Beyond The Storm Part 12

"I'm fine, Mom." Heather darted a quick glance at her stony-faced father.

Bob Ray could see how awkward she felt with them after so much estrangement. Irritatingly, there was no warmth for him in either of their expressions. In their minds, Bob Ray was a loser. An undercurrent of so many angry memories s.h.i.+mmered between them and her parents.

Mike's being there right now had to be Denise's idea. This was the first time Heather's father had seen her since the wedding. Clearly something was up. Bob Ray caught Mike staring at his angel-faced, curly-haired grandson. Emotions too numerous to count flickered across Mike's face, giving the older man a vulnerability that almost had Bob Ray feeling sorry for him. Robbie was his first grandchild, and this was the first time he'd laid eyes on the kid.

"Honey," Denise pressed Heather, emboldened by the horrendous trauma of the situation and no doubt counting on it to distract from the deeper issues. "Your father and I have talked it over. And we want you and little Robbie to come home with us."

Bob Ray went stiff. His narrow gaze settled on Denise's face, and their eyes clashed. So, he wasn't included in this magnanimous invitation. He'd never admit it, but it stung.

Oblivious to her son-in-law's feelings, or simply not caring, Denise continued. "The storm didn't do much damage out in Lakewood. We can take care of you both until you can get on your feet again. In fact-"

Bob Ray shook his head. "No." He turned to focus on Mike as he spoke. "Thank you, so much. But, no. As much as I know Heather appreciates your generous offer, I seem to recall you telling Heather she was my responsibility several years ago. So, with all due respect, I'll provide shelter for my wife and son."

Behind him, he felt Heather squeezing his arm, and he exchanged a quick, encouraging glance with her. Superman was reflected in her s.h.i.+ning eyes, and it looked as if she was biting back a whoop of pride.

"What are you offering her?" Derision filled Mike's hard voice. "Another trailer?"

Denise was exasperated, as well. "How are you going to support her, Bob Ray? That low-life bar is gone now."

"I know," he said, keeping his voice firm and steady. "I've already found a place for us to live and a job to get us by for now." Selma had offered them room and board in exchange for some much needed work around her house-though he didn't feel the need to share this information with them. "So, as much as I appreciate your belated concern for my wife and son, they'll be coming home with me tonight."

When Abigail finally spotted Selma near the Red Cross table, they ran toward each other with open arms, shouting with joy and hugging and kissing and hugging some more.

"I've been so worried about you, honey," Selma pulled Abigail's damp face down and ran her arthritic thumbs over her streaming cheeks.

"Me, too. Oh, Selma, they're saying Old Town was. .h.i.t hard. Were you at home when the storm touched down?"

"Thankfully, yes, honey, I was. Guadalupe and I were in my dear Clyde's shelter, praise the good Lord, because we later learned that Guadalupe's home is ruined. But my house is just fine. Don't worry about your place. It can all be replaced. Believe me, I know. You'll come home with me tonight and stay just as long as you want. Forever is just fine with me."

"Auntie Sel," Abigail swiped the tears from her cheek with the edge of her palm. Her lips were quivering as she tried to form the words around her sudden wracking sobs. "Oh, Selma . . . our buildings . . . our sweet little shops are gone. I'm homeless." Funny, what that word used to mean to her before tonight. Before Bernie.

Before she lost everything in the blink of an eye.

"No, no, no. Never, honey. Your home is with me."

"Is this a dream?" Abigail asked plaintively, desperate for Selma to help her understand. "I keep thinking we're going to wake up in the morning and all of this will be a horrible nightmare. It's not real. How could anything this . . . this terrible be real?"

"I know. I had those same thoughts back in '66. I know, honey. I know." Selma clutched Abigail as the younger woman sobbed.

Abigail had never suffered such conflicting emotions. So much terrible loss of property, and yet so much precious gain in human life spared. Anger at the storm, grat.i.tude for her aunt. Sorrow over the death, joy over the life. Fury over being a victim, relief over being spared.

Distrust of G.o.d warring with total dependence on Him.

"Now, you listen to me, honey. You are going to be just fine. Better than ever, in fact." At Abigail's whimper of protest she said, "Shh. It's okay. Don't you worry about any of this now. It will all sort itself out. In the meantime, you know how I love a full house. We'll take a little time and get all of this mess squared away. And when we're not so exhausted, we'll make some decisions for the future. Abigail, honey, please, listen. I know. Shhh, now. Listen. I have invited others who have lost everything to come and stay with me as well. It will be wonderful. All suffering, all celebrating, all together, helping each other through. You know I'll be glad not to be rattling around all alone in that big old house. Sweetie, it's for times just like this that Clyde built it."

