by Hazel James
“Already thinking about the next time, huh?” I joke. “Is this going to be yearly tradition where you give me a new shirt and things you’ve peed on for my birthday?”
Paige tips her head back and laughs. “You make it sound so romantic.”
“I haven’t even gotten to the best part yet.” My lips curve into a devilish smile. “Your boobs are gonna get even bigger.” I duck out of the way before she can whack my arm and run to the bedroom. We’ve developed our own bedtime routine over the last couple of weeks, but tonight as I watch Paige, it’s different. Knowing she’s the mother of my child makes everything so much… more. As a former man-slut who never wanted any of this, it’s an interesting feeling.
“What are you lost in thought about?” Paige asks, sliding into an old concert shirt.
“Math.”
“At midnight?” she teases.
“It’s sort of like fractions, I guess. I was less than nothing before I met you, but somehow you made me feel whole again. And now there’s something in here,” I press my palm against her stomach, “that’s half me, half you. When I first moved in with Eric, I asked Aunt Helen how she could love me as much as she loved him. She said when it comes to that stuff, the heart doesn’t divide, it just multiplies. I finally understand what she meant. And now that I say it out loud, I feel like a little bitch,” I laugh, rubbing the back of my neck. Forget Paige taking my man card. I’m practically handing it over.
“Aww, it’s okay, babe,” Paige giggles. “I still love you even if you’re a little bitch.” Her face lights up and before I can say anything, she dashes down the hall. She returns wearing a shirt that says, “DH is my little bitch.”
I really fucking love that girl.
Paige flops down on the couch and moans with pleasure as she kicks her Danskos off. “Don’t be surprised if I haven’t moved when you get back. I don’t even care about dinner. I just want to sleep.”
I pull the blanket off the back of the couch and drape it over her, tucking the ends under her feet. “Crazy day?”
“It’s like severe weather had sex with a full moon and gave birth to idiots. We haven’t been that busy in a while.” She throws her arm over her eyes and yawns. “The only thing keeping me going during the last hour was the thought of a nap.”
“The worst of the weather is already north of us, so you should be good. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.” I bend down and press a kiss on her lips and head out the door. She thinks I’m going to the gym to meet with Clay, but I’m actually getting the last of my shit out of the apartment and over to the new house. The furniture was delivered earlier today, so all that’s left is to put my clothes in the closet and hang my Drive Friendly sign. I’ll bring Paige over as soon as we’re up and showered tomorrow, and once she gets the tour, we’ll come back to her place and pack her stuff since that was the one thing I couldn’t do beforehand.
I flip on the TV as soon as I walk inside the new house to keep tabs on the weather—sort of like listening to the game on the radio when you can’t watch it. The storm chasers who were out today got some great footage down by Lawton, but none of it hit Moore like they initially predicted. That’s the thing about tornadoes. You can plan all you want, but that doesn’t mean a damn thing. There were plenty of times growing up when they’d cancel school, only to have it barely rain. We never minded, but the adults would bitch about missing work for nothing.
I catch bits about a supercell northeast of Chickasha with each trip I make inside, but none of it’s alarming until I hear David Payne say, “Rapid intensifying near Bridge Creek as it moves along the I-44 corridor toward Newcastle.” Forgetting my boxes for a moment, I sit on the coffee table and look at the split screen between the radar and Val Castor’s live feed. “This is a very organized, smooth system, and we’re starting to see some lowering…”
That’s all it takes. I’m off the table and locking the door without bothering to turn off the lights or the TV. The only thing I can think of is getting back to Paige, who’s almost fifteen minutes away. As I speed through the rain, I dial her number over and over. She doesn’t answer, so she’s either sleeping or it’s on silent. Maybe both.
Each update from the radio station is worse than the last, and flashes of lightning confirm what David Payne is reporting. If I was chasing with Eric, this is when our adrenaline would kick up another notch. Tornadogenesis is one of the most exciting parts—sort of like the buildup to an orgasm. Except now, the only emotions coursing through my body are fear and anger. Fear, because I’m not there to protect Paige, and anger because I should have fucking known better than to leave the house. That’s rule number one of storm chasing.
Don’t trust the weather.
Mother Nature is a fickle bitch. One minute she can be fine, and the next, she can drop an F5 without batting an eye. How in the hell Aunt Helen let Uncle Kurt take us chasing is beyond me. Now I know why Maggie said she’d castrate Eric if he took Austin. I probably would too.
