Storm Watcher

by Snyder, Maria V.

Dad stopped, but he hadn’t answered Luke’s question. Should I ask again?

  “What I’m saying is everybody’s afraid of something.” Dad paused and rubbed his eyebrow with his fingertips. “Your mother hated driving on highways. She’d go twenty miles out of her way just to avoid a highway.”

  Mom had died on a backcountry road, surrounded by farm fields. Just a couple trees along the road, including the one she’d slammed into. Talk about odds. Luke squeezed his eyes shut, trying to hold back the tears that threatened.

  “Was Mom afraid of anything else?” Luke asked.

  There was a long pause before Dad said, “Yes. She was afraid of losing you and your brothers. She would dress you boys in super bright neon T-shirts when she took you to Hersheypark so she could spot you. She wouldn’t let you go on the bigger rides even though you were bored with the kiddie rides.” Dad laughed. “I had to sneak you on with me and your brothers, and tell her about it later.”

  “I remember Mom yelling at you for taking me on the SooperDooperLooper.”

  “Yeah, she was overprotective.” Dad pulled the car into their driveway and turned off the engine. He made no move to get out. “She loved you kids so much. In fact, the night…she died, she already had her keys in her hands and was heading out the door when you called.”

  Luke’s heart froze in mid-beat.

  Dad met Luke’s gaze. “Do you understand what I’m saying? She already planned to go and get you. It’s not your fault. I don’t blame you.”

  A thousand emotions slammed into Luke. His head spun. He stared at Dad as if seeing him for the first time. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

  “I couldn’t. It’s…taken me this long to sort it all out. It’s still very hard for me to talk about her.” He sucked in a deep breath. “And I thought you were just mad at me about the puppy and didn’t really believe I blamed you. Not until Mrs. Miller called.”

  “Oh.” All this was too much to take in.

  “I don’t blame you. It’s not your fault. Okay, buddy?”

  “Ah…okay.” He guessed. Dad had dumped a ton on him. Luke needed to sit down alone and unravel the tangle inside him.

  “Now that we have that settled, there’s still the other problem.”

  Confused, he asked, “The puppy?”

  “No, your fear of the weather.”

  “Oh.”

  “I told Mrs. Miller that your fear is just a stage. That I didn’t have the money for some fancy doctor to tell me that you’ll grow out of it.”

  “But it’s been years, Dad.”

  “Do you remember when you were convinced a Tyrannosaurus rex hid under your bed?”

  Luke couldn’t forget the nightmares of being chased through the woods by the monster. Feeling the ground shake as the beast’s thundering feet drew closer, looking back to see T. rex’s twelve-inch-long, serrated teeth gleaming in the moonlight.

  “Remember how I went dinosaur hunting every night to convince you he wasn’t there, and we rigged up an under-the-bed light to keep him away?”

  Luke smiled. Dad had worn a goofy hat and slung a water rifle over his shoulder. He called himself Great Bwana as he crept around the room and dived under the bed skirt with the rifle in his hands.

  “Eventually you grew out of it and didn’t need me to check your room. This is a stage, too. It’s just taking longer.” Dad clapped him on the shoulder. “But no more days off, buddy. I’ll drive you to school if the weather’s bad. Okay?”

  Luke nodded, not sure what to say. Just the thought of Dad driving in the rain scared him. But Dad made a good point. His fear could be a stage. Although Mrs. Miller had also made sense. The tangle inside him grew tighter.

  And the knowledge that Luke still checked under his bed for the T. rex lay heavily on him.

  Rain pelted the windows, and the panes shook with each blast of wind. Luke read his history book, but the words didn’t make sense. Thunder rumbled. He clutched the edge of his desk with sweaty hands. Each flash of lightning sent a pulse of fear through his body.

  Finally Luke asked Mr. DeWire if he could be excused. He snatched the hall pass and bolted into the hallway.

  Now what? The safest place is an interior room without windows.