Abigail clung to Selma's firm voice and adamant expression. What would she do without her? And Justin. The surge of panic began to ebb a little.

"I have a new friend with me, Auntie Sel," Abigail finally pulled herself together enough to haltingly explain about Justin and how he wasn't sure yet, but it looked like he might need a place to stay for a while, too. "He's a good friend of Danny Strohacker's."

"Danny Strohacker, you say? Really? That's wonderful. The more the merrier, you know I always say that. I have a car full to take home, now. I want to get Bob Ray Lathrop-you know him?-no? Well, you will-and his wife and their little boy and Guadalupe and Elsa back to my place and into bed. Why don't you find out what you can about Old Town, and I'll come back for you both as soon as I can, okay?"

Abigail knew that it would be at least an hour or two before Selma returned. She also knew Justin was anxious to check on his house. She glanced around. "Justin lives out in your direction . . . he's somewhere around here now. Oh, and Aunt Selma, he delivered Jen's baby tonight! It's a boy! A beautiful, healthy boy."

Selma beamed. "Well, I'll be! What a lovely light in all this darkness!"

Spotting Justin, Abigail waved him over. After a quick round of introductions, Selma leaned back, adjusted her gla.s.ses and peered up at Justin with a huge smile on her face. "How nice to make your acquaintance, Justin." She chuckled. "Any friend of Daniel's is a friend of mine and that is the truth, plain and simple. If you need a place to stay, you are welcome to bunk with the rest of us."

Justin embraced her and kissed her weathered cheek. "Thank you, ma'am. I might just have to take you up on your kind offer. You know, you look really familiar to me . . ."

"Now honey, that's the oldest line in the book. I'm old enough to be your big sister."

Justin laughed at the merry twinkle in Selma's eye. "You attend first service at Rawston Christian, right?"

"Busted!" Selma crowed.

Abigail watched the two, in awe at how trauma created such instant friends.h.i.+ps. When a breach finally came in their steady conversation, Abigail jumped in with both feet. "Aunt Selma, Justin and I were talking about walking for a while and maybe helping out where we could, as we go through Old Town to see my place and then on to Justin's house. Would it be easier for you to meet us up closer to your neighborhood? That way you don't have to try to drive through town again? "

Selma's snow white head bobbed enthusiastically as she listened. "I know there is a great need for rescuers everywhere. If you two feel strong enough, then-" she placed an age-spotted hand on each of their arms, "-G.o.d bless you. Oh! And I've got a flashlight in the glove box. Come on with me."

As Abigail and Justin walked away from the parking lot and toward Old Town, they met people streaming through the devastation back toward the hospital by the dozens. Survivors were walking zombies as they carried their children or small dogs or maybe some small personal items they'd managed to salvage. If their eyes weren't vacant, they were filled with grief and confusion. He admired the way Abigail would stop and offer encouragement or share directions along the way. Her gentle warmth came out in myriad little ways-a touch, a hug, a sympathetic nod-and she always seemed to know just what to say or do to pull a smile out of someone or plant a seed of hope in their heart.

Everywhere, people asked them both if they had seen their missing family members. In turn, Justin would ask after Danny. No one had seen him, but Justin supposed, that was because everyone was busy looking for their own Dannys.

Giant Xs were being spray-painted on houses and cars that had been checked for survivors. Roman numerals beneath each X indicated how many deceased had been found inside. In the eerie quiet, a voice would shout out a name once or twice then wait for an answer. If none came, they'd try again. A dog barked and a baby cried. The smell of gas from broken pipes permeated the air, sap from broken trees, smoke from gas fires and worst of all, death. Every kind of creature had suffered equally.

At one point, a man came rus.h.i.+ng up to Justin, eyes wild, and begged him to help him pry his car open. He'd come home from work to discover that his wife wasn't home yet from a soccer game with their sons. After walking for miles and searching everywhere, he just found their car. On its top with his wife and boys still trapped inside.

"I can't reach them!" he shrieked, grappling with and straining at the door, clawing and kicking at the metal. Justin and two other men who'd stopped to help sprinted over and, using everything they could find as a tool, finally managed to pry the doors open.

But it was too late. The damage too brutal.

The young husband and father sent up a spine-chilling, mournful wail that pierced the darkness, then fell against Justin's chest before he slid to the ground in a heap and sobbed, head in his hands. Out of the shadows, strangers came and comforted the stricken man along with a devastated Justin and Abigail. Gathered in the desolate shadows, they sat with him and prayed and comforted him until he found a ride to his parents' home.

