shaped legs. He planted his gaze on her face. “You okay?”
“Hmmm?” She took a long breath and shrugged.
“You seem quiet.”
She flashed a half smile. “I suppose.”
He continued to stare at her, and she looked up to meet his steady gaze.
“I guess I’m thinking of my family. I probably should tell them I’m married.”
Ake nodded, a seriousness lighting his features. “Maybe we could visit.”
Stormi shook her head. “Nope. That wouldn’t go well.”
“How do you know?” he prodded.
She flung the nail file on the end table and stood. “Trust me, I know.”
He stood and followed her down the hallway to the bedroom where she paced. Those tiny feet with red nails caught his attention, but he focused on the agitated woman.
Clearing his throat, he attempted a reply. “Maybe you could tell them, and then later, we could visit.”
She paused and faced him, bringing her hands down like an angry conductor at crescendo. “You don’t understand. Nobody does.”
Like a dunce, he stood there, not sure how to follow that. He’d heard Hoge and other men talk about dealing with women, but he had no idea how quickly a confrontation could build. “Okay.”
Stormi jumped on the bed and crossed her legs. After a slight hesitation he joined her. He lay back on the propped up pillows.
“It’s not ShaVonn. That’s my sister. I mean, she drives me crazy at times, but we’re pretty close. Sort of. Dad split the scene long ago.” She nibbled on her thumbnail, also bright red. “It’s…my mother.”
He nodded, sure words were not his best choice at this point.
“I don’t know. It’s difficult to explain. I mean, when I try, everyone just thinks I’m nuts. People are always telling me what a great person she is. Yeesh. What a joke. Then, when they least expect it, she takes their knees out and I want to say, see? That’s my mom.”
She reached over and rubbed his knee. He gave her a smile which just earned him a shrug.
“I know you don’t understand, Ake. Your mom was great, and you’re like, wonderful. I just can’t explain it.”
He reached over and rubbed her shoulder. “I’m sure she’ll come around. You like me, don’t ya?”
Stormi jumped from the bed and planted her hands on her hips. “She won’t like you. She doesn’t truly like anyone. But she’ll find plenty of guilt to lay on me for getting married without her. It’s all a game of, ‘look at me, focus on me, it’s all about me.’” She hung her head. “I just don’t know if I can do it. I’m exhausted trying to make her happy.”
Ake stood and circled the bed. He took her unyielding body into his arms. “Well, you don’t have to do it today. We’re in this together.”
“Why can’t she just love me instead of using me?” Stormi sniffed.
He rubbed her back and she melted against him. “Always remember I love you, and God loves you. No matter what.”
***
Stormi awoke to complete silence. And it dawned on her it wasn’t the draw-yourself-up for confrontation type either. She let a small smile creep over her mouth. Except for getting her podcasts finished, she could lie here all day and no one, absolutely zero people would bother her. Or care. The grin slipped from her face. Well, Ake would. In a good way. A very good way. Her lips inched back to a smile.
But Mother—she shuddered. Why? Why did she do that to herself? Because waking to soothe the Momicane was deeply ingrained. She raised her arms over her head and the tattoos added their mockery. Both marked her soul. She shoved it away and rose. Nope. Not today.
She showered and dried her hair before she realized it was Saturday. Where was Ake? Ah, yes. Pop. He was on Pop patrol. Why hadn’t this occurred to her before? Quickly she yanked on her yoga pants and a hoodie and headed to the door.
The fine hike up the slope in the chilly weather reminded Stormi how reluctant New Hampshire was to embrace spring. She could still see her breath while she crunched through the stubborn snow crust.
Sure enough. Ake was at the table. She tapped on the window pane. Smiling, he stood and walked to the door, disarmed the alarm, and greeted her with a firm hug. A deep breath of the masculine smell at his neck served as her smelling salts and brightened her outlook on the dismal day. His kiss practically made her purr.
He moved back toward the kitchen table and sat down. Mounds of messy files heaped across the surface.
“What’s up? What are these?”
He shrugged and grabbed the top one in the stack. “Pop pulled them out of the filing cabinet in the office. Not sure why. He never goes in there”
Stormi took the file he handed her. “Bills for 2010.” “Hmmm. Looks like trash to me. Man, you’re mom sure did keep some intricate ledgers. Every single check is noted and numbered for its purpose and amount.”
“Yep. That was Mom.”
She flipped through several. Mostly thick folders about bills and payments. “I think you could just reorganize them back into chronological order and put them back.”
“That sounds good.” Relief flowed through his tones.
Right. Ake couldn’t read. No wonder he seemed confused. “Okay, here. Let me just get the years back in order.”
