Beyond The Storm Part 4

He wondered how Rawhide was doing and figured he'd better head home, let him out, and make sure he had plenty of water. Danny had talked Justin into taking the dog after he'd seen him featured on a morning news show. Poor, mangy old Rawhide was allergic to everything and had chewed his hind end half off. Jokingly, Justin had called him "Rawhide from Rawston" when he first got a good look at the mixed breed dog, and the name had stuck.

A quick glance at his watch told him he had just enough time to take an icy, refres.h.i.+ng shower, play with Rawhide, and eat some lunch before he had to head back to the lumberyard and take over for Danny. He ducked back inside to let Bob Ray know he was going to head out.

"Okay," Bob Ray grunted from where he lay at the bench press, straining against some ma.s.sive weights that rattled at the ends of his bar. After his last rep, he shoved the bar into its holder and sat up. "I'm headin' out in a few minutes, myself. Gotta put in a s.h.i.+ft out at Low Places later."

"Gonna arrest anyone?" Justin joshed.

"No dancing tonight." Bob Ray grinned. "I'm just going to be stocking the bar and some other grunt work." He lay back down and prepared to lift another set of vein-popping reps. "See you Monday."

3:00 p.m.

Heather paused at the mailbox. The poor thing listed slightly toward the road, as if it yearned to follow the outgoing mail. Not that she blamed it. The flat, dusty, broken-down Barnaby Estates was the last place she'd have thought they'd ever call home. Everyone called it "Beer-belly Estates," which she had to admit fit. Aging single- and double-wide trailers were crowded side-by-side, sharing the shade of an occasional tree. Driveways were crammed with junk and junker cars and even junkier was.h.i.+ng machines and junkyard dogs that were chained to stakes in the dirt. Heather guessed it was just a step above prison, or maybe h.e.l.l, but she and Bob Ray could afford the rent and, at this point, that's all that mattered. When she reached inside the mailbox, the usual stack of bills awaited her perusal. Bills, and of course, junk mail. All of it advertising stuff she and Bob Ray could never buy. Looked like there was a $29.99 deal for cable TV this month. She'd love to have that. Anything to break up the tedium of sitting all day in the single-wide with Robbie.

Heather's parents were still pretty glacial regarding her "shame," and had refused to grace her with a visit, let alone a handout. The message was clear. Mrs. Persona Non Grata and her baby would sully their upscale digs, and they wouldn't be caught dead here at Gap-tooth Gulch. Though, she had to admit, her mom had started to thaw recently. They'd run into each other at the grocery store on Heather's side of town several weeks ago, and Mom hadn't been able to stop staring at Robbie. Her mother's smile had been more than a little wobbly, and she'd fingered Robbie's sticky hands with a look that spoke of deep regret. It had been a sweet, fleeting moment, and Heather was homesick for two days after. What had Mom been doing, shopping over here on this side of the tracks? Had she been watching them? Did Daddy know?

Heather had been dying for news but had been too proud to ask, and her mother had been too stubborn to tell. But she wondered just the same.

With a sigh, she tucked the mail under her arm and headed back to the house. It seemed to her that the sky was starting to look pretty weird. There was an almost yellowish cast to the light, giving her an eerie feeling deep in her bones. The trailer park, usually alive with dogs barking and the steady whine of gra.s.shoppers, was oddly silent, too. The screen door slammed shut behind her, and instantly, she knew that Robbie was up from his nap and up to no good. "Robbie?" She could hear a steady stream of water rus.h.i.+ng in the bathroom.

"Uh-oh!" he shouted.

Heather began to run. "Robbie? What on earth?" Water was flowing down the hallway now. A guttural growl filled her throat. She should have known better than to stand there and shoot the breeze with old lady Carmichael before she headed to get the mail, but she'd so longed for a touch of adult conversation-no matter how addled-that she'd tarried.

"Uh-oh," Robbie repeated. He cast her a delighted smile as she rounded the corner into the bathroom. It looked like he'd filled the toilet with several rolls of toilet paper and some toys and towels, and then tried his hand at flus.h.i.+ng them away. When that had grown tedious, he'd turned to the tub, and it, too, was overflowing.

"Robbie, oh, Robbie. No, son. This is a big no-no." Huge no-no.

"No!" Robbie shouted. "No, no!"