Once he'd gone, heart heavy, Justin stood and held his arms open to Abigail. Sharing his grief, she slipped naturally into his embrace. Pressing his cheek against the top of her head, they held each other and mourned the stranger's wife and boys.

Every now and then, a car or truck would rattle and limp by on a bent frame or ruptured tires. Lumber stuck-like toothpicks in a sandwich-from the grills and doors. The winds.h.i.+elds and windows were broken, the auto bodies dented and twisted and looking as if they should be impossible to drive. More than once they were offered a ride and, though they turned them down, Justin was struck by the generous, compa.s.sionate hearts of the good folks of Rawston.

A dog came limping up to them at one point, whining, his tail wagging, body wriggling. When Abigail tried to pet him, the dog skittered away, then looked back at her and whimpered.

"Come here, honey," Abigail crooned to the dog. To Justin, she said, "I think he might be hurt. He doesn't want me to touch him, poor thing." As she spoke gentle words of comfort, the dog continued to repeat the pattern.

"You know . . ." Justin c.o.c.ked his head and regarded the dog, "I think he's trying to get us to follow him." He scratched his chin. "Come on. Let's see what he wants." The dog bounded off, barking, then stopping and wriggling and waiting as they picked their way through the rubble after him. Then, off he'd go again, sniffing and pausing to yip until he stopped and started barking loud and insistently. Though his paws were sore and bleeding, he scratched at the ruins and then ducked his head, poking it into the rubble.

He was licking someone's face. Justin and Abigail helped each other to the dog with anxious steps and joined the animal in its frenzied digging. Bit by bit, they worked together, pulling lumber and sheetrock and metal off the pile until they eventually exposed the bodies of an elderly woman and what must have been her husband. The dog licked their faces, whining and then looking back and forth at Justin and Abigail. Justin reached in and touched the woman first, and then the man.

"Gone," he whispered.

Stricken, they stood and attempted to get the dog to follow them away from the bodies. But the animal hunkered down against the woman and his tail-wagging slowed and then stopped as he watched them walk away. Again, tears poured down Abigail's cheeks, and Justin welled up as they moved on through the chaos.

That night, they helped dig a family out of a bas.e.m.e.nt, prayed with a terrified mother over her missing children, loaded a badly wounded man onto a battered pickup truck, carried two small children for parents already loaded down with twin toddlers, administered crude first aid when and wherever it was needed, and did their best to bolster spirits. They kept an eye out for Danny but hoped that the fact that they hadn't seen him yet meant he was already at the hospital with Jen.

The hours flew by. The horror mounted. And their bond grew.

Once Selma arrived home and had Robbie settled, she rushed off to get Elsa into bed. Heather watched the elderly woman in awe. She had more energy than a nuclear power plant. Heather had tried to lend a hand, only to be told, "I haven't had the pleasure of putting a baby to bed for ages. You go sit a spell. Git, git git!" Heather had only lived a quarter of Selma's years but felt as if she could drop into bed and sleep for a month.

While Bob Ray and Guadalupe gathered towels and sheets, Heather wandered through the house, looking at framed pictures of Selma's family that spanned at least five decades displayed on the top of the piano and hanging on the walls.

Would she and Bob Ray ever leave such a beautiful legacy? Tonight, they'd made a good start. As her gaze roved the generations, she had to wonder where all these people were now. She was pretty sure her husband, Clyde, had died, but the rest of them? Where were they tonight? Were they safe? Were they worried about their mother?

Bob Ray and Selma's voices drifted up the stairs and Heather met them in the living room. ". . . back when we lived in Topeka. That was in 1966. This storm reminds me a lot of that one. h.e.l.lo, honey," she said to Heather. "I was just telling your hubby about the Topeka tornado of '66. We were all hiding in the bathroom. All eight of us, if you can imagine that. My junior-high-aged kids were crammed in the tub, the high-school kids in the shower, and Clyde and me were wedged between the toilet and the vanity. And just like that scene in the Wizard of Oz, the tornado tore the house off the foundation, all but the bathroom, and sent it spinning two miles east. Aside from being showered with toilet water and a lot of gla.s.s and mud and debris, we all crawled out just fine. So, that's why we have such a great shelter now. Clyde felt that no Midwestern American family should be without some place to hide when El Diablo-that's Spanish for the devil-hit."

"Where are your children now, Selma?" Heather asked, curiously.