  Luke found a storage closet, slipped inside, and closed the door. As the storm passed over the school, he sweated it out. He wished Dad had agreed to send him to talk to a counselor or shrink. Would Mrs. Miller be able to help without Dad’s permission? He couldn’t keep this up. His stomach hurt all the time, and he dreaded watching the Weather Channel. Spring in Pennsylvania meant every day had a chance for a thunderstorm.

  When the bell rang, Luke had to get to his next class or be marked late. He eased open the door and joined the flow of students. Hopefully no one spotted him. Mr. DeWire said nothing about his long absence from class when Luke returned the hall pass. Luke wondered if Mrs. Miller had talked to his teachers about his SWP.

  At the end of the day, Megan cornered him. “I saw you sneaking out of that closet.”

  He sighed. “Did anyone else see me?”

  “I don’t know. But, Luke, you need to talk to someone.” She gestured at him. “You’re a mess. Convince your dad.”

  Megan was right. Deep down Luke agreed. Every night he planned to ask Dad, and every night he chickened out.

  After hiding in the storage closet for the third time that March, Luke decided to talk to Mrs. Miller again. Maybe she could convince Dad.

  “I’ve tried,” Mrs. Miller said when he visited her after school. “Your father is convinced your fears are temporary.”

  Luke slouched in the chair. His heart-thumping panic didn’t feel temporary.

  What am I going do? Save money and hire my own shrink?

  “Is there any other way?” he asked. “Another guidance counselor?”

  She leaned back and tapped a pencil on his file. “There’s a counselor at the high school. I’ve discussed your phobia with him. Not by name,” she added quickly. “He has experience with this type of problem. Would you like to talk to him?”

  Would he?

  What if the guy couldn’t help? What if he made it worse? What if someone at school found out and teased him?

  Luke swallowed all those questions back down into his churning stomach.

  “Sure.”

  Hershey High School was just down the road from the middle school. Standing outside the main doors, Luke studied the map Mrs. Miller had given him. Mr. Hedge’s office looked easy to find. Luke eyed the few high schoolers leaving for the day. The guys looked…big and brawny and mean.

  A couple had mustaches, and one had a full beard. Maybe he should just go. If Jacob and Scott caught him here…

  No. He pushed all those thoughts away. Determined, Luke followed the directions and knocked on Mr. Hedge’s door.

  “Come in,” a man called.

  Luke entered a small neat office.

  Mr. Hedge stood and shook his hand. “Have a seat, Luke.”

  Perching on the edge of the chair with his backpack on his lap, Luke studied Mr. Hedge as the counselor settled behind the desk. Mr. Hedge wore a pink polo shirt, khaki pants, and thick round eyeglasses. Only a thin strip of graying hair stretched from ear to ear. Mr. Hedge didn’t match Luke’s vision of a shrink at all. He’d expected an old guy with a bow tie and suspenders.

  “I’ve read through your files and Mrs. Miller’s comments.” Mr. Hedge flipped a few pages over. “Now I could spout some psychobabble and promise you I can cure you, but the truth is I can’t do anything.”

  Luke’s heart sank.

  “But you can,” Mr. Hedge said.

  Confused, Luke peered at the counselor.

  “To get over your fears, you’re going to have to do all the work. Yo
u’re going to dig deep inside you and expose things that you don’t want to. Voice those inner thoughts no matter how nasty and evil. I will promise you that what you say in this room goes no further. You won’t get into trouble.” He lowered his voice. “You can even curse in here. I do. See that?” He pointed to two red scabs on the tip of his finger. “A staple went right through. Oh man, lots of cursing ensued, believe me.”

  Luke smiled.

  “Do you think you can do that?”

  “Curse or staple my finger?” Luke asked.

  Mr. Hedge laughed. “Ah, a joker. I like. So do you think you can talk to me?”

  Could he? If he didn’t want to spend another storm shaking and panting like a frightened dog, he had to do something. “Yes.”

  “Great! There’s something I want to talk about right now.”

  Uh-oh. Luke hugged his backpack to his chest, bracing for the questions.

