Into the Storm

by Susan Fanetti

  “I’m taking them to the mall in Little Rock, so they can buy gifts for family. They’ve been saving up a little fund since summer.”

  Little Rock was about an hour away. “I can do that. Then I’ll take them to lunch and bring them back around, say, three. Okay?”

  “Three sharp.”

  Show nodded, holding back his grin. He’d won—and it hadn’t been half as difficult as he’d expected. Holly had softened a little.

  She opened the door. “Girls, I’ve got a Christmas surprise for you!” She stepped to the side and let Show into the apartment.

  It looked a lot better than the last time he was here. It wasn’t just the furniture. They’d made it a home in the past few months. He noticed that breakfast was over; the syrupy plates from pancakes were still on the counter. Iris was sitting across the apartment on their old couch, watching television. Enrapt in Frosty the Snowman, she hadn’t acknowledged her mom’s announcement. Show walked toward the couch. “Hey, baby flower.”

  At his voice, her head jerked toward him. “Daddy? DADDY!” She jumped up and ran to him. He squatted so he could hug her as she crashed into him. “You came back! Momma said you wouldn’t come back but I knew you would! Can you stay?”

  “No, girlie. Sorry.” She started to pout. “But I’m here for a little while, and your mom said I can take you shopping and to lunch. Sound good?”

  She nodded. “Yeah. I want to have a vanilla shake.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rosie coming down the hall, her mother behind her. It looked like Holly was almost pushing her, and Rosie did not look pleased about it. He unwound Iris and stood.

  “Hey, Rosie.”

  “It’s Rose, Dad.”

  That hurt, but he nodded. “Sorry. Rose. You good?”

  She shrugged. “I guess.”

  “I’m glad to see you. You look good. Arm heal up alright?”

  She shrugged again. Okay. He’d let her be.

  Holly spoke up then. “Her arm’s fine. And she sang last night at the Christmas Chorale. Had a solo.”

  Show turned back to Rosie—Rose. “That’s great, girl. Would’ve loved to see it.

  Again, a shrug. Show decided that he would enjoy her company, no matter how sullen. He wondered how much of Rose’s attitude had come from Holly sharing things she shouldn’t. If that’s what it was, he wondered why Iris had been immune. Or had Holly only shared her feelings with Rose, Rose being older? Either way, he had to find a way to undo the damage.

  He put his arm around Rose’s resistant shoulders and gave her a quick squeeze. “Okay, my flowers, get your coats. We’ve got shopping to do.”

  ~oOo~

  Show hated malls. He’d only been to one other, the big one in Springfield, and he’d only gone there rarely. This one in Little Rock was bigger and extremely crowded on the Saturday before Christmas. But Iris was having a great time, talking virtually nonstop about school and ballet lessons—which were new. She’d filled in for Rosie—Rose—too, talking about choir and horseback riding and a boy she liked (which got her a punch from her big sister). Rose herself stayed quiet, but Show thought he saw a little thaw as the morning aged into noon—the occasional start of a smile at something he said, or simply a relaxing of her tense posture.

  She’d spoken only rarely so far. The most she’d said was when they’d gotten out of his truck. His kutte was folded on the back of the bench seat, and Iris had jostled it as she’d slid out behind him. When Show picked it up and pulled it out, intending to refold it and put it in his truck box, Rose had said, “Please don’t wear your kutte, Dad.”

  She’d sounded worried. But he’d smiled and put it away. “Don’t worry, girl. I don’t show colors out of town unless I’m on club business or on my bike. Remember?”

  Her response to that was a shrug, but she looked relieved. Looked like Holly had infected Rosie with her fear and loathing of the club. He wanted to blame her for that, but he couldn’t. They’d been targeted because of the Horde. Even if she hadn’t hated the club before, how else would she feel after that?

  For the most part, he talked with Iris and followed both girls through the infuriating crush of people while they did their shopping. They were organized—both had lists, and both were keeping good track of the money they had to spend. Show considered offering to buy their gifts or at least augment their funds, but he decided against it. It smacked of bribery, and he wanted his girls back on true terms.