Fingers shaking with a palsy born of old age, Selma pointed out each of her children to Heather. "Julie is a widow in Montana. She'll be a great-grandma any day now. Called to check up on me already. Mary is also a grandma in upstate New York, nursing her disabled hubby. I'll call her later today. Cathy is in Thailand, where she and her husband are missionaries. She probably doesn't know about the storm yet. Lorna is in an Oregon nursing home with Parkinson's disease, and her children are nearby. And Tommy is a bush pilot in Alaska. And my Paul . . . pa.s.sed away nearly two decades ago. They all moved away from the Midwest for various reasons. They are all grandparents now and in their sixties. They will all call- as will their children-and try to convince me to move later today." Pride and love for each image shone in her eyes, and she lovingly dusted the frames with her fingertips.

"They're beautiful."

"Thank you, honey. And I don't think it's a sin to agree."

They'd made it to the hallway and Selma pressed a load of towels into her arms. "These are for you guys, sweetie. Your bed is made up and there are plenty of pillows. Guadalupe is making sandwiches if you are hungry, so stop by the kitchen and pick up a plate on your way by.

"Thank you so much, Mrs. Tully." Heather smiled, her voice choked with grat.i.tude. "Your home is just perfect."

"Call me Selma, darling girl. Everyone does. And thank you. I was just telling Bob Ray here that Clyde designed it for our family himself."

"He did an awesome job." Heather's eyes swept the wonderful, lived-in, cozy home with envy. She'd grown up in designer mausoleums, but this cheerful, comfy nest filled with the history of happiness was what Heather dreamed of for her family.

"Thank you, honey. It's a regular bunker. The bedrooms are all in the bas.e.m.e.nt where it's safe, if the storm comes back, so sleep tight. If the storm kicks up again, there is a trap door in the laundry room, that goes down an additional 8 feet for a 10x10 storm shelter, stocked with canned food, a first aid kit, lanterns, sleeping bags, water, and a safe that holds some of the more important stuff. If Clyde could see us all here now, he'd be so proud and happy. I'm just thrilled to have you here with me. Stay. Stay just as long as you need, forever is okay with me."

Bob Ray laughed and while they chatted for another few minutes, his gaze traveled to the pictures on the wall. "Selma? Isn't that my dad?"

Selma adjusted her gla.s.ses. "Yes. That's him. Standing there with Paul. They were never apart. In life," she said and sighed, "and in death."

Bob Ray nodded. Heather wondered exactly what they were talking about, but would ask tomorrow, when she'd be awake enough to understand.

"I have collected a bunch of bathrobes over the years," Selma said as she turned back to the bathroom linen closet. She pulled out two, one for her and one for Bob Ray. "I got a ten-pack of toothbrushes at the dollar store so pick your favorite colors. The toothpaste and deodorant and lotions and stuff are in the med cabinet. Toss your dirty clothes in the bathroom hamper, and I'll get a load going while you clean up."

The backs of Heather's eyes burned with love as she watched her big muscular husband hug and kiss the tiny Selma on the cheek. "Thank you," he said his voice raw with emotion. "You have always been there for me."

"Oh, honey. I'm glad to do it. Your dad was special and a big part of my life."

"I know." Bob Ray sniffed and swiped at his eyes. "Everyone tells me I missed out on knowing him."

"You're a lot like him, Bob Ray. He was a wonderful man. He'd have been a real good daddy to you, if he'd had the chance."

"Yes, ma'am."

"I have a TV dish, if you want to catch the news, up here in the living room and down in your rooms. I always keep plenty of food in the house during storm season, so eat up. There's milk in the refrigerator for Robbie and cereal in the pantry. I'm headed back out now to pick up my niece and her new friend. I'll be back in two shakes of a lamb's tail."

Rawston's crown jewel, her charming Old Town, as rumored, had been leveled, breaking what was left of Abigail's heart. It was a disaster. So much so that, without street signs and buildings to guide her as landmarks, Abigail wasn't sure where her home even was. When they finally came upon what they decided must be her building, she and Justin could only stand in the moonlight and stare. The entire second story of her salon had sailed away, as had her apartment, her furniture, all of the personal belongings she'd ama.s.sed over the last half-dozen years. The first floor had pretty much exploded and only the innermost bathroom was upright. Her staircase listed dangerously and led nowhere.

Beauty supplies were strewn everywhere and her chairs and shampoo bowls and the lobby furniture she'd so lovingly refinished had been shredded. In the lobby now was a Toyota Corolla, its lights on high beam, illuminating the mess. Abigail clutched Justin's arm with one hand and her heart with the other, trying to register, to comprehend the fact that her business and home were really, truly gone. All that work. Scattered. Shattered.

