Tempest Rising: Episode 1 (Rising Storm)

by Julie Kenner

  Mallory had been putting away the vegetables, but now she turned back to gape at her sister. Mentioning their grandparents really wasn’t done, especially around Hector.

  For a second, Mallory almost wished Hector was home so he could see that his little princess was really Princess Bitch.

  At the sink, Joanne froze while rinsing a head of lettuce, then said very slowly, “You know my father doesn’t speak to me since I married your dad.”

  “He shouldn’t punish you for who you married.”

  “I couldn’t agree more.”

  “Grandma still comes by.”

  Joanne drew a deep breath. “But she’s not going to give me any money.”

  “Then I’ll ask Daddy. He’ll give it to me.”

  Joanne spun around, the head of lettuce still in her hands. “Dakota, don’t you ask that. Your father needs every—oh!”

  The back door slammed open and Mallory jumped as Hector strode in, stinking so much of beer she could smell it from all the way at the table.

  “Just now getting dinner on the table? Christ, Jo. Can’t you do anything right?”

  Mallory cringed, but the princess seemed oblivious that Hector was being such an ass.

  “Daddy, I need money for rent. Just an extra hundred. I’m just a little short.”

  “’Course baby. Can’t let you fall behind.”

  She eased up against him and kissed his cheek, making Mallory want to gag. “Thanks, Daddy.”

  “Hector…I don’t think…”

  “Is it my job to provide for this family?” he snapped at Joanne, who seemed to be shrinking right in front of Mallory.

  Joanne kept her eyes down, focusing on the ground beef. “Yes.”

  “Is it your job to serve up the food that my earnings buy?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then until you get your job handled, don’t be telling me my job. Okay?”

  Joanne nodded. “Okay.”

  And suddenly Hector was all smiles. He crossed to Joanne, kissed her cheek, then smacked her lightly on the bottom. “That’s my girl.” He took a deep breath. “Well, it may be late, but it smells damn good.”

  And then her mom turned to him and actually smiled. And it was warm and genuine and happy.

  Mallory didn’t get it.

  Not any of it.

  Not her parents. Not marriage. Not one little bit.

  * * * *

  From the outside, the Salt house looked the same as it always did. A Victorian charmer a few blocks off the square that had been ramshackle back in the day, but that Celeste and Travis had lovingly restored. Mostly with Celeste’s elbow grease and Travis’s checkbook. Celeste had spent countless hours sanding floors, stripping wallpaper, priming and painting. She’d spent a year with grout under her nails and callouses on her knees. But it had been worth it.

  The house had been a battered mess when they’d purchased it before Sara Jane was born. But they’d transformed it from an eyesore into a home that was always featured in the Christmas Tour of Lights.

  The lawn was tidy, the flowers bright. Even the picket fence had been recently repainted.

  So there wasn’t a thing about the house to suggest that anything was wrong inside.

  Celeste was grateful for that small favor. At least her daughters had enjoyed a few extra minutes of blissful ignorance before the truth fell into their laps.

  And fall it had.

  They’d arrived within minutes of each other, and now they were seated at the round dining table with Celeste and Travis, both of them in the chairs they’d claimed when they were just toddlers. With one chair disturbingly empty.

  Both girls had a tall glass of homemade lemonade with a slice of strawberry, a shared favorite from childhood, but neither had touched it once Travis had delivered the blow.

  Thank God it had been Travis who’d told them. Celeste was seeing a side of him she hadn’t seen in a long time. A strength and a purpose. A sense of being with the family. And though she was grateful, it saddened her to know that it took tragedy to restore that closeness she’d been missing lately.

  She reached over and squeezed Lacey’s hand. Her sweet baby girl looked like she’d just been through a war. “Honey?”

  Lacey just lifted her shoulders. “I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe he’s gone.”

  “I just talked to him on Wednesday,” Sara Jane said, her voice raw from crying.

  “And Ginny’s really pregnant?”

