“You okay?” John asked.
“What? Why? I’m fine.”
“Maybe because you dropped that wrench three times in the last half hour. You sure you’re all right?”
“Yeah, I’ve just got something I need to take care of. Can you close up tonight?”
“Not a problem,” John said, “you go get yourself sorted out before you start costing yourself money,” he chuckled.
I fumbled my way through until about four o’clock. Then I took off. I was driving to the library when I saw the bank of clouds to the west turning darker. I turned on the radio. A weather alert interrupted the country song. Severe storms were moving quickly into the area. Residents were advised to head indoors and shelter until the weather passed. I pulled over to use my phone. I called John and told him to close up early and head home. The storm was supposed to hit in about twenty minutes, and that would give him time to reach his house and shut the windows and everything. I didn’t want him stuck in the garage when the storm rolled in. The building itself was cinderblock and sheet metal, but there were too many windows on all sides to be safe in a pop up storm, especially the kind that flung tree limbs around and shattered glass.
I called my parents quickly, and got my mom on the second ring.
“Go down the basement,” I said. “Did you hear the storm warnings?”
“No, I’ve been out pulling weeds in the flower bed, Drew. Your dad’s on the mower trying to get the grass cut before rain blows in.”
“There’s warnings on the radio. By the time the town turns on the sirens, it could be too late. Get Dad off the mower, tell him to leave the damn thing in the yard. I’ll put it up later. Both of you go inside and get down the basement. No bringing in your ferns or looking for the damn cat. Just get downstairs, Mom.”
“Cool your jets, Drew,” she said. “You know darn well your daddy won’t leave the mower out—somebody could swipe it.”
“Anyone who steals a seven-year-old riding mower during a summer storm is too stupid to get very far with it,” I said. “Please, listen to me. The sky and the wind—you know this is gonna be bad. Just go inside. Wave him in. Take off your shirt if you can’t get his attention. That’ll make him run inside with you,” I said.
“I’ll wash your mouth out when I see you, boy,” she laughed.
“Go down the basement. Wait for the all clear sirens.”
“Are you inside?”
“I’m driving.”
“So who’s calling the kettle black? Car’s the stupidest place to be in a storm. Go lay down in a ditch and kiss your butt goodbye.”
“I think I’ll find someplace to go inside, Mom, but thanks for that image.”
“That’d get you on the front page of the paper,” she chuckled.
“You are a mess. Go down the basement!” I said, “Love you!”
Watching the sky and hoping my parents listened to me, I swung into the parking lot. But I was out of luck if I thought I could wait out the thunderstorm in the nonfiction section. The place was locked up tight.
When I pulled in to the library, the lights were off and the closed sign was on the door. I glanced at the clock, and then I turned the radio back on. The announcer was telling everyone in the listening area to find shelter immediately. I knew from living here all my life that a summer storm could roll in fast and be incredibly dangerous. I wasn’t going to make the mistake of not taking the warning seriously. Since the library was locked up, I couldn’t wait it out in there. My place was too far. The wind was already whipping the trees around the library, the green leaves showing their silver underbellies, turned inside out by the gale.
Michelle lived nearby—definitely closer than I did. I made the snap decision to head to her place, since I had driven to the library to see her anyway. The streets were basically empty so I ran the stop signs and got there in no time. I was relieved to see her car already in the driveway. The sky had darkened, a deep purpled gray that was uncanny. Leaves and small limbs were whipping through the air. I got out of my truck just as the sky opened up. I ran to the porch, but I was drenched to the skin by the time I got there. I knocked on the door, rang the doorbell. All I could hear were the storm sirens going off downtown.
I rang the doorbell again, looking around. Did I know anybody else on this street well enough to ask to wait inside? Mildred Conners was probably out at her daughter’s in Colorado this time of year to miss the heat of summer, but if I needed to I could probably break into the house and explain later. I was debating the wisdom of breaking and entering when I heard footsteps inside the house. She was coming to see who was at the door. For a second, I felt like I wasn’t ready for the full impact of seeing her up close and in person again. As soon as I laid eyes on her familiar face, pretty and worried, the blonde hair down and full lips parted, I felt the impact of her beauty. I felt the powerful urge to pull her to me, to crush her against my wet shirt and tell her I was glad she was home, she was safe. That she was smarter than me, cause I’d driven around making calls and hunting for her while the sirens went off. That the only place I wanted to be was with her.