  He did, however, intend to give them Christmas gifts himself. They were having lunch at a 50s-themed restaurant in a corner of the mall, where Iris squealed with glee when she learned that not only did she get a vanilla shake with a mountain of whipped cream and two cherries, but she also got the metal cup in which the shake was mixed, which held another whole shake. Show laughed at her delight and her chatter, feeling how much he’d missed her open enthusiasm for everything, her easy trust and bright humor. She was a helluva kid. Rose had warmed up some, enough to order lunch and ask him to ask the waitress if she could substitute salad for fries. She ate mostly in silence, but Iris was talking enough for everyone, anyway. And a couple of times, he met Rose’s eyes, and he thought she might have smiled. A little.

  When the waitress brought the check and Show was rifling through bills in his wallet—Iris reached out and grabbed the chain, and he remembered that she had often done that—Show asked, “Is there anything you really, really want for Christmas but don’t think you can have?”

  Iris nodded right away. Rose looked at him suspiciously.

  Show leaned toward Iris. “What is it, baby flower, and why don’t you think you can have it?”

  “At the toy store. It’s a Barbie House. Mom says it’s too big and expensive.”

  “Did you ask Santa?” Rosie made a disgusted noise at that.

  Iris rolled her eyes. “Daddy. There’s no Santa. Duh!” That was news to Show. He wondered when that had happened.

  He turned to Rosie. “Rosie—er—Rose?”

  She shook her head.

  Frustrated, Show sighed. He reached across the table and took her hand, which was lying limply near her half-full plate. Glaring at him, she tried to snatch it back, but he held. “Come on, girl. Come on,” he murmured.

  She blinked rapidly, and Show realized she was on the verge of tears. Rosie had always been quick to tears, but she was trying hard to hold these back. He didn’t want her to be embarrassed, but he didn’t know what to do. So he was still, his hand clasping hers. Then he felt her slender fingers wrap around his thumb.

  “I want you and Daisy and our house and my old friends.”

  “Ah, Rosie. I’m so sorry, flower.” He kissed Iris on the cheek, then got up, keeping hold of Rosie’s hand, and sat down in the other side of the booth with her. He pulled her close.

  “Don’t, Daddy. Please!” She pushed at his chest, trying to free herself, but he held tight, and then, after more struggle, she relaxed completely, and he felt her shoulders shake as she cried.

  Iris looked on, suddenly somber. “She gets sad a lot. She cries at night.”

  Rosie turned on her sister, “Iris! Shut up, barf face!”

  “What? You said not to tell Momma. And you’re not supposed to call me that.”

  Show took his older daughter’s chin in his hand. “I love you, Rose. I’m sorry that everything got so bad. I’m sorry your life is so different. And God, I’m sorry we don’t have Daze with us. But you have me. I know I can’t be around much. But you will always have me. As long as I draw breath on this earth, you cannot lose me.” He looked at Iris and winked at her. “You both have me.”

  Turning back to Rose, he said, “I’m gonna talk to your mom, and I’m gonna come down and see you both as much as I can. And you call me whenever you want. You have me.”

  She sniffled and studied him for a long time. Then she nodded. “That’s all I want, then.” The corner of her mouth lifted in a shy little grin. “But I did like those boots I was looking at before.”
>
  He laughed and hugged her hard. “Let me text your mom, make sure she’s okay with those boots”—he looked over at Iris again—“and that Barbie thing, and then let’s finish up our shopping and get you back.”

  He left a 100% tip, in honor of the holiday and the brilliant success of the meal, and he texted Holly when they were back in the mall. The ellipses indicating that she was writing a return text lingered for a very long time, but then he got one word back. Fine.

  He was sure it was a chick “fine,” but he did not give a good goddamn.

  ~oOo~

  Though the forecast had called for no worse weather than clouds, when they got back to the truck, the sky was fat with impending snow. Shit. He checked the weather, and they were still saying only an inch or two, and not until evening, so he got his kutte and a tarp and some bungees out of the truck box and secured the girls’ purchases and gifts. Putting his kutte on the back of the seat again, he made sure the girls were buckled up tight and headed back to Holly’s.