"That's right, little man." Dropping the mail in the sink, she shut off the tub's faucet, pulled the stack of soggy towels away from the drain, and turned her attention to the toilet. She didn't have a clue, so she shut the lid, grabbed Robbie, and headed for the kitchen to call Bob Ray.

Didn't it just figure that no one had seen him at The Pump. She sighed and reached for her phone book. She scanned the list of handy people she knew-who also gave a rat's hindquarters about her and Bob Ray-and came up with Danny Strohacker. Danny would know what to do.

Once she'd explained the situation, Danny chuckled. "Oh, boy. I'm gonna be having these kinds of problems myself here real soon, huh? Okay, first off, don't panic. On the wall, behind the toilet, there are two shutoff valves. Go twist 'em until the water stops. I'll swing by later with a snake for the toilet and a shop vac and some fans and stuff, and I'll get the toilet unplugged and your floors dried out."

"But don't you have to go to Souths.h.i.+re tonight?"

"Yeah, but it's only . . . 3:30 now, and getting you squared away shouldn't take long. I'll finish up a quick delivery and then head by the lumberyard to pick up the stuff I'll need and-"

"Danny, no. This is too much." Heather was beginning to feel guilty about pulling him away from his special evening. And Jen had told her how excited he was about seeing pictures of his baby boy.

"Don't be silly. I wouldn't have it any other way. Jen won't mind. She's got stuff to do at her job anyway. I'll let her know that I'll be swinging by your place in say . . . an hour and a half or so. Don't go anywhere."

"Okay." Where would she go? Bob Ray had their piece-of-junk car. She had the 1973 single-wide "Challenger" style mobile home. Never could figure out what the "mobile" part was supposed to mean. The old girl was anything but mobile. It was, however, decades into some serious "challenges."

Everything leaked or sagged or stunk. The carpet was so horrendous that Heather had to spread sheets across the living room floor so that Robbie could stay clean. On most days, she sat on a broken-down divan in the living room, texting an old friend about her miseries. Not that Sophia could do anything about her woes from her college dorm room, but it felt good to vent just the same. Sophia had urged her to pack up and leave Bob Ray more than once. And she would have, too. Except for the night of what she thought of as her "miracle." Something strange and wonderful had changed her att.i.tude about a lot of stuff.

Robbie had been only a couple weeks old and colicky. It was late. Close to midnight. Bob Ray still wasn't home, which was fine, because, hey, Heather was no longer at the end of her rope. Oh, no. Nope. She'd fallen clean off the rope, and the rope had slipped away to tie itself into a noose. While she contemplated the sweet relief that ending her life would no doubt give, she just sat there, holding her son and wailing right along with him. And the more she cried, the larger the self-pity grew.

n.o.body cared. Seriously. No. Body. Cared. Her mother and father didn't care. She'd been unable to live up to the expectations of their legalistic religion, and they felt obligated to teach her a lesson. Bob Ray didn't give a hoot. She was a wife and mother, not the centerfold material that he helped sculpt down at the gym.

Even G.o.d didn't care. And she told him. Loudly. "You don't care!" she'd burst out between great heaving sobs. "I don't get it!" Face contorted with anger, she'd thrown back her head and implored the ceiling. "Why do You love everyone but me? Why do You curse me? Why do You hate me? Why don't You ever, ever talk to me? Can You hear me at all?" Her voice grew snarky, filled with all the vitriol of too much responsibility and not enough help or sleep. "I hear all those people at church saying, 'Oh G.o.d gave me a word about this, or G.o.d told me to do that,' but You won't ever talk to me! You hate me!"

As she thought back over her life, all she could see was the enormous burden of trying to appease her parents and their merit-based religious views by being good. But as hard as she tried-she was never good enough, and they always . . . always let her know it.

By this point, she'd been shrieking and sobbing so hard, Robbie had stopped crying and was staring up at her. She'd wiped her nose on his blanket. "You don't care about me. If You did, You'd give me a word. But You won't. I'm nothing. I'm a sinner!" she'd jeered. "I give up. I give up . . . because You . . . don't care. You don't care. You don't care about me." Running out of steam, she sat rocking and repeating, "You don't care. You don't care. You don't care about me . . ."

