Natural Disaster

by Erin McLellan

  He didn’t want it to become a thing.

  The vulnerable way Luke had said, “We’re partners,” while filming that dumbass “Would You Rather” video ricocheted to the forefront of Guthrie’s brain. There obviously was a connection in Luke’s mind, and Guthrie didn’t feel quite cruel enough to disabuse him of that notion.

  “What do you want to know?” Guthrie asked. “One question.”

  The ornery grin Luke sent him said one thing very loud and clear—I won.

  “I know about your dad. Tell me about your mom. I love learning about peoples’ parents.”

  Was that interest in parents and families due to Luke not knowing his own? Guthrie wasn’t brave enough to ask.

  “My mom’s a bit of a hippie. Now that she’s pseudo-retired, she sells salsas, sauerkrauts, and relishes at the farmer’s market. She’s also a hardass. She built up a business on her own at a young age. You’d like her.”

  “What was her business?”

  A burst of static snapped through the HAM radio, interrupting them. Johanna’s voice followed. “Gale and Masters, where are you?”

  The storm chasers for KTTY usually used Chaser Chat on Facebook to keep everyone updated about their locations, but when that failed or someone lost service, they used good old-fashioned HAM.

  “We’re near Minco, not far from Braum’s dairy. Lost phone service and the radar won’t update. Where are you?”

  “Bridge Creek. Y’all should hold either in Minco or west of there. Find a place with service, though. It’s coming your way. You see any circulation yet?”

  Luke slowed down. The road was empty, a peculiar stillness over the fields surrounding them. There wasn’t even wind. They peered out the windows, trying to spot rotation with the naked eye.

  “No.”

  “Okay. Keep a lookout. Be prepared for chaser convergence. Tour companies running today.”

  Luke swore under his breath as Johanna said goodbye. Chaser convergence was the worst part of storm chasing. It made it way more dangerous.

  Guthrie helped Luke navigate closer to the town of Minco, keeping an eye on his phone. Within five minutes, he had service again, and a bit of an internal conundrum. He could direct Luke to Dairy Boy, where they could hang out in the restaurant’s parking lot until a storm produced. Or they could turn right in two miles and be on the far end of his mom’s land. Luke had wanted to know about her business. They could park right off the road in the pasture among the wood sorrel, prairie parsley, and wild indigo with a view of wind turbines in the distance. From that location, the wedding barn would barely be visible and cattle would be in the neighboring pasture. It would be easy to stop there but almost felt too intimate to Guthrie. He’d be inviting Luke into his life, into his past.

  He’d be taking Luke home.

  Guthrie studied the radar on his phone and rechecked Chaser Chat to see if anyone from the station had updates.

  “Where’s my next turn?” Luke asked. “This feels like the boonies.”

  A small laugh lodged in Guthrie’s throat. He’d grown up in these boonies. With his heart hammering in his ears, he said, “There’s an entrance for a pasture in about half a mile. It’ll be on your right. We should stop there and regroup.”

  “We’re stopping on someone’s private property? I mean, I’ve heard all about Oklahoma hospitality since moving here, but I’ve also heard about people’s gun collections. Don’t want to trespass, du—” He cut himself off abruptly, and Guthrie laughed. Luke said, “I didn’t finish the word so it doesn’t count.”

  “Fine. And we’ll be okay on this property. Trust me.”

  Guthrie shot off a text message to his mom, her ranch manager, and the head ranch hand to let them know he would be parking in the northern pasture for a while. He didn’t want to surprise any of them.

  He ordered them to keep an eye on the severe weather; though, they were longtime Okies, which meant they had a healthy appreciation for the fickle weather, but were also rather laissez-faire about the reality of it. Unless they could see the tornado in the yard, they weren’t going to shelter from it.

  The Rose Rock Ranch came into view, highlighted by a big elm tree on the corner of two properties. “The pasture gate is in about a hundred yards.”

  “You’re sure about this?” Luke asked.

  “As sure as death and taxes.”

  Guthrie pointed out the black and red metal gate. Luke signaled and rolled into the turnoff. Before Luke could turn the truck off, Guthrie unlocked his door and jumped out.

  “Hey!” he heard Luke holler as he slammed the door shut with a smile.