  He got them home without incident, the sky still no more than threatening. Holly was civil enough, rolling her eyes at what he’d bought them, but being sufficiently gracious. She even pulled him back to her own bedroom to talk in privacy, and she agreed that he could come down once a month. She wouldn’t agree to overnights, but she said “not yet.”

  He took the deal. She held out her hand and they shook on it. While he held her hand, he bent down and kissed her cheek. She flinched as if he’d gone in to slap her, but he didn’t regret his gesture. They had been married a long time. They’d loved each other once.

  Both girls hugged him hard and cried, but he was able to tell them he’d see them in a few weeks. They stood in the breezeway and watched him pull away. He waited until they were out of sight, and then he wiped his eyes.

  He’d intended to spend the night in the motel and head back first thing, but now he was worried that the weather would turn even worse, and he’d be trapped in this crappy town, in a cheap motel, alone on Christmas, leaving Shannon also alone on Christmas. Breaking his word. So he decided to drive through, hoping to beat the storm. If he really moved, and avoided traffic, there was a chance he could be back before midnight. His gear was already in the truck box; he didn’t like to leave his shit lying around cheap-ass motels. So he put some George Strait on the stereo, pulled onto the interstate, and put the hammer down. Home.

  ~oOo~

  Traffic was light, but the weather went nasty about halfway into the drive, when the darkness was complete. He was driving into the storm, not away from it. He’d reduced his speed and turned off the stereo, focusing keenly on the road. He was committed now. He was going home. He was having Christmas with Shannon. With the woman he…loved. He did. He loved her. In the back of his head he’d known it for awhile, he thought. Too soon for him to say it—definitely too soon for her to hear it, he knew—but it was true.

  About 150 miles from Signal Bend, the snow still heavy and coming straight at the windshield in chunky flakes, the highway surface white, slushy, and thick, Show had reduced his speed to what felt like a crawl. But he had the highway to himself for the most part, especially on his side. Every now and then a vehicle, usually a semi, passed by on the other side, but they were not his concern. Despite the tension of the drive, or perhaps because of it, he was starting to get sleepy. Not bad yet, but the idea that he was going to have to pull over and find a bed, whether he wanted to or not, had crossed his consciousness.

  He was considering the pros and cons of pulling off at the next exit when his windshield filled with brilliant, blinding white light and the world filled with sound. Instinctively, he turned the wheel. The truck skidded and spun, and then there was a moment of weightlessness.

  And then there was nothing.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Shannon hadn’t heard from Show all day. Not since yesterday morning, in fact. He’d said he’d be home by dark on Christmas Eve, and dark was almost three hours past. He wasn’t answering his phone, either. But the weather was crappy, and cell reception was bad, and she didn’t know if she was overreacting or not. She didn’t know what to do.

  There was also a tiny voice in her head whispering that he’d gone to see his ex-wife, with whom he had children. Maybe there was another reason he wasn’t back home with her. But no, that was crazy. Everything he’d told her about Holly indicated that he was glad to be past her. Well, almost everything. He missed his girls, and they were with their mom. And Show was a family man. And he’d only been with Shannon as a couple for a few weeks.

  She shook her head. No. Crazy.

  But where was he? Was he hurt? Was he stranded? She was finally working up the courage to call Isaac and risk being exposed as clingy—or to be told that Show was done with her. She’d picked up and put down her phone three times. But she was being absurd. Weak. She paced the parlor a few more times, completely alone in the inn, on Christmas Eve, when she saw headlights coming down the drive. At last! She grabbed her sweater and ran out on the porch to meet Show.

  But it wasn’t Show’s truck. She knew that, even in the dark, right away. The lights were different. It was Isaac. He got out of the truck and crossed quickly to her.

  “You need to come with me, Shannon. Lilli’s gonna run things for you here.”

  Her stomach turned to ice. “What happened to him?”