Over and over she chanted, until Robbie's pale pink eyelids slid closed, and she could see the blue veins moving as his eyes darted about, searching for the deep sleep of an exhausted infant. Finally, he grew heavy in her arms, and Heather staggered to his crib and put him down. She had to move a book out of the way to lay him flat. Strange, because she hadn't left a book in his bed, and no one else had been in the house that day.

She knew that Jen had mailed it to her after Robbie was born, but she hadn't had the time or energy to read it. The next day when she'd asked, Bob Ray claimed he hadn't put it there, and she believed him because Bob Ray wasn't much on reading. Once Robbie was settled, she took the book to her bed. It was a devotional. Like a journal with a verse-a-day to memorize and then some Scripture and encouragement stuff written underneath. Curiosity had her opening it to that day's date. And there, she found the words that changed her forever: Throw all your anxiety onto him, because he cares about you (1 Peter 5:7).

She had gasped and sat up, wide-awake now. Not just because the verse hit her like a bolt of lightning between the eyes, but because the second half of each day's devotion was divided into parts. Morning. Afternoon. Evening. And this verse had been for the evening. Incredulous, Heather had started to laugh, and she laughed until she cried deep, cleansing tears of sweet relief. Because those simple words were to her. Straight from G.o.d. He cared. G.o.d hadn't forgotten her. He was there, just for her. Out of all the people on the planet, he was chatting with her. On that date and in that time zone. Her eyes devoured that afternoon's devotion: But G.o.d shows his love for us, because while we were still sinners Christ died for us (Romans 5:8).

While she was yet a sinner, a failure, Christ died for her? How could that be? Sobs welled from the depths of her soul. Because she was a sinner, her entire family and most of her friends had abandoned her. And-the irony was impossible to miss-because she was a sinner, the Lord died for her, Heather Bancroft-Lathrop. This dawning illuminated a lifelong darkness that had held Heather captive. Sweet relief flooded her, and suddenly it no longer mattered what her parents thought.

In the days that followed, Heather found a group at Jen's church that catered to married women and their struggles. That was where she had really gotten to know what a wonderful person Jen Strohacker was. Jen could have been mad about Heather not going through with her plans to let her and Dan adopt Robbie. But she wasn't.

Instead, she offered to babysit sometimes and brought over care packages. Not just the stuff they needed around the house either, but personal, fun stuff, too. Girlie things like bath salts and hand lotion. Sometimes, Jen would stop by just to give Heather a word of encouragement. The woman, who couldn't have a baby of her own after years of trying, came to encourage her. They'd formed a fast, mentor-style friends.h.i.+p, and Jen had taught Heather what it meant to lean on Jesus. So Heather clung to her faith believing that G.o.d would lead her not only through the valley of the shadow but also out the other end and into blue skies. If she cast her cares on Him, things would get better. They had to. Couldn't get much worse.

4:00 p.m.

"We interrupt this broadcast to bring you an up-to-the-minute storm warning with our head meteorologist Ron Donovan. Ron?"

"Yes, we're getting reports that Lincoln County is experiencing some severe weather, which is manifesting itself in nonstop thunder and lightning strikes. We're looking at a pretty high risk of fire; in fact, right now a small house is burning just south of Suffolk County. Also, if you're headed out to Jefferson County, you might want to hold off. We're getting reports of hailstones the size of golf b.a.l.l.s right now. If you look out the window, you can see the weather beginning to change locally. Keep it tuned here to 101.5 K-RAW for up-to-the-minute storm-tracker advisories and tornado watch reports. Right now all signs are pointing to severe storm activity arriving around 6 or 7 tonight."

6.

4:30 p.m.

Happy hour was in full swing by the time Bob Ray arrived at Low Places to begin stocking the bar. The Buffalo wings and c.o.c.ktail weenies were hot, and the girls who lounged across the bar, teasing and flirting with him, even hotter. Already, the joint was jumping.

The mood-to put it mildly-was jovial. Sat.u.r.day nights at Low Places practically came with a guarantee: Get there early enough and trouble will follow you home. Bob Ray bit back a grin. Tonight, trouble was wearing short shorts and cowboy boots and a top that revealed just about everything but her navel. The busty redhead had been posing at the bar, smiling at him, watching his every move as he pulled the empties and unloaded fresh boxes. He'd worn his T-s.h.i.+rt one size too tight and, because of an afternoon spent pumping some pretty heavy iron, he knew why she stared. Bob Ray had seen her in here with a group of her ditzy friends before-the last four Sat.u.r.days in a row, actually. Tonight, she was alone.