  “I want to know all about your science fair project. You built weather instruments that worked. How cool is that?”

  Talking to Mr. Hedge wasn’t as bad as Luke had thought. He didn’t know how discussing his science project would help him, but doing something felt better than doing nothing.

  Luke met with Mr. Hedge twice a week, then headed over to Willajean’s to help with the training.

  “No, Lightning. Come on. Pay attention,” Luke yelled in frustration as the white dog wandered off the course yet again.

  Megan and Willajean worked Lance nearby. Megan was training him in air scenting. Lightning followed a person’s scent left on the ground, but Lance sniffed the air.

  “Dogs see the world through their noses,” Megan had explained. “They have one million scent receptors per nostril. And did you know, people shed about forty thousand dead skin cells a minute? That’s so gross, but that’s what Lance is smelling – those skin cells when they’re blown downwind from the person.”

  Luke rubbed his fingers along his arm. Losing forty thousand cells a minute sounded like he shouldn’t have any skin left at all. Really gross.

  “Nooooo.” Luke groaned as Lightning lay down in the middle of the course again, ignoring him.

  “Don’t worry, she’ll straighten out,” Willajean said. “She’s ten months old and in her doggy adolescence. Typical teenager, thinks she knows everything.” Willajean shot Megan a look. “Give her another year.”

  “Another year,” Luke cried. He’d hoped to enter Lightning into an AKC junior tracking test in the fall. Waiting until next April would take forever.

  Willajean laughed. “That’s not bad. I’m still waiting for Alayna to straighten out.”

  “All Alayna wants to straighten is her hair,” Megan said.

  Luke covered a laugh. Alayna claimed to have too much homework to help in the afternoons. He didn’t miss her at all, and he hoped she’d find another job this summer. Maybe Jacob and Scott could get her a job at Hersheypark. That’d be sweet.

  Luke biked over to the high school. He’d been confiding in Mr. Hedge about his guilt over Mom’s death. Strange they hadn’t been talking too much about his fear, but he guessed they’d get to that eventually. And being allowed to say anything no matter how stupid – like Scott grossing him out by chewing with his mouth open – or illogical – like what’d he do if he could con-trol the weather, eased the tight knots inside him. Odd.

  Luke didn’t bother to knock before entering Mr. Hedge’s office. Big mistake. Two other students sat in front of the counselor’s desk.

  “Sorry,” Luke said, automatically backing out. But he stopped as Jacob and Scott turned to look at him.

  CHAPTER 16

  Guys Don’t Chat

  What are Jacob and Scott doing here? Did Mr. Hedge rat me out?

  His brothers looked serious, but not pissed off. At least, not yet. Uncertain what to do, Luke stayed on the threshold, clutching the doorknob.

  “This isn’t an ambush, Luke,” Mr. Hedge said. “Come on in.”

  Luke stepped inside. The air pressed on him. Another chair had been placed next to the desk. Luke sat, but kept an eye on his brothers.

  “Jacob and Scott have been talking to me for the last three months.”

  Luke’s attention snapped to Mr. Hedge. Not what he’d expected. About Mom? “But I thought…” That they were okay.

  “Losing a parent is a life-changing event for every-one. No one is immune. Although everyone deals with it differently.” Mr. Hedge gave Scott a tight smile.

  “Hey, anyone could have set fire to the chem lab,” Scott said. “What I want to know is, who’s the idiot who thought giving a bunch of teenagers flammable chemicals and Bunsen burners is a good idea? It was just a matter of time.”

  “Uh-huh. Make sure you tell that to your future parole officer,” Mr. Hedge teased.

  “And don’t forget to include that you’re a graduate of Mr. Hedge’s twelve-step program,” Jacob said.

  “Twelve steps?” Mr. Hedge’s bushy eyebrows spiked over his glasses.

  “Yeah, it’s twelve steps from here to the bathroom. It’s where we go to flush all that touchy-feely crap you feed us down the toilet.” Jacob mimed putting his finger in his mouth.