She leaned over and collected the files up to the current date. The last two, however, merely said, “Ake.”
With her hands full, she couldn’t inspect them, so she followed her husband instead to the extra bedroom where a desk and large filing cabinet stood. After glancing through the drawers, she relocated them to their proper spots in the bottom.
“There. See. Easy-peasy.” She flashed a bright smile.
He just cocked his head. The serious
ness of his face made her wonder if he was missing his mother or lamenting his inability to organize the files. She slipped her hand in his and tugged him to the door. How she hated to see him sad. The man who balmed her soul.
“Come on. There’s only a couple left.”
She settled into the kitchen chair next to his and pulled the files in front of her. “Did you know these had your name on them?”
“I guess I hadn’t got that far.” He stood to fetch some coffee.
There were several official looking papers in the front that required her brow to lower and decipher. Hmmm. Adoption papers? She glanced over at Ake. He calmly spooned in some sugar into the brown mug.
“These look like your adoption papers.”
“Probably so.”
She took several moments to peruse the thick packet of papers. He returned to the table and wrapped his hands about the cup.
“You said you weren’t adopted until you were eight?”
He leaned back and extended his boots under the table, tipping back his head to think. “Yeah, that’s right.”
Her brows descended in a confused cloud. “Why were you so old?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know.”
She dissected her husband’s face. Was he brushing the story off? Was it painful? Odd he hadn’t been adopted as a baby. “What do you mean, you don’t know?”
He sat up, and a cloak of pain fell across his face. “I don’t really remember.”
She swallowed. “Oh.”
The loud “why” that hovered on her tongue was squelched by the inky darkness in his eyes.
Pop came to the door and shuffled through the room, breaking the tension in the air. He arrived at the back door, found it locked and then shuffled to the kitchen.
“What do ya need, Pop?”
“Oatmeal. Where’s Mom?”
Reluctantly, Stormi set the files on the table. “I’ll start some.”
Ake rose and guided his father to the living room. “Andy Griffith is on, Pop. How ’bout you go see how Barney Fife’s getting along, and we’ll get the oatmeal started.”
“Mom’s late.” Pop’s voice wheezed out in a high thin cord.
Stormi quickly picked up her phone and searched how to prepare oatmeal. Ake’s mom must have a year’s supply hidden in these cabinets somewhere. Ake returned and wordlessly began to pull out the required pans. Together they had a bubbly bowl of goo in less than twenty minutes. Ake sprinkled in plenty of sugar and cinnamon and almost made it smell edible.
While he took a bowl on a tray, she made a beeline back to the files. Pop and Ake appeared at the door.
“He wants to eat at the table.” Ake’s calm voice contained a thread of exhaustion.
“Sure.” She hugged the files to herself and wandered into the living room to deposit them on the coffee table. Paper after paper, packet after packet came to light and still she didn’t have a clear idea of what had occurred to incite such a volume of judicial jibberish.
With a sigh she flicked through more documents. Incredibly official and obscure. Toward the back of the file, there appeared to be an open space. Out slid a stenographer’s notebook.
From her perch in the living room, she heard the back door come open. Hoge’s voice tensed her muscles
instantly. She glanced toward the door. How to escape? Lunging toward the nearest exit was out she supposed. Window? Her eyes grazed the sheer curtains covering the huge front glass pane. Lots of rumbles and man syllables pulsated a warning signal in her head. Abandon ship. Abort mission. Women and children first.
She rose and gathered the files to her breast. No, that would never work. Hoge would demand to know what she carried.
Stormi grabbed her coat and wrapped the files within, trying to make it appear as an empty garment. Not entirely successful. Okay. Speed could be her friend here. Straight for the back door. Hi, howareya, run.
Pop meandered to the large doorway and stared at her. She stared back. Ake came to his side.
“Let’s finish your oatmeal, Pop.”
They disappeared. Hoge’s huge bulk came through then, obviously heading down the hall. She stepped back behind the tall floor lamp, an echo of the eighties, but great for hide-and-seek. Once the bathroom door closed, she was off.
She walked quickly and quietly through the dining area. “I’ll see you at home, Ake.”
Without pausing to hear his answer, she dashed through the door to freedom. Without a jacket, the wind tugged at her clothes and sent icy fingers across her skin. Her feet wasted no time transporting her to the front doorstep through the frigid air. With a deep sigh she slid in the door, and then peeked through the curtains. Super. Satan’s overgrown minion had not followed.
Stormi hurried to the couch and unwrapped her parcel. The two fat manila files beckoned to her. It would take a week to decipher exactly what was contained within. Perhaps she wasn’t the only one with a rocky past.
