Part 12 (2/2)

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.

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