Beyond The Storm Part 3

"You want me to pick up some sushi next door at the Sakura Garden, since you'll be on the road with your mama? I can bring it over to your place for dinner tonight."

Was he the most thoughtful man on earth, or what? "Oh, that's a good idea. Mama loves sushi. It's a date. I love you, Chaz."

"And, I love you, Kaylee Johnson, soon to be Kaylee Edwards."

Justin backed his tailgate up against the loading dock at the rear entrance to The Pump. The owner had contracted for a sauna in the men's locker room. Though he'd never say it, Justin wondered why the men didn't just go outside and sit if they wanted to sweat. Seemed like a waste of money to build a special room for it. Sweat for free, right outside. Whatever. Jobs like these paid his grocery bill, so he wasn't going to complain.

The backdoor swung open and Justin glanced up and grinned. Well, if it wasn't the half-naked arresting officer from Low Places last night. "Hey, Bob Ray! I hardly recognize you without your badge."

"Shut up." Bob Ray laughed and leapt off the dock and into the truck's bed to give him a hand unloading bundles of cedar and stacks of 2x4's. Justin didn't know Bob Ray as much more than a workout buddy. He seemed to be a likable enough kid. A little on the c.o.c.ky side. The guy who owned The Pump trusted him to handle a lot of the managerial stuff, so he must have a reasonable work ethic.

"So, you have to go to the police academy to learn those moves?"

"Learned everything I know from Rawston's finest," Bob Ray joshed as he hefted a load of cedar up to the dock. Justin chuckled and handed another bundle to Bob Ray. Together they began to slide stacks up onto the dock.

"Heather know you moonlight as a gigolo?"

"What mama don't know, don't hurt her."

Justin didn't let Bob Ray see him wince. He'd heard that the kid had to marry his girlfriend when they were still in high school. And he didn't doubt that Bob Ray's days of sowing his wild oats weren't over yet. If there was one thing Justin was eternally grateful to his folks for, it was that they demanded that he and his brothers treat women with respect. He didn't envy Bob Ray's being caught in a teenage marriage, but just because he'd had to man up at a young age was no excuse to go AWOL on his wife.

He wondered what Danny would say to Bob Ray in a situation like this. Justin wished he had his friend's knack for always having just the right advice or Bible story or something perfect to ill.u.s.trate the direction somebody oughta be headed. If Justin tried to quote some Scripture to the kid, he'd come off sounding like a phony. Most likely because, though he believed what Danny would say to Bob Ray, Justin didn't exactly model it the way Danny did. Someday, Justin hoped to be more like Danny. Especially for times just like these.

He grabbed a stack of 2x4's and shoved them onto the dock. In spite of feeling inadequate, Justin felt a strong urge to pursue the subject. "Gotta be tempting, being around those beautiful women all night, every night. A lot of 'em seemed to like you."

"Yeah, well, I didn't ask to be a married man at only eighteen, so she's just going to have to deal."

"That how old you were when you two got married?" Justin continued stacking 2x4's while Bob Ray pulled bundles of cedar out of the truck's bed.

"I was almost nineteen. Heather was seventeen, almost eighteen."

"Ouch."

"Yeah, ouch. I go from fullback to fatherhood in less than a year. And now? I live in a single-wide trailer and have to work two jobs to keep her and the kid in Cheerios."

Justin worked for a while, thinking. "Life's weird, huh? Dan Strohacker, you know him?" Justin stood and rested for a second.

"Oh, yeah. He's . . . he's . . ." Bob Ray dragged a hand over his face. "He's a real good man." There was a flicker of something on the kid's face at the mention of Dan's name that Justin couldn't pinpoint. Respect? Probably. And something else. Guilt?

"He really is. Anyway, he and his wife tried to get pregnant for years. I mean, they tried everything and spent a ton of money. They were old enough, financially secure, and have a beautiful home. You'd think G.o.d would go, 'Okay, Danny boy, I hear your prayers. You'd make some kid a great dad. I'm going to bless you with a baby.' "

"And here I am, just some chowderhead football player, knocks up his girlfriend when they're using birth control." Bob Ray's grin didn't reach his eyes. "Don't make a lick of sense to me."