  “Touché.” The counselor appeared impressed.

  “Uh… What’s this have to do with me?” Luke asked.

  “Sorry, Luke. Your brothers have a tendency to use humor and sarcasm to avoid difficult subjects. And since they wanted to talk to you, I’ll go powder my nose.” Mr. Hedge headed for the door, but before he left he pointed two fingers at the twins. “No jokes, got it?”

  They nodded.

  “Good.” He closed the door behind him.

  Luke grabbed the chair’s arms and waited for…what? He had no idea. But it couldn’t be good. At least Mr. Hedge hadn’t ratted him out. Jacob and Scott did that silent twin communication thing.

  Finally, Jacob said, “You were right, Luke. We blamed you for Mom’s death.”

  He dug his fingernails into the fabric. How could being right feel so awful?

  “You were Mom’s favorite. She’d do anything for you, so…yeah, we blamed you,” Scott said.

  Luke opened his mouth to protest.

  Jacob held up his hands. “Don’t. We know. We have each other. Dad always worked late. Mom was all you had.”

  “And Mom was just being Mom.” Scott played with the zipper on his jacket.

  “Yeah, she would have done the same thing for us. Or Dad. Heck, she’d even risk herself for one of the dogs,” Jacob added.

  True. Luke remembered Mom tackling Ranger when he was a pup. He’d been about to dash into the busy street, and Mom dived for him, scraping her knees and elbows. They’d been a bloody mess.

  “So we’ve been hashing it out with Hedge,” Scott said. He met Luke’s gaze. “And we’ve been real jerks to you. Sorry, Luke. We know it wasn’t your fault.”

  Stunned, Luke studied his brothers. Were they really his brothers, or had aliens taken over their bodies? At this point it was hard to tell.

  “We’re serious, Luke,” Jacob said. “Those thoughts are gone.”

  “Along with everything you learned today,” Scott quipped.

  “Excuse me? Who has a ninety-two average? Not you.” Jacob poked Scott’s arm.

  Ah. Not aliens. Too bad. It would have explained a lot. Luke smiled.

  When Mr. Hedge returned, Jacob and Scott immediately stopped picking on each other. Scott put a finger to his lips, signaling Luke to keep quiet about the jokes.

  “Did you boys have a nice chat?” the counselor asked.

  Jacob rolled his eyes. “Guys don’t chat. We took care of business.”

  “Business?” Scott huffed. “What are you? One of those Mafia guys now?”

  Mr. Hedge
jumped in before they could start flinging insults again. “You two can go.”

  Jacob slung his backpack over his shoulder. “You might want to hang out with Hedge, Luke. He’s not bad for an old dude.”

  “Yeah, he doesn’t smell like an old man at all. I think it’s because the stink of his hemorrhoid cream covers the rot.”

  “Always a pleasure…” Mr. Hedge shooed the twins out the door. Then he settled behind his desk. “Your brothers wanted to set the record straight so to speak. What do you think?”

  “I don’t know.” Luke relaxed his death grip on the armchair. He thought about what his brothers had said, and the comments Dad had made that day in the car. Did it change anything inside? “My dad, Jacob, and Scott all told me they don’t blame me, but I blame me.”

  And once he started talking, Luke couldn’t stop the rush of words. “People have been telling me it’s not my fault since the accident. And I know I didn’t make that particular bolt of lightning strike Mom’s minivan. I didn’t lose control of the car. I’m not the tree she ran into. But she was out there for me, because she knew I’d be scared.”

  “What if you had called her and told her to stay home?” Mr. Hedge asked.

  “She would have come anyway, and it still would be my fault.”

  “Okay, so it’s your fault. Does it change anything?”

  “No.”

  “You still feel miserable, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll agree that you were the reason she was out there. But you’re not the reason she died. It was her choice to be out there – her choice to be a good mom. Did she know it was dangerous to be out during a thunderstorm?”

  “Yes, I’d told her a million times!”

  “And she knew you were safer inside?”

  “Yes, but I was scared. She knew that.”