  Travis nodded, then reached for and took Celeste’s hand. “Your mom and I think it’s a miracle. A gift from God. We never thought—” He bowed his head, his words echoing what was in Celeste’s heart. “We never dreamed.”

  “I didn’t even know they’d started dating,” Lacey said. “I mean, Ginny’s been like a sister.”

  “I can’t believe he didn’t say anything.”

  “Ginny says they were going to tell us when they got here—that they were dating,” Celeste clarified. “Ginny just learned about the baby, too.”

  “Still, it’s weird, right?” Lacey said. “I mean, they’ve always just been buds.”

  “That’s the best kind of relationship.” Celeste took Travis’s hand in her own. “Friends first, then lovers. It makes for strength in a relationship, and in a family. Isn’t that right?”

  “That’s right.” Travis squeezed her hand, then looked at the three of them in turn. “We’re going to get through this, ladies. We’re going to be strong together. As a family.”

  Chapter Seven

  Pushing Up Daisies had been a Storm establishment for close to fifty years and had occupied the limestone and brick building on the corner of Main Street and Pecan since Hedda Garten had opened the store after her husband was killed in Vietnam.

  Despite the name, the store did weddings and parties at least as much as they did funerals.

  Today, however, it was the latter that was on everybody’s mind.

  The store opened at one on Sundays, as did most of the Storm establishments on the square. The hours allowed for family and church time, while still playing to the economic realities of Hill Country tourism. In other words, most folks driving the Texas Hill Country did so on the weekends. Storm was a bit farther from both San Antonio and Austin than the more common Hill Country destinations like Fredericksburg, but it still got its share of weekend shoppers. And in the economy of small-town tourism, keeping stores open when customers were present was a big part of the game.

  Travis had asked Celeste if she could go alone to talk to Kristin Douglas, who not only planned parties but helped the bereaved choose the proper arrangements. And she’d said yes, because this was something that had to be done, and she couldn’t keep clinging to him. He could keep the pharmacy closed for a while, but the bottom line was that he had to be there to fill prescriptions. People needed him, not just her. And Celeste tried very hard not to be a selfish woman.

  But then they’d arrived downtown and had parked in front of Prost Pharmacy, just as they had so many times when she joined Travis at work.

  It was an easy walk. She’d made it a hundred times.

  Up Pecan and then across the street to the florist, sometimes just because she wanted to pop in and see Travis, and then get some fresh flowers to take home.

  But today, her feet wouldn’t move. At least not until he took her hand and fell in step beside her. “Why don’t I go with you after all?” he’d said quietly. “You shouldn’t have to do this alone.”

  And now she still clutched his hand, even though they’d been chatting with Kristin about the flowers for at least ten minutes.

  Or, rather, Celeste had been chatting. Because Travis was uncharacteristically quiet as Kristin told them how sorry she was for their loss and that she would be happy to take care of the flowers for them, coordinating with the church and funeral parlor.

  “Lilies, please,” Celeste said, and realized it felt good to be making a decision. “And baby’s breath. And something with a hint of yellow.
I know it’s not original, but he was so young and so innocent. And he was like a little bit of sunshine whenever he entered a room.”

  “I think that’s a beautiful sentiment,” Kristin said. “I’ll put it together and call you to get your okay. You don’t need to worry about a thing.”

  “Thank you,” Celeste said, releasing Travis’s hand to shake Kristin’s. Beside her, Travis wiped his hands on his pants, not even noticing that Kristin had held out hers to shake.

  Celeste cleared her throat, and Travis glanced up, looking confused, and then settling into calm.

  He took Kristin’s hand. “Forgive me. I’m a little off-kilter. I—I thought I was doing okay. But being in here has—well, it’s affected me.”

  “I completely understand.” She looked at him with so much compassion it made Celeste’s heart twist, then Kristin smiled sadly at Celeste as she released Travis’s hand. “He was an exceptional boy. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you,” Celeste murmured. Travis said nothing. But he looked a little shell-shocked as they turned toward the door.

  “Are you okay?” she asked once they were back on the street. They walked the short distance to the corner and paused for the light to change so they could cross Pecan.