  “Semi took him out in the storm, south of St. Louis. He was airlifted to Barnes Hospital.”

  Shannon headed straight for Isaac’s truck. He caught her arm.

  “You’re gonna need a warmer coat, sweetheart. And shoes. Do you need a purse?”

  She stared at her bare feet, turning blue on the cold surface of the porch floor. Isaac pulled her inside. “Come on, Shannon. Get it together.”

  Get it together. Why couldn’t she think? Her brain had turned into a void, somehow. A void that was filling with chaos. She was desperately scared—so scared that everything inside her wanted to run. But she couldn’t.

  Isaac shook her. “Shannon!” He took her arm and pulled her toward her apartment. “Where’s your coat, your boots? Come on, girl. We gotta get moving.”

  Her brain kicked back into gear when they were standing in her apartment. She didn’t like Isaac in here. She didn’t know why. She liked Isaac just fine. But this was her space. She only liked Show in here. She pulled on her boots and grabbed her warm hooded parka, checking to make sure her gloves were in the pockets. Then she hooked her purse over her arm and followed Isaac out.

  As he was helping her into the truck, she asked, “How bad?”

  “Bad.” His face was grim. “We’ll talk on the way.”

  ~oOo~

  Shannon sat and stared out the windshield, working her head through what Isaac had told her. A semi had crossed the median in the storm the night before and hit Show almost head-on. The impact had sent him through the windshield. Show never wore a seatbelt. He said he hated being cooped up in metal enough as it was without strapping himself into it. His injuries were bad; that’s all the detail about them Isaac had.

  But it had apparently been a blessing that he’d been thrown clear of the truck, which had ended up in a crumpled heap fifty feet below the highway.

  It had taken so long to track anybody down for him because the emergency contact card he carried in his wallet listed Holly and her Arkansas information. Both Isaac and Shannon had found that surprising, but it was true. The state troopers had not been able to reach Holly. When, hours later, one of the troopers had found Show’s kutte in the remains of his truck, they’d contacted Sheriff Tyler, who’d contacted Isaac.

  So Show had spent Christmas Eve alone in the hospital.

  “Shannon.”

  She turned at Isaac’s voice. He glanced over to meet her eyes, then returned to watch the road. The roads were clear, but there were icy patches.

  “I guess you know Show’s had to live through more than most.”

  “Yeah. He told me. It’s terrible.”

>   He shook his head. “Not my point.”

  “Which is?” She had a feeling she knew where he was going. She tried to find some outrage with which to meet it, but she was too worried.

  “I love him more than anybody but my girls. He’s been my best friend for twenty-five years. He’s a better man than any other I’ve ever known. Much better than me. And he’s had all the hurt he should ever have. More. I like what I see in him since he started up with you, but it worries me, too.”

  “Why?”

  “I like you, Shannon. I like you a lot. But there’s somethin’ not straight about you. I don’t know what it is, and I’m not asking you to tell me. But I don’t want it wrapping around Show’s spokes, gettin’ him hurt. The closer you get, the harder that’s gonna be for him.”

  Her stuff had nothing to do with Show, nothing to do with how she felt about him. It was her past, only hers. She might tell him one day; she didn’t know. But she certainly wasn’t going to tell Isaac. Still, she couldn’t feel pissed at him for bringing it up. He loved Show. He was looking out for him, and she found it touching, even now.

  “If you feel that way, why are you bringing me to see him?”

  He chuckled. “Because he’ll want to see you. Right now, all I care about is what’ll help him right now. I guess I’m saying stick with him now, then fish or cut bait if—when—when he pulls through.” He turned to her again, his look dark. “And don’t piss me off.”

  She nodded. She didn’t know what to say.

  ~oOo~

  They had some trouble getting anybody in the hospital to talk to them about Show. Isaac had been a hair’s breadth from out of control before a new doctor, a young Asian man, stepped between him and the latest person giving them the run-around and said he’d handle it from there.

  “You’re here for Robert Ryan?”

  Isaac barked, “Yes!” and Shannon saw that his clenched fists were going white.