"Oh, man," Justin breathed as he took it all in at her side. "Unbelievable."

"I know," Abigail murmured, dazed. She had never felt so completely violated. She had nothing now. Not even a piece of ID to say who she was. After several minutes spent soaking it all in, she found a plastic bag in the rubble and began to load a few intact things from the salon. A bottle of shampoo that hadn't broken, a brush, some soap and other supplies, her beloved shears, a piece of the material she'd made her curtains from.

"Don't go any farther in," Justin warned as she rooted among her broken shelving units to see what the storm had spared. "All of the support beams for the second floor are gone, and your remaining walls aren't looking too st.u.r.dy."

As if to drive his point home, a wall crashed with a kawhomp, sending dust and debris scattering. Abigail quickly backed away from the building and sighed in defeat. "I guess we can go now."

Selma's Quilty Pleasures had fared no better. When they arrived, there was some movement coming from inside the quilt shop debris. Had someone been in there and become trapped? Clutching her plastic bag, Abigail ran after Justin to see if she could help. When she got to his side, he held up a finger, silently cautioning her to be quiet as he picked up a broken 2x4 that was lying in the street.

"Looters," he whispered, "probably looking for cash." As they stood and listened to their hushed conversation, it became clear that Justin was right.

"No, not that. Only grab small stuff we can hock on eBay. Look for the cash register."

Stealthily moving toward the thieves, Justin finally made it close enough to confront them face-to-face. There were two men and a woman. They jumped at the sound of his voice. "Hi, there. Can I help you?" Justin asked, shouldering the board.

Guiltily, they backed away. "We . . . we . . . we're looking for survivors?"

"Really? Awesome! Thank heavens for good citizens like you guys, but don't worry now, the store was closed when the storm hit so no one trapped here. Me? I'm looking for looters. Can you believe that anyone would stoop low enough to steal from a little old lady who just lost her store in a storm? The very idea makes me crazy!" The wood whistled through the air as he wielded the 2x4 like Babe Ruth swinging for a home run. The three stumbled backwards in the darkness then whirled around, and ran.

For the first time since they'd left the hospital, Abigail laughed.

As they neared Justin's house, he stopped and pulled a piece of an American flag off the broken branch of a tree. "Here's another souvenir for you," he said, and tucked it into Abigail's bag. He'd already contributed a man's suit tie that he'd found wrapped around a barber pole and joked that along with the tattered sc.r.a.p of wedding dress, she'd already gathered something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue. "You're all set for when you find Mr. Right." His smile was guileless and his humor, light. But there was something in his voice that had her heart thudding.

"Thank you," she'd replied, furiously blus.h.i.+ng as she plucked an embroidered doily out of a heap of debris that clung to the grill of an overturned car.

They began to make a game of it. Who could find the weirdest souvenir sc.r.a.p. Justin found a Sponge Bob pillowcase and Abigail, a child's ballet tutu. He found a pair of Christmas-themed boxer shorts-which she made him drop-and she found a T-s.h.i.+rt that said I'm with Stupid. Her bag began to bulge with the pieces of people's lives. She held up the bag at one point and commented, "This bag contains all my worldly goods."

"I guess that's why we're supposed to store our treasure in heaven, huh?"

Abigail didn't answer right away, mulling the faces of death she'd just seen. "Justin?"

"Hmm?" He reached for her hand and helped her around a battered sports car that lay on its side in the middle of the street.

"Do you ever get the feeling that your prayers are just bouncing off the ceiling?"

"Sometimes. But Danny says we're the ones who drift away. Not Him."

"But don't you ever wonder how a G.o.d who is supposed to be so merciful could clobber Rawston this way?" Though she'd been raised to believe in G.o.d, she was seriously wrestling with the idea that G.o.d could allow such devastation.

"You know who you should ask? Danny. Whenever I have a question like that, he has the answer. And it always makes sense."

Abigail fell silent. Pondering. Wondering. Treading water in a sea of confusion. As soon as she could, she would ask Danny her questions.

They crossed over the Balady River Bridge to the northwest neighborhood side of town. It took a while, but they finally made it to Justin's house. Rather, what was left of Justin's house. Abigail could see that he'd been doing a wonderful job upgrading an older home. It was an Arts and Crafts style and, at one time, his rockwork had been beautiful. Now, much of it lay in ruins. The landscaping had been plowed up like a fallow field, ready for planting. Gaping holes in the roof had rendered it unlivable. The place was still there, yes, but it was a mess.