Power flashes dot the horizon, and the wail of a tornado siren carries over the rain pelleting my windshield, sending ice-cold terror through my veins. “Tornado on the ground near the Moore Golf and Athletic Club. All residents should take their tornado precautions.” With my heart in my throat, I turn down Paige’s road and gun it all the way to the narrow path that leads to her house. I nearly miss the turnoff thanks to the curtains of rain falling from the sky. Her road is littered with small branches, but it’s nothing that my tires can’t plow over. Once the truck is parked, I rip the keys from the ignition and race to the door. The wind picks up even more, and bits of debris assault my back as my shaky hands fumble with the lock. It’s ironic that I’m trying to open a door that may not be here in another few minutes. Three tries later, I’m in.
“Paige!” I run to the couch, but the only thing I see is the blanket I covered her with. “Paige!” The closest bathroom is Allison’s, but she’s not there, either. “PAIGE!” I listen for her voice, but all I hear is the sound of my ears popping and the deafening roar of the storm outside. Sprinting down the hallway to her bedroom, I scream her name again. Her bathroom is dark, but the light in her closet is on. I throw open the door and see her huddled in the corner. Her head whips up as I slam the door shut. People get a certain look when they fear for their lives. I’ve seen it in combat, and I see it right now on Paige’s face.
“We’re gonna die!”
“No we’re not, babe. We’re gonna be just fine. I promise we’ll be okay.” With my heart in my throat, I push her as far into the corner as possible and cover her body with mine. Glass shatters somewhere in the house, and the walls shake with an intensity I know they cannot withstand. It’s not a matter of if we’ll be hit, but how bad the damage will be. I send up a quick prayer that my little family walks away from this unscathed.
My ears pop again.
The lights flicker and go dark.
The closet door rattles.
Something metallic crashes.
Paige sobs unintelligible words into my shoulder, then all-out screams when the wind peels the roof off the house. I tighten my grip around her, careful to not squeeze her stomach. “It’s almost over,” I say right into her ear. “You’re doing a great job.”
I count the seconds until the tornado passes.
One.
Two.
And then everything goes black.
Paige, Four Weeks Later
DEATH HAS A WAY OF changing a person. It can turn you bitter, or it can make you see the beauty in life. But almost dying?
That changes you even more.
Almost dying means you have a second chance, and with that comes the responsibility of not wasting it. Every now and then, a patient who survived a life-threatening condition will come back to the hospital to say thank you. A lot of them talk about plans they’ve made, or trips they’ve gone on because they know how quickly it can all end.
When I accepted my job at Barton, I knew there was a possibility I’d se
e a tornado one day. I just never thought I’d be in one. I fell asleep right after DH left and woke up to a tornado siren. Allison told me when I first moved in that they always used the master walk-in closet as their gathering point because it was the only room in the house without a window.
The tornado I saw on my chase with DH was incredible from our position several miles away. Inside the path, it was the most horrifying thing I’d ever experienced. In the moments before he opened the door, I thought I’d never see him—or anyone else—again. I cried for me, for him, and for the baby we’d just created. But despite me being certain the world was ending, he was calm. I felt safe in his arms.
As safe as one can be in the bottom of a closet, anyway.
I expected to be sucked away when the roof came off. Instead, the closet wall crashed on top of us, knocking DH out. Between the weight of him and the wall, I couldn’t move. My face was wedged in the crook of his neck, so I took comfort in feeling his pulse against my lips until he regained consciousness. After he came to, he managed to shift just enough so that I could shimmy out of the wreckage. Then he rolled onto his back and followed my path.
What we saw when we emerged was unreal.
The house was reduced to fragments of two-by-fours and sheetrock. The couch I fell asleep on was standing on its side down by the main road. DH’s truck was in the master bathroom. Ruby was wrapped around the trunk of a broken tree. Pages from my book collection lay scattered across the ground like confetti on New Year’s.
But we were alive.
I wasn’t wearing shoes, so I crawled onto DH’s back and he walked us out of the rubble. Uncle Kurt came about ten minutes later. He’d been tracking the storm’s path and knew my house was hit. The relief on his face when he saw us sitting on the remains of the front porch was enough to make me cry all over again. He called Aunt Helen and Eric to let them know we were okay and drove us to the hospital to get checked out. I was fine, and DH had a mild concussion. Not bad for an F4.
“You’re done,” Maggie says, snapping me out of my thoughts. She hands me a mirror and spins me around so I can see the back of my hair. She tamed my curls into a beautiful chignon, accented with a clip that my grandmother used to wear.
Something old.
“It’s perfect. Thank you. Burp, fart, penis, vagina!” The silly phrase makes us laugh and chases away the lump in my throat. We’re all doing our best to not cry today—at least until after the pictures are done—so anytime we feel emotional, we say something ridiculous. We’ve said a lot of crazy shit so far.