"You come here often?" she asked, when he came over to fill the pretzel bowl.

He laughed, making sure his biceps bulged as he rolled up the pretzel bag. "Often enough to keep a paycheck coming."

Elbows together, she leaned forward and grinned, her full plum-colored lips revealing a Ches.h.i.+re grin. "Ever get out from behind that bar to play a little pool?"

Bob Ray pushed the pretzel bowl toward her and braced himself on his forearms. "Sometimes." Their noses were only about six or seven inches apart now. She smelled like spearmint. His heart accelerated as he wondered what it would be like to kiss her. This was a small town. Undoubtedly, people thought he'd already cheated on Heather. And it wasn't that he hadn't seriously considered it. It's just that so far, he hadn't been able to find the time or the place. Or maybe . . . the guts.

He and Heather went way back. They'd known each other since grade school, and he had harbored a secret crush on her-on and off-since then. Even though he resented his marriage, Heather still starred in the t.i.tle role as his first "everything," not to mention being the mother of his son. As much as he longed to bust free, for some lame reason, he just couldn't seem to cross the infidelity bridge. Yet.

His gaze slid from the bombsh.e.l.l's lips to her eyes. Those were some bedroom eyes just loaded with an invitation. A long slow smile pushed a come-hither dimple into her cheek. Then again, if he just kissed her . . . just once, Heather would never be the wiser.

4:40 p.m.

"Tantastic, Jen speaking. How may I help you?"

"Hey, Mama. It's Daddy."

Jen smiled down at her burgeoning belly. "Hi, Daddy. I was just going to call you." She tucked the phone between her ear and shoulder so that she could continue folding a clean pile of tanning bed towels.

"I've got a little job to do over at Bob Ray and Heather's place. Seems Robbie got a toy and some towels stuck in the toilet, and the place is flooding. I'm heading over to the lumberyard to pick up a shop vac and some fans and plumbing supplies now."

"Oh, poor Heather," Jen laughed. "Well, it'll be good practice for when your kid does something like that."

"Yeah. That's what I said."

"Oh, your son wants to speak with you, okay?" It was a dumb game they started playing the day they found out she was pregnant. Jen set the folded towels down and put the phone to her belly. She could hear the tinny echo of her husband jabbering some silly baby talk.

"Hi, there, buddy boy. Daddy loves his little man. You giving Mom some good kicks?"

"Yes!" Jen said loud enough so Dan could hear. His chuckle filled her hand. The baby must have heard him, too, because he kicked or punched at the phone. "Guess what!" Jen pulled the phone back up so she could talk. "He is listening to you on the phone! I'm not kidding, he just kicked the phone."

"I'm tellin' ya, he's gonna be a soccer star." The pride s.h.i.+mmered across the line.

Jen had never known a man more excited about becoming a father. She was so blessed. "You know, I'm so lucky to have these precious moments with you. You are such a sweetheart, and you're going to be an awesome dad."

"Hey now. What brought that on?"

She wasn't going to tell him that she'd been snooping in his prayer pocket. "I don't know. You. It's just . . . you. Who you are. The way you are about everything. Even now, going over to Heather's house to dig baby toys out of her toilet. You're special."

"Thanks, honey. Right back atcha."

Awkwardly, she bent to tuck the newly folded stack of towels under the front counter. So many of the women in the mother's group at her church didn't have such a great partner. She sighed. Heather Lathrop was one. "What time do you think you'll be done over there at Heather's place?"

"In plenty of time to get you up to the clinic, don't worry. Make me a sandwich or something for the ride up there, okay?"

"I have a better idea. I'll make you dinner instead. I'll defrost some chops."

"We won't have time."

"Yeah. We will," Jen said and heard her breath gust in the phone's mouthpiece, "Sarah called and canceled. There's a tornado watch for our area. They just announced it on the Weather Channel, and she doesn't want us to take any chances. She'll reschedule after the weather clears up."

"Oh . . . b.u.mmer. Well, I guess that's the nice thing about having an ultrasound technician for a sister, huh? You can get in just about whenever you want."