"Not fair, that's for sure. There has to be something in there, don't you think? Cuz neither of you got what you wanted. Both of you . . . It's like you're being tested."

"Well, if that's the case, I have a sinking feeling I'm not pa.s.sing." Bob Ray climbed out of the truck. "Come on. I got a couple of ice cold Gatorades inside. Let's drink one before we haul this stuff inside." He led Justin to the employee break room and pulled a couple of bottles out of the fridge. He tossed a bottle to Justin, then twisted the top off his own bottle and drank deeply. With a grunt, Bob Ray flopped into a chair at the break room table and stared at the Gatorade label.

Pulling a chair out and spinning it around, Justin straddled it. They sat in companionable silence for a moment, although Justin sensed Bob Ray was wrestling with something. He didn't speak, figuring the kid would spit it out if he wanted.

"Dan and his wife?" Bob Ray finally began, and Justin nodded. "They were gonna adopt our son, Robbie." It was obvious this topic wasn't easy for Bob Ray.

Expression as neutral as he could make it, Justin hoped his slow nod hid his surprise and, at the same time, encouraged Bob Ray to continue.

"It was my idea. Danny was the youth group leader back when I used to go to church. Since my dad died, Dan was like a father to me. Always came to all my games and stuff. Tried to pound some religion into my bony head. You can see how well that worked." Bob Ray's laugh was mirthless as he began to peel the label off his Gatorade bottle. "My dad died when I wasn't much older than Robbie is now. I don't remember that much about him, but the whole thing left its scars. I didn't want my kid to end up living without a guy like Danny around. I sure wasn't ready for the responsibility, but Dan and Jen were."

Bob Ray's eyes closed, and he sighed. "They'd have been awesome parents." When he opened his eyes, Justin could see the emotion sparking, igniting a pain that still simmered beneath Bob Ray's arrogant facade. "Heather even agreed after a while. But her old man . . ." Tears lurked behind Bob Ray's gaze. "Her old man was mad at me. Wanted me to take responsibility. I was eighteen, man. I was scared. Scared of him. Scared of everything. So, we got married. And I gotta tell you . . . the kid is real cute and everything, but if I had to do it all again . . . I wouldn't."

Justin nodded. That's all he could do. Didn't have words. But he guessed that was good, as Bob Ray didn't seem to want or need words.

4.

10:30 a.m.

"Hey everybody, Ron Donovan here with the latest on a super-cell cloud formation that may bring a tornado watch with it, later today."

"Ron, is it just me, or does there seem to be more bad weather than usual?"

"It's not just you, Julie. This has been the wildest spring we've had in this area in over fifty years, and we don't see any signs that it will ease off in the foreseeable future."

11:10 a.m.

I got my tan at Tantastic! Kaylee speaking, how may I help you?"

Jen grinned. Kaylee liked to tell people that she and Chaz got their velvety dark skin color here at her salon. It never failed to make people laugh. Jen dropped her purse behind the counter and waved at Kaylee. She was going to miss seeing her bright smile every day. But she and Danny had decided a long time ago that she'd be a stay-at-home mom. So Kaylee was going to take over as manager here just as soon as she returned from her honeymoon. They both agreed that having an African-American woman running the place would give Tantastic a fun advertising angle. And Kaylee was just beautiful-not to mention nutty-enough to make the "I got my tan at Tantastic" gimmick work and infuse new life into the business.

"This afternoon? Uh . . . sure. What time? No, but I have a slot at 1:45. Fifteen minutes? Sure. Okay. Name? Uh-huh. Okay. Thanks. Bye." Kaylee threw down her pencil and spun around in her chair. "Wow, your hair looks awesome!"

"Thanks. Abigail does a great job, huh?" Jen sat in one of their well-padded lobby chairs and motioned for Kaylee to come join her for a spell. Kaylee grabbed them each a bottle of juice from the mini fridge and they took a break.

"Abigail is going to do my hair for the wedding," Kaylee told her as she burrowed into the loveseat and kicked off her pumps. "She's going to build this elaborate Celtic knot and then work the veil in at the back-it's gonna rock!"

"You'll be beautiful."

"I'll feel that way, anyway." Kaylee laughed. "Are you on your way to lunch?"

"Yes, but I'll be back in plenty of time to let you head to the airport. After lunch, I'm taking Danny shopping for the baby, so I'll see you between 1:30 and 2:00. Okay?"

"Cool." Kaylee propped her elbow on the squishy armrest and regarded Jen thoughtfully. "You and Danny are so happy."

Jen gave her head a little side bob and smiled. "Most of the time, yes."

"You've been through some pretty emotional stuff, what with waiting so long for your baby and everything."

"I think every marriage ebbs and flows. Yours will, too."

"Yeah, but how have you done it? I mean, what is the secret behind staying happy through the rough patches?"

Jen exhaled slowly as she mulled her answer. "You already have the two most important ingredients. Number one, your marriage will be a triangle-G.o.d at the top, you and Chaz at the corners. That is a very strong shape for any marriage. And number two, you guys can make each other laugh. Hang on to that wonderful sense of humor and you'll be just fine."

11:45 a.m.

"Ron, Julie and I were wondering if you could take a minute out of your busy schedule and tell our listeners what's going on out there today with this horrible heat and any ideas when it might lift?"

"Well, Mike, in layman's terms, I can tell you that we've got some hot, wet air trapped down here by a layer of colder air coming down out of Canada."

"Sounds like tornado weather."

"Hard to say. It's true that when two air ma.s.ses like these begin to move, they cause a friction that literally begins to roll the air into a cylinder. Rolling air charged with energy like that is called a supercell. Supercells are the formations that lead to twisters."

"Ron, for a couple of months now, seems like we've been preparing for tornados that just don't happen. Do you think people might be getting immune to the warnings, the 'Cry Wolf' syndrome, if you will?"

"No doubt about it, Mike. Aside from the actual twister, complacency is probably the most dangerous thing of all."

12:34 p.m.

Selma's Quilty Pleasures simply oozed charm. Aside from absolutely everything a serious quilter could ever dream of needing, there were knickknacks and ornaments and ap.r.o.ns and hot pads and more-all quilted and st.i.tched together with love. If it could be quilted, a customer could be certain that Selma carried it in her shop. Abigail had grown up with the scents of potpourri, candles, new fabric, and orange-oiled wood; and-though she wasn't into quilting herself-nothing filled her with contentment faster than a lunch hour with Aunt Selma in her homey shop.

In her aunt's cluttered quilting cla.s.sroom Abigail was finishing the last of the sub sandwich that she'd shared with Selma while she listened to her pitch some ideas for her speed quilting theme.

"So, you're saying 'no' on the candy theme, 'no' on the pumpkin theme, 'maybe' on the wedding ring theme, and a 'don't-make-me-barf' on the baby animal theme, right?"

"Eh," Abigail said and shrugged. "Auntie Sel, I'm the wrong person to ask. Don't hate me, but I just don't see why people get so excited over a blanket made out of a bunch of sc.r.a.ps when you can just go to the store and buy a comforter already made."

Selma stared at her. "And you came from my sister's daughter's loins? You come from generations of quilt masters, and yet, you don't appreciate the wonder and beauty of telling a story and painting a picture with fabric? Who are you?"

Abigail leaned back and hooted at the fierce expression on Selma's face. "I like to tell a story with hair?" she offered as an olive branch.

It was Selma's turn to laugh. "What would you think about a quilt called 'hairstyles through the ages'?"

"I'd love it!" Abigail sat up at that idea. Now Selma was speaking her language. "I might even buy a bunch of those raffle tickets! I might even," the creative wheels were suddenly turning in her head, "have some sketches of hairdos you could copy-"

A ruckus out in the store interrupted her train of thought. There was a whole lot of giggling going on out there. "To be continued," she called after Selma, who'd gone to see about the noise. Curious about the laughter echoing from out front, she gathered up her paper plate and napkins, tossing them in the trash on her way after her aunt. A smile bloomed on her lips as she wove through the tightly packed rows of merchandise to discover that the source of the silliness was big, silver-headed, Dan-the-handyman Strohacker balancing sixteen-year-old Elsa Lopez on his feet and counting as Elsa giggled, a hapless rag-doll in his arms. "One, two, three, one, two, three . . . Get it?"

"No!" Elsa fell into more gales of laughter.

Selma, along with her employee, Guadalupe-who was also Elsa's mother-and Jen were hooting and catcalling as Dan did his best to teach Elsa to waltz to the Muzak piped in through the store's stereo system.

"Dan," Jen called to her husband, "put the kid down. We all know you are just trying to get out of material shopping. Come on. I have a quilt to make and curtains to sew."

Abigail squeezed between Selma and Guadalupe for a better view. The absurdity soon had her giggling nearly as hard as Elsa. "Shucks, Danny, you are a regular twinkle toes!" Abigail called. Seemed like just yesterday it was her balanced on Dan's feet and learning to waltz, just before prom. How the time did fly. He blew a raspberry at her and Abigail whooped.

"Come on, girl!" Dan commanded. "Put some backbone into it!"

"I can't," Elsa's hilarity came out in shrieks and gasps and her head lolled limply back on Dan's arm. He swung her into a row of material bolts and knocked them on the floor.

"Now look what you made me do," Dan said, razzing Elsa for his clumsiness. She was laughing too hard to respond.

"Dan," Jen chastised when she could speak, "let the poor kid go. We have material to choose!"

"What? And let her go to the prom not knowing how to waltz?"

"We don't waltz!" Elsa hollered as Dan steered her down the notions aisle. "We slow dance."

"Well, why didn't you say so? Slow dancing is easy. I'm great at it, just ask Jen."

Jen shook her head until Dan glanced her way and then she nodded vigorously.

"So," Dan said, "first off, you stand in one room and the boy stands in the other."

"No!" Elsa giggled. "Teach me for real."

"Okay. For real. Stand right here in front of me. Now then. The boy should put his hand here at your waist and not one inch lower, or I want you to use the pepper spray I'm gonna give you."

Elsa shrieked.

"He's so sweet to do this for us," Guadalupe said to Jen. Abigail knew Elsa's daddy had been deported last year, so she didn't have very many moments like this.

"Anytime," Jen murmured and patted her husband's Bible. She was cradling the heavy book in her arms, as if it was a baby.

"Practicing for the real thing?" Abigail teased, pointing to the Bible she bounced.

"Oh!" Jen grinned. "I've been doing that to everything lately. Instinct, huh?"

"That's a unique cover," Guadalupe noted and brushed the bright red fabric shot with heavy threads of primary color with her fingertips. "Handwoven. Mexico?" Guadalupe was Selma's go-to gal when it came to fabric history and type.

"Yes, it was a gift to Dan, when he was down there building houses as a teenager. He built most of one woman's house and she was so thrilled that she wanted to give him something special in return. She saw that his Bible was getting kind of beat up, so she made it just for him." Jen opened the book to the inside flap. "See this? It's a prayer pocket. She told him that people always promise to pray, but forget. So, he was to write the prayer request down and put it there, and then he'd never forget to pray." She fished her finger around inside. "There's a paper in here," she murmured.

Abigail and Guadalupe leaned closer. "What's it say?" Abigail asked.

Tears brimmed at Jen's lower lashes and her smile was tremulous. "It says, 'Remember to pray for Jen and my son today.'"

5.

1:00 p.m.

Justin leaned against the door of his truck as he finished jotting a list of supplies he needed to bring with him on Monday. He was checking it for anything he may have forgotten when a distant rumble had him looking up. It wasn't the sound a jet would make. If the sky hadn't been cloudless, he'd have thought it was thunder. Didn't you have to have clouds to make thunder? There were no clouds, but the sky had taken on a sickly color. As if it were pale and sweating. Feverish. Dying. The air, the sky, the sound . . . everything felt terminal.