  “I think it’s just sinking in.” He frowned. “Everything’s going to change.”

  Celeste drew in a long breath. The light turned green and the little box started flashing the image of a pedestrian in motion. But she didn’t move, and she tugged her husband’s sleeve when he started to walk because she’d caught a glimpse of familiar reddish blond hair.

  “Pastor Douglas!”

  The young Lutheran minister turned toward the sound of his name, his expression shifting to sympathetic when he saw who had hailed him.

  “Celeste. Travis. I’ve been praying for you.” They’d seen Pastor Douglas—Bryce—late Friday. Sheriff Murphy had been kind enough to ask the pastor to pay a visit a few minutes after he’d gone. And, yes, it had helped.

  “Thank you. Are we keeping you?”

  The pastor shook his head. “I like to walk the square after the second service. It’s relaxing, especially on a pleasant day like today. I usually grab a muffin then pop in and see my sister at the florist.”

  “Kristin,” Travis said.

  Pastor Douglas nodded. “But no muffins. Today, I’m trying to lay off the carbs.” He patted his stomach. “How can I help you?”

  “Do you believe God still performs miracles?” Celeste asked.

  She saw the flicker of emotion pass over his face. Surprise. Uncertainty. She wanted to reassure him that she wasn’t expecting her son to rise from the dead. But before she had to do that, he answered.

  “I do.”

  “And if you witnessed a miracle, then it would be foolish to look away. To not acknowledge it. Maybe even try to help facilitate it?”

  Both his and Travis’s brows furrowed. “Celeste, forgive me, but what’s on your mind?”

  But she wasn’t ready to talk to him about it. Not yet. “Nothing. Just silliness. Just the kind of big thoughts that enter your mind in a crisis.” She smiled. “Thank you for indulging my curiosity.”

  “Of course,” he said.

  “But would you?” she asked.

  “Would I what?”

  “Ignore a miracle.”

  An unfair question, she supposed. Because a man of God could hardly say he would look the other way. And yet without knowing her motivation, he couldn’t possibly know whether he should encourage her or not.

  But he was a man of God, and that meant he would answer honestly. And that meant he would give her the answer she wanted.

  And that meant she would have ammunition.

  “No,” he finally said. “It is not in my nature to ignore a miracle. But Celeste, you should take care not to confuse good fortune with the miraculous.”

  “Of course, Pastor.” She tried not to smile too triumphantly. “Thank you so much. We shouldn’t keep you from your sister.”

  He hesitated, looking between the two of them as if unsure whether he should go on. But then he nodded and wished them a pleasant day before continuing on his way.

  “What was that about?” Travis asked.

  The light to cross Main Street changed, and she tugged him that direction—heading for the courthouse and the famous Storm Oak tree instead of to Pecan Street and the pharmacy. “Five minutes,” she said. “Just sit with me. Please.”

  He eyed her warily, but he sat.

  “The baby’s a miracle,” she began. “We both know that.” She paused to let him comment, and when he didn’t, she continued on. “And we need to make sure it’s healthy and safe and well taken care of.”

  Again, he stayed quiet.

  “I want Ginny to move in with us.”

  “What?”

  “I want our grandson’s mother to be in our care. To have a room in our house. I want to help her with medical bills and with decorating a nursery.”

  “Celeste, sweetheart, I don’t know—”

  “But you do, Travis.” She could hear the plea rising in her voice. “We both know what a miracle this is. To have a child of Jacob’s, that’s miracle enough. But to be blessed with it even as we’ve lost him—neither one of us would ever have believed that could happen, but it did. And I think it’s our responsibility and our pleasure to help that sweet girl out.”

  “She has a family.”

  “She does, of course. And I don’t want to take her away from her brother or her sister in spirit. But she’s going to need help and care. Marisol’s done right by that child, but she’s not Ginny’s mother. She won’t be the baby’s grandmother. I think she would welcome the help. Welcome knowing that someone is home with her pregnant little sister—with her sister and her nephew after the baby is born. She works such long hours just making ends meet. It can’t be easy. You remember all the talk—their parents had no life insurance and everything fell on that poor girl’s head. I want to help her with that burden.”