  Guthrie pulled out the key to the locked gate and within seconds, swung it open. He swiveled back to the truck. Luke was gaping at him through the windshield. Guthrie shrugged and gestured for Luke to drive through.

  They could park there in the pasture, out of the way of other chasers, until the weather picked up. At that point, they’d want to get back out on the road in case they needed a quick exit. But for now, he’d rather be here in one of his favorite places in all of Oklahoma than in the Dairy Boy parking lot.

  He’d rather be here with Luke in his favorite place in Oklahoma. Which was a red flag if there ever was one.

  Luke rolled down the window. “I’m assuming you didn’t pick that lock.”

  “Nope.”

  “Where should I park?”

  “Pull forward about fifty yards.”

  Luke opened his mouth to speak, his gaze intent. Intense.

  Guthrie beat him to it. “Go on. I’ll catch up.” Once Luke had parked, Guthrie jogged over. He leaned his forearms on the open driver’s side window. “Want to sit on the tailgate? We’ll be able to see the movement better.”

  Luke still sported a befuddled expression. “Sure. You have some questions to answer, though.”

  “If you want,” Guthrie said with a nod of concession.

  They rolled the windows down so they could hear the HAM radio but left the laptop in the front seat. Now that they had service, Guthrie really only needed his phone. He could check the various apps to keep up with the storm movements. Plus his eyes were the best tool he had.

  And his eyes were telling him that if a storm was going to develop here, it wasn’t coming soon. He attached the headset over his hat in case the station went to wall-to-wall coverage, but he didn’t yet connect it to his phone. He’d have fair warning before they got to that point.

  Luke lifted himself onto the tailgate, then leaned back on his elbows, thin daylight gilding his body. He raised his chin to the sky, his eyes shadowed by his sunglasses. His hair was pulled back with a rubber band, but one lone curl had escaped at his temple. Guthrie let his eyes drift over Luke’s body. Luke’s Adam’s apple was pronounced, a delicate knot in his throat that seemed to be crying out for someone to sink their teeth into it. His T-shirt clung tightly to his body, his biceps testing the give of the sleeves. He was also wearing shorts today. It was the first time Guthrie had seen him in shorts. Guthrie stepped forward and touched the knob of Luke’s knee.

  “What is that?” Guthrie asked. He traced a curious finger several inches up the ink until it disappeared under fabric. Then he snatched his finger back.

  “It’s a tattoo.”

  “Duh. What’s it of?”

  “A snake.” The snake was decorated with colorful folk art.

  “Hmmm. Where does it go?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” The flirtatious lilt in Luke’s voice made Guthrie wobbly. “You’re the one who needs to answer questions, Gale. Where are we?”

  Guthrie hopped up on the tailgate next to Luke and checked his weather app before answering.

  “This is the Rose Rock Ranch. It’s a guest ranch.”

  “I don’t know what that means, and it doesn’t answer the question of why you have a key to trespass into their pasture.”

  “It’s not trespassing if I have a key.”

  Luke waved a hand. “Semantics.”

&
nbsp; “A guest ranch is a dude ranch. Visitors come and ride horses, make campfires, go on hayrides, hike, fish, eat at a chuckwagon, pretend to work the cattle. It’s a vacation spot.”

  “People go on vacation here?” Luke said, surprise in his voice, and Guthrie laughed. Admittedly, it wasn’t much to look at from this location, just a flat field of scrubby wildflowers, red dirt, and sparse trees.

  “I know. Wild, huh? My mom owns it.”

  “Wait. We’re on your property right now?”

  “No, we’re on my mom’s. Do you see that barn down there?” Guthrie pointed to the old two-story red barn off in the distance. It was miniscule from this far away, but stark to the eye due to its color. “That barn is one of the premier locations for barn weddings and receptions in the state of Oklahoma. That’s where Mom makes the most money nowadays. Rose Rock has guest cabins and two bunkhouses, so it’s a good choice for wedding parties. Though, last time I was in one of those cabins, it was infested with fiddlebacks. I don’t know about you, but the last thing I’d want on my wedding night would be a fiddleback family under the fucking bed.” Guthrie snapped his mouth shut. He was rambling.

