“Loreda,” Grandma said. “Come back…”
Loreda barged up to her bedroom, and found Ant curled into a little ball on her bed, sucking his thumb.
The sight of him crying finally broke Loreda. She felt her own tears burn, fall.
“He left us?” Ant said. “Really?”
“Not us. Her. He’s probably waiting for us somewhere.”
Ant sat up. “Like an adventure?”
“Yes.” Loreda wiped her eyes, thinking, Of course. “Like an adventure.”
* * *
ELSA REMAINED ON THE platform, staring out, seeing nothing. The thought of climbing down, walking back into the house, into her bedroom—her bed—was more than she could bear. So she stayed there, thinking of all the things she’d done wrong that had led to this moment and wondering what her life would be like now.
She felt a brush of wind lift her hair. She was so lost in her thicket of pain, she barely noticed.
I should go after Loreda.
But she couldn’t face her daughter’s fury and heartache. Not yet.
She should have told Rafe she’d go west. Everything would be different now if she’d simply said, Sure, Rafe, we’ll go. He would have stayed. They could have convinced Tony and Rose to come with them.
No.
That was a lie she couldn?
??t tell herself even now. And how could Elsa and Rafe have left them behind? How could they have gone west with no car and no money?
Wind yanked the kerchief off her head.
Elsa saw her kerchief sail out into the air. The platform shook; the blades overhead creaked and spun.
Storm coming.
Elsa climbed down from the shaking platform. As she stepped onto the ground, a gust swept up topsoil and lifted it upward in a great, howling scoop and blew it sideways. Sand hit Elsa’s face like tiny bits of glass.
Rose ran out of the house, yelled to Elsa, “Storm! Coming fast!”
Elsa ran to her mother-in-law. “The kids?”
“Inside.”
Holding hands, they ran back to the house, bolting the door shut behind them. Inside, the walls quaked. Dust rained down from the ceiling. A blast of wind struck hard, rattled everything.
Rose jammed more wads of cloth and old newspapers in the windowsills.
“Kids!” Elsa screamed.
Ant came running into the sitting room, looking scared. “Mommy!” He threw himself at her.
Elsa clung to him. “Put on your gas mask,” she said.
“I don’t wanna. I can’t breathe with it,” Ant whined.
“Put it on, Anthony. And go sit under the kitchen table. Where’s your sister?”