Low Pressure

“I… I think I went to find Steven.”

“You think you went to find him?”

The swing made several pendulous cycles before she said, “The sky was getting darker. I’d seen Steven walking toward the lake and wanted to make certain that he was aware of the approaching storm. I thought he should come back to the pavilion.”

“But neither of you made it back to the pavilion in time. The funnel dipped out of the cloud, you both got caught at the boathouse and had to take cover there.”

She nodded.

“What about Susan?”

She turned her head toward him as the swing sailed past. “What about her?”

“You weren’t worried about her, too?”

“Of course I was.”

“But you didn’t chase after her.”

“She was with Allen.”

“All the more reason to check on her.”

“Maybe I did. I—”

“You said you went to find Steven.”

“Yes, yes, just like in the book.”

“Forget the friggin’ book.”

He set his swing to rocking crazily when he quickly abandoned it. He stepped in front of Bellamy’s swing and grabbed hold of the chains, bringing it to an abrupt halt and wedging his thigh between hers to hold the seat high off the ground.

“What are you doing?”

“More to the point, what are you?” he asked. “This makes twice today that you’ve stalled there. Why? How come your memory is so detailed about what you wore and shoulder straps that kept slipping down, but you go all vague and sputtery when recounting what you did and where you were between the time you saw Susan return from her drinking binge at the boathouse, to when they dragged you from beneath the collapsed roof of it?”

She gazed back at him, wide-eyed and apprehensive. “I testified at Allen Strickland’s trial that I went in search of Steven. I was in the boathouse when the tornado struck. I wasn’t that badly hurt, but I was traumatized by fear, in shock. That’s why I was one of the last people to be accounted for, hours after the storm, even after Susan’s body had been recovered. I heard people—my own parents—frantically calling my name, but I couldn’t respond. I was literally frozen from fear.”

“That follows what you wrote in your book.”

She bobbed her head once.

“So why don’t I believe you?”

Her chin went up a fraction. “Believe me or not, that’s your problem.”

“You’re damn right it is. I’ve got somebody trashing my airplane all because of you and the can of worms you opened. And this is a big, fat, juicy, squiggly one. You falter every time I ask whether or not you followed Susan and Allen Strickland.”

“I didn’t.”

“You’re sure?”

“No. I mean—Yes, I’m sure. No I didn’t follow them. You confused me before and you’re trying to now. When I left the pavilion I ran toward the boathouse.”

“Okay, so why did you choose to warn Steven of the storm, and not your sister?”

“I didn’t make any such choice,” she exclaimed.