  Being out here sent him right back to high school. Hell, he’d once went parking with a boy in this pasture, kissing under the Milky Way until their mouths hurt. Maybe big open spaces lowered all his inhibitions, turned him back into a teenager, eager to please. He tipped his hat lower over his eyes and stared off in the opposite direction.

  “You grew up here?” Luke asked.

  “Yup.”

  “It’s kind of pretty. The land goes on and on. Hell, we must be able to see for miles from here. And are those horses?” Luke gestured to some animals too far away to see clearly.

  “Yup.”

  “We should add yup to your list with y’all.”

  Guthrie hid his smile and an eye roll with the bill of his ball cap.

  “So,” Luke said, drawing the word out in a way that made Guthrie’s anxiety tick higher. “This is your childhood home, and your mom owns the land. How does Slim Bridges fit in?”

  “He doesn’t.”

  “I watched an episode of his show. It’s truly horrible.”

  Guthrie didn’t hide the smile that elicited. He turned to face Luke, pulling one leg up onto the tailgate. “Slim and my mom never married, or dated even. Anyway, Slim was a big mess at the time. Young, broke, self-absorbed—well, that hasn’t changed, but you get the picture. He didn’t want to be involved, so he wasn’t until I was about five. Then he got his shit together, so to speak, and I started spending time with him. My mom didn’t have to let him back into my life. He’d signed over his rights, but she’s nice and I wanted to meet my cool, adventurous dad. He’d gotten his degree in meteorology around that time and had just started storm chasing.”

  “He took you storm chasing, didn’t he? When you were a kid.”

  Guthrie nodded and stared up at the clouds. The air was thick and damp. “My mom didn’t know. Slim told me not to tell her. I loved it. It felt like a game. He treats it like a game, but it isn’t. It’s dangerous. Too dangerous for a child to be out here. He called me a tornado whisperer. Said I could sense them coming.”

  “And you were storm chasing with him during the May 3rd tornado?”

  “Yeah, we followed it for about twenty miles. It was huge. You couldn’t see the beginning or end of it. My mom thought I’d spent the day at Slim’s house, miles away from the storm. I was ten.”

  Luke shook his head, his jaw tight. Guthrie was glad Luke was pissed. Thinking about it now, it pissed Guthrie off too. To endanger him like that when he was a child, then ask him to lie to his mom about it—it was unthinkable.

  A gust of wind lifted the hair at the base of Guthrie’s neck. He double-checked the radar and Chaser Chat. The sky was starting to darken.

  “How did you get started chasing as an adult?” Luke asked.

  “I wanted to be him, I guess. Now, I know he’s a dick, but back then, he was a friend. A mentor. I got my undergrad degree with a focus in broadcast meteorology. Was part of the storm-chasing team with the university. I’d also chase with Slim and his crew when possible, even if it meant traveling all over the Midwest while juggling classes. He was gaining notoriety at that time but didn’t have the show yet.”

  “And you wanted to be a professional storm chaser too?”

  “Basically. I figured I’d be a broadcast meteorologist and report from the storm.”

  “Kind of like what you’re doing now.”

  “Kind of.”

  “But you aren’t a broadcast meteorologist. You switched paths.”

  “I did.” Guthrie had changed his focus to broadcast journalism instead of meteorology when he realized he wanted nothing to do with storm chasing. Meteorology had been appealing because of the chasing. Without the chase, he’d found his heart wasn’t in it.

  Luke sat up, his abs clenching visibly through his tight shirt. He leaned in until they bumped shoulders. “I’m asking you why you switched, Guthrie.”

  “Two things happened almost simultaneously.” God, he hated thinking about that time in his life. He’d been dumb. Twenty-year-olds should not be asked to make long-lasting life plans. “It was my last year of undergrad. I was chasing with Slim and saw an EF5 completely decimate the outskirts of a small town in Kansas. We got too close to it, and it ripped the hood off the truck.” That familiar overwhelming sense of dread, that feeling of foreboding bloomed in his chest, taking his breath with it. “I’ve never been so scared. It flipped a switch in my head, I think. I had a panic attack the next two times I tried to go out chasing. It’s weird. It wasn’t the worst destruction I’d seen. No one died in that town, which was a miracle. But I thought I was going to die, and Slim was laughing. He was exhilarated. Which is fine. I get that it’s a thrill. I understand how exciting it can be. But the sound of his laugh in the face of my fear—it makes me sick. When I told him I didn’t want to do it anymore, he called me a pansy and said he didn’t raise a pansy. Never mind that he didn’t raise me at all. Anyway, we didn’t speak for about two years after that. Now we only speak when he wants something from me, which isn’t often. He’s a dick. Tornadoes excite him at the same time that people are losing their houses, their lives. He profits off destruction. Other storm chasers, even other reality TV storm chasers, at least have tact in the face of devastation. They understand. He doesn’t. He just pretends to.”

  “Do you still feel that way—with the panic attacks? Surely Debbie wouldn’t have put you out here if she knew it was distressing for you.” Luke touched Guthrie’s forearm. The heat from Luke’s hand melted through all of Guthrie’s defenses, and he desperately tried to reconstruct the walls around his heart.

  “I should have told her. I didn’t. She knew I didn’t want to storm chase, but not why.”

  “Have you felt anxious out there with me? Are you okay?”

  Guthrie bit his lip. “Some. Distance from that event has helped. It’s been years. Therapy has helped. I have anxiety meds, but can’t take them on chase days. They make me too groggy. Who knows what will happen if we actually see a tornado. I’m doing better than back then, though. After that, being in the truck, hell, even stormy weather, made me sick. It’s not that bad anymore.”

  Luke nodded. “Will you tell me if you’re not okay?”

  “Sure.”

  “Promise?”

  “I’ll try.”

  Luke’s hand slid up Guthrie’s arm slowly. Guthrie’s whole body caught fire as Luke’s palm tripped over his biceps and up his shoulder before stopping on the side of his neck.

  “What’re you doing?” Guthrie asked.

  “What’s the other thing?” Luke said, ignoring what Guthrie thought was a very pertinent question.

  “Huh?”

  “You said two things happened simultaneously that made you stop storm chasing.”

  “Oh.” Guthrie shook his head. “A breakup. My first big one.” His only big one.
r />   “Was he a storm chaser?”

  “Yup.” Guthrie tried not to think about Hoyt, about the manipulation and mismatched power dynamic in that relationship. That breakup had felt like a double betrayal—Slim making Hoyt choose between Guthrie and storm chasing, Hoyt choosing the chase without a second thought. It had fucked Guthrie up for a few years, and he hadn’t been serious about anyone since then. Too busy. Too distrustful. “Your turn. I think I’ve been open enough for the moment.”

  “You want some tit for tat? I could tell you a really personal story of mine.”

  “Yes. It’s only fair.”

  Luke snorted and smiled up at the sickly green sky. “I was almost adopted once. I was nine.”

  A new sort of dread gathered in Guthrie’s stomach. He got the sense that this story was personal in a different way than his own had been. “You don’t have to tell me about that stuff if you don’t want.”

  With a shrug, Luke said, “I don’t mind. So, yeah, I was nine and the Lakes wanted to adopt me. Can you imagine? My name would have been Luke Lake.” Luke seemed relaxed on the surface, but he’d stopped swinging his legs. “It was a foster to adopt situation. The Lakes had already adopted a toddler named Maisey, and I guess they decided they wanted an older boy. I don’t really remember how long I lived with them, but it felt like a long time. I’d always been in the revolving-door foster houses—you know the ones that cycle kids in and out?”

  “Sure.”

  “Anyway, I’d been with the Lakes for a while, and I’d let my guard down a bit. They told me they wanted to adopt me but that the process took some time. I loved them. Loved Maisey. Anyway, some time passes and then I’m in the living room with them and people from the state. It was explained to me that the Lakes were expecting twins, and I was being moved to a different foster home.”

  “Oh fuck, Luke.” Guthrie started to reach for him but stopped himself.

  “I try to rationalize it in my head, now, as an adult. Adding three children to your family in the space of a few months is a lot. I’m assuming the twins were a surprise. God, the Lakes weren’t much older than we are. I can justify it, kind of, but at the time it sucked. They chose me, then gave me back.”