Most of the afternoon, Stormi buried her nose in one sheaf of papers or another. Ake must have left Hoge with his Pop while he puttered around the yard, scraping the last stubborn snow-ice from the walk, raking the soil bare near the foundation, and laying out new landscape chips. The man never seemed to rest.
Yet, the longer she read, the bigger the ache in her soul. She’d catch sight of the subject of her thoughts and study him every once in a while. The words that flew from the page made her heavy. Sadness, regret, indignation.
When she finished, her legs were sprawled on the rug, her breath coming through her open mouth. The reality of Ake’s beginnings were too cruel to wrap her brain matter around.
But she had no rest for her mind when Ake shoved the door open. “Smoke. From Pop’s house.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
She leaped from the couch and threw the pages into the air. Sure enough, from her window view, smoke filtered from the back door. With a small cry, she took a flying jump over the end table, sending the lamp crashing to the floor.
Stormi dodged through the door behind her husband’s muscular form which had already made it up the slope. She’d never seen his thick football body move so fast. A prayer came from nowhere as she raced up the slippery hill to reach the back door that now stood open.
The overwhelming acrid smell of burnt coffee and popcorn assaulted her nose like a grenade. Ake fanned the air with a dishtowel, and Hoge had Pop at the wide-open front door. The smoke alarm’s piercing screech was cut short when Ake reached up and yanked the battery out. Only then did Stormi’s boiling blood begin to quiet.
“What happened?” She coughed and choked, leaning out the back door to spit out the horrid tasting saliva that poured into her mouth.
“There’s a fan in the back.” Ake hollered.
Pulling her shirt collar over her nose and mouth, she headed through the room and down the hall. Once the fan was plugged in near the back door, most of the noxious fumes exited into the afternoon air. Stormi looked around. Black streaks ran up the open front of the microwave and a completely disintegrated charred bag lay in the center.
With a pot holder, Ake grabbed a still smoking pan from the stove and headed for the door. Without ceremony, he pitched it into the yard. Charred coffee grounds flew from the singed container.
He returned with a shrug. “I guess Pop was making popcorn and coffee.”
“Coffee in a saucepan?” Stormi continued to breathe through her neckline.
“Yep. And no water.”
“But where was…”
“Hoge.”
Ake’s gaze went beyond her, and she knew the object of their thoughts stood behind her in the huge doorway.
Ake’s face grew still. “You fell asleep.”
Something akin to hate filtered across Hoge’s face. Pop left his side and ambled down the hall and disappeared.
“Don’t start, Ake.”
To Stormi’s surprise, her husband stepped up to the bigger man and spoke in a voice as soft as a kitten’s ear. “He can’t stay here a
nymore, Hoge. We need more help.”
“We got help,” Hoge barked.
“It’s not enough.”
Stormi stepped back, eyes mesmerized by the two hulking men.
The larger seemed to swell. “You better not be talking nursing home, Ake.”
He nodded. “It’s time.”
“Shut up, Dummy. What right do you have to say that? What right do you have to judge? You’re not even a real Pearson. You can’t even remember your real name.”
Stormi sucked in a breath, and the two men turned their eyes on her.
Hoge put up a meaty hand. “And you don’t belong here.”
“Stop it, Hoge, and listen to me.”
The older brother shoved Ake from him. “I don’t have to listen to you. You can’t remember anything, isn’t that right, little brother? Just dumb little Coe Cain who doesn’t even recognize his own family.”
Stormi froze. Dear heavens. No.
***
What was Hoge talking about? Ake wasn’t sure what to say, but he need not bothered. His brother spun and lunged through the front door. It shut with a tremendous crash.
“Too much commotion.” Pop ad-libbed from his bedroom.
Ake turned to look at his wife. Such a strange expression on her face. Almost fear?
“What’s going on? What’s he talking about?”
Stormi chewed her top lip. “Maybe you should check on your father. Then we can get this mess cleaned up. After that, we’ll talk.”
He nodded and wandered down the hall. Pop was fast asleep on his bed. He shook his head and rubbed his hands down his face. Grime seemed everywhere. Everywhere. And not just on the outside.
He returned to Stormi scraping the black ashes of the popcorn bag into the trash can she held. She twisted a tie-tab around the top and pitched it outside. He fetched the steel wool and cleanser and they both began the task of cleaning the microwave and stove. An uneasy silence settled between them.
Finally the last of the mess seemed cleaned the best it could be, and Stormi set a pot of chicken broth to boil and began adding ingredients for some soup.
He stood and studied her a moment. Then it dawned on him. “You read those files.”
She fixed an intense gaze on his and nodded.
The Secret Storm Page 21