"True." She could hear him deflating and wondered what she might do to cheer him up. A gallon of rocky road usually did the trick. She'd stop by the Quick In Go next door on the way home. "So, it'll be just the two of us tonight. One of our last romantic evenings together before the baby comes. You can help me cut out the baby's quilt."

"Sounds good to me."

"You are a good man." She laughed. "While I'm waiting for you, I'll try to wrap up a bunch of loose ends here in my office. Between Kaylee's wedding and me having a baby, neither of us is going to have much time to get anything done for the next two weeks." Jen squinted out the salon's front window. The gla.s.s was tinted sunshade blue, giving the sky an unusual, bright green cast. Funny how it almost seemed to glow. "The weather already feels odd. The storm they're reporting must be on its way. Be careful out there, okay? "

"Will do. You, too."

"I sure love you, Daddy."

"Mm. I love you, too, Mama."

4:30 p.m.

The door jangled as Isuzu shooed their last customer of the day out the door. She flipped the Open sign over to Closed and turned to inspect Abigail, who was sweeping up a pile of hair. "You wear that to meet Handsome-business-card-guy?"

Frowning, Abigail glanced at her flip-flops. "What's wrong with what I've got on?"

"At least you wear two same shoe." Isuzu harrumphed as she strode to her workstation and sprayed the table down with disinfectant. As she scrubbed, she said, "Handsome-guy is good catch. I know I see him sometime first service on Sunday with Dan and Jen Strohacker. Mae Dewsbury from Doozy Juice say he build her new kitchen. She say he very hard worker and tell me Handsome-guy is honest guy with ugly dog who love Jesus."

"I'm confused. Who loves Jesus? Handsome-guy or ugly dog?"

Isuzu rolled her eyes. "I think you need go get him now."

"You've certainly done your research." Abigail dumped her dustpan of hair into the garbage pail. "If he's that great, why don't you go get him?"

"I prefer man who love Jesus and speak j.a.panese. Easier for me at home. But, if no man from j.a.pan show up soon," Isuzu shrugged, "and you not interested in this Handsome-guy-" brows arched, mouth downturned in thought, she seemed to consider her plan, "-I will sit by him at church and flirt. Maybe," she waggled her brows, "I teach him some j.a.panese." Isuzu's family emigrated from j.a.pan when she was a teenager, and she and her older brother-Brooke's father-still preferred to hold most of their conversations in j.a.panese.

"You really don't like what I have on?"

Isuzu brandished her bottle of disinfectant spray. "It very casual."

"So?"

"Fine. Whatever you do, take umbrella. I look at sky just now and I see rain up there. Radio say big wind and hail, too."

"Yes, mom. I've got a sweater in my car."

5:00 p.m.

"You're in luck!" Danny said as he plugged the shop vac in and handed the nozzle to Heather.

"Why doesn't it feel that way?" Heather gave him a bleary stare.

Danny's chuckle was filled with empathy. "I'm talking about my helping you get this mess cleaned up. Jen's ultrasound appointment was canceled, so I can help you get dried out." He turned to Robbie. "How did a squirt like you get so much water on the floor?"

"Uh-oh," Robbie shouted and pointed at the small lake that had swallowed his feet.

Danny tickled his bare belly and teased him till Robbie was squealing with laughter. "Did you do all this 'uh-oh' stuff all by yourself, Mr. Mister?"

Heaving a long, tired sigh, Heather followed the direction of Danny's curious gaze with her own. There were still standing puddles in the bathroom and down the hall, and the living room carpet made squishy noises as she walked across. The air was hot and damp, like the steam room down at The Pump. She'd soaked up as much as she could with bath towels and then wrung them outside, but that was hard, slow work made even tougher because she had to keep an eye on Robbie at the same time. Lord only knew what the squirt would get it in his head to do next.

"Okay. Here's the deal. I'm going to get the fans out of my truck and you'll need to let them run for a day or two. Then, I'm going to go under the house and see where the water is running. But before that, why don't we start vacuuming up as much as we can and pump it outside, okay?"

"Okay." Heather sighed a huge whoosh of relief. "When we're done, I need to run get some milk for Robbie's dinner. Would you mind if we did that while you check the crawl-s.p.a.ce? I hear there's a storm coming and I don't want to be out in it."