  Travis was smiling.

  “What?”

  “Nephew? Not niece?”

  Celeste felt her cheeks heat. “The baby’s a miracle, Travis.”

  “But the baby’s not Jacob and never will be.”

  She licked her lips and looked down at the well-tended grass that surrounded the courthouse. “I know that. I do. But I still want him near me. Don’t you?”

  He sighed, then looked across the street, his attention on the florist shop where they’d just picked out the flowers for their son’s funeral. Where the pastor who’d told them that miracles do happen had just stepped inside. “You need this, Celeste? This will make you happy?”

  She took his hand and clung tight. “Yes. Oh, yes.”

  Another moment passed. “All right. We’ll leave it up to Ginny. You ask her, and if that’s what she wants, then she’s welcome in our home.”

  Celeste felt the tears welling in her eyes. “And that’s what you want, too?”’

  Travis’s shoulders rose and fell. “I want Jacob back. But if that’s not possible, then I want to do everything I can for his child. And,” he added as he lifted his hand and gently stroked her cheek, “for you.”

  * * * *

  Joanne perched on the stool behind the counter at Pushing Up Daisies and watched as her friend Kristin leaned against the table that formed the centerpiece for the store. Today it was topped with an extravagant arrangement of tropical flowers—an arrangement that Hedda had put together before bidding the younger women a happy Sunday and taking off to putter in her own garden.

  “Are you okay?”

  As she watched, Kristin’s shoulders rose and fell as if she was breathing hard. “Yeah.” She drew herself up, then turned to Joanne. She looked put together as always, in a light blue sheath dress that highlighted her blue eyes and contrasted her russet hair. But right now, those eyes looked cloudy. And her usually shining face seemed dim.

  Joanne frowned. “Are you su
re?”

  Kristin held up a hand as she visibly pulled herself together. “I do funerals—it’s part of what I do. But in a town this size, there just aren’t that many. And when it’s the death of someone so young...” She trailed off, wiping a finger carefully under her eye.

  Joanne was about to reply, but the little bell above the door jingled and Bryce—or, rather, Pastor Douglas—came in and walked straight to his sister at the center table.

  From her vantage point behind the counter, Joanne watched Kristin with her brother. She had become close to Kristin since they’d both worked at the florist shop for several years now, and she couldn’t help but think of him by his name, especially since Joanne had never been one to go to church.

  Together, they looked like a set of dolls, both with blue eyes and reddish hair and all-American good looks.

  Folks had never called Joanne all-American. She was too built. Too blond. And she’d always thought that her green eyes made her look just a little bit devilish. She’d never acted that way, though. She’d always been a little too shy, and she’d hated that about herself. Then Hector had swept her off her feet during senior year, making her feel like she was the queen of the world.

  He’d wanted her to be better—he still wanted her to be better. And she knew that she frustrated him sometimes when she messed up. And so she tried very hard not to mess up, because he worked relentlessly to keep a roof over their head, and she knew that if she just did better he’d be less stressed and things would be the way they used to be.

  So she tried—she really did. But it was just so hard.

  “—you don’t mind?”

  Joanne blinked, realizing she’d been lost in thought. “I’m sorry. What?”

  Kristin cocked her head toward the metal swinging door that led to the back area. “I’m going to show Bryce something in the back. You’ll watch the front?”

  “Of course.” She slipped off the stool and was about to walk out onto the main floor when the bell jingled again, and Hannah walked in looking more or less like she’d just rolled around in a haystack. Knowing Hannah, she probably had. Her sister was a vet, after all, and like so many small-town vets, her practice included domestic and farm animals.

  To be fair, though, today she looked much tidier than usual, with her jeans and button-down shirt open over a tank top. Her long blond hair was pulled back in the single braid that she was in the habit of wearing, and she wore one of her many pairs of cowboy boots.