“If Chris ever proposes, I’m stealing that idea.” Allison touches up her lipstick and drops the tube into her clutch as I work to keep a neutral expression on my face. Chris is proposing tonight; we’re rigging the bouquet toss so she’ll catch it. Yes, a wedding is supposed to be all about the bride, but there’s no way I could pass up a perfect opportunity like this.
“I have something for you.” Maggie hands me a small box and a card. “It’s from DH. He gave it to me this morning.” I read the card first.
Paige,
My yellow brick road will always lead me home—to you.
Love,
DH
“Cockwaffles!” I fan myself with the card and take a deep breath, but it doesn’t help.
Sensing I need backup, Maggie yells, “A sexy octopus wears a raincoat!” and dances in front of me with jazz hands until I’m clutching my sides. When I can finally breathe again, I open the box and see the most beautiful bracelet made of miniature gold bricks.
Something new.
“I guess I raised that boy right after all,” Aunt Helen says with a soft laugh. “Some days, I wondered.” She fastens the bracelet around my wrist and steps aside so Maggie can slip a thin gold chain with a small number three charm around my neck—Eric’s gift to her on their wedding day.
Something borrowed.
My hand instinctively travels to the tiny bump beneath my dress. I thought I would miscarry after the tornado, but I didn’t; as best as I can tell, I’m about eight weeks pregnant. When Mom and Dad heard the news, they started looking for property in Moore. They plan on moving up here over the Christmas break. Evan said he didn’t mind switching schools in the middle of the year. He’s taking his future role as uncle seriously and called dibs on teaching his niece or nephew how to ride a bike.
“Last, but not least.” Mom passes me a box with the aquamarine solitaire earrings she wore during her role as Glinda.
Something blue.
With my accessories done, I step in front of the full-length mirror in my bedroom. The first time I saw this house was when Uncle Kurt drove us here from the hospital. Aunt Helen dropped her car off so we had transportation while we filed insurance claims, and Maggie brought over several bags of clothes since mine were air mailed to Kansas.
DH carried me over the threshold and walked me from room to room. The furniture I unknowingly picked out looked amazing, but what stopped me in tracks was the Drive Friendly sign over our bed. At the hospital, I told DH I wasn’t sure if I could continue living in Oklahoma. Going through one tornado was bad enough; I couldn’t imagine doing it again. Yet, if it wasn’t for that sign—and the tornado that sent it flying in the air—I would’ve never met him.
“But what if another one hits us?”
“Then we rebuild.” He wraps his arms around my sides and rests his hands on my stomach.
“And what if we get hit after that?”
“Then we rebuild,” he repeats.
I knew in that moment I didn’t want to wait to get married. Planning a backyard wedding in four weeks is insane, but Maggie, Ali, Aunt Helen, and Mom jumped into action. Within days, they had the tables, chairs, and linen rented; the cake ordered; supplies for centerpieces; and a dress for me, thanks to a surprisingly successful trip to OKC. Clay got ordained so he could marry us. The only big thing left was the flowers, but I had my own plans for that.
I spent hours watching online tutorials, then carefully cut up all of DH’s “first” shirts to make fabric flowers. My official colors are red and white, so it might look crazy that Maggie and Ali’s bouquets are a hodgepodge of fabric, but I couldn’t think of anything more perfect. Every shirt brought DH one step closer to me. I combined black scraps with the red shirt he wore the day he moved into Eric’s house and made poppies for my bouquet and his boutonniere. That was my gift to him.
Shit. Feeling the lump in my throat again, I yell, “Jackie Chan loves meatloaf! Alien babies and fabric softener!”
Ali joins in. “Mystical elephants breakdancing!”
Then Mom. “Salted peanuts under my pillow!”
And Aunt Helen. “Acrobats drive on the toothbrush!”
And Maggie. “Jupiter is a nasty slut!”
“And on that note,” Ali pats Maggie’s shoulder, “it’s time to go.” Mom and Aunt Helen walk ahead of us to make sure DH is out of sight in the back yard, and Maggie and Ali lead the way to the kitchen, where Dad, Evan, Austin, and Abigail have convened.
“Wow, you look pretty Aunt Paige,” Austin says. He’s been working hard all week to call me by my new name, and I want to smother his face in kisses every time I hear it.
“Thanks, bud. You look handsome yourself.”
Dad leans in and gives me a kiss on the cheek. “You ready?”
“So ready.”
“Okay, fly check, gentlemen.” Dad, Austin, and Evan check their zippers and hold their thumbs up. “Excellent.” He passes ring pillows to the boys and positions them on either side of the French doors, then joins me off to the side where we can’t be seen.
“And this is for you.” Maggie hands the flower girl basket to Abigail. “Do you remember what to do?”
“Step, sprinkle, step, