Beyond the Storm: Quilts of Love Series (16 page)

“What about Danny?” Heather asked as she remembered she’d left him there, when she and Robbie had headed off to the store for milk.

“Wasn’t there. Neither was his truck. Mrs. Carmichael said she thinks he left before the storm hit.”

Heather’s relief was audible. “Thank heavens. I was so worried. When I left, he was . . .” She swallowed, obviously emotional at the thoughts spinning through her head, she tried again, “. . . when I left he was under the house, looking to see if our insulation was soaked and hoping to find where the water was coming out.”

Bob Ray pushed back a stab of worry. Danny was from around here. He knew when to take shelter. He was a smart, strong man. He had to be safe. He had to be.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there when the storm hit, Heather. That will never happen again. I promise you, I’ll be there whenever you need me in the future.”

“I know.”

Those two simple words sent a powerful rush of healing through his body, and he loved her more, if possible, than any person or thing he’d ever loved before.

“I guess it’s lucky we don’t own anything worth sweating over, huh?” He smiled at her, drinking in her sweet face and unselfish love for him and Robbie.

She shrugged. “Unless you count your football trophies and—”

“Heather?
Heather?
”

Both Heather and Bob Ray turned at the sound of her name filtering through the crowd and growing closer.

A
s Heather’s parents emerged from the milling, misplaced throng, a surge of adrenaline had Bob Ray tensing with the fight or flight syndrome. Rising to his feet, he shielded his son in his arms as he stepped between his in-laws and his wife, at their frantic, take-charge approach. Though he was tempted to stalk away and leave Heather to deal with her intimidating father, he stood his ground.

Huffing and harried, Mike and Denise were urgent with fear and when they saw their daughter, their relief was extreme. Palpable.

Bob Ray couldn’t help but wonder why they thought this disaster in their daughter’s life was more worthy of their attention than the last. As usual, her parents were dressed impeccably for a post-tornado meeting, their Tommy Bahama togs perfectly coordinated, their hair well-groomed and stylish. Both were still tan from their annual spring fling in Fiji. How he used to admire their style and wealth. Tonight, it seemed as vain and useless as the gold pinky ring on Mike’s finger.

Heather’s mother, Denise, reached them first. “Heather, oh, thank God! Mike! Over here!” She gestured for Heather’s father to hurry and join them. “Oh, we’ve been worried sick about you! And the baby! Living in that horrible trailer park during a tornado . . . why anything could have happened!”

The muscles in Bob Ray’s jaw jumped with resentment, and he was glad when Heather stood and tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. Robbie was still fast asleep in his arms, blissfully unaware of the day’s traumas.

“We’ve been watching the news and saw that the storm hit that whole area.” Denise’s gaze strayed with longing at Robbie as she spoke to Heather. “How are you, sweetheart?”

“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 shimmered 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 shining 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 hit 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, gratitude for her aunt. Sorrow over the death, joy over the life. Fury over being a victim, relief over being spared.

Distrust of God 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 glasses 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 friendships. 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, “—God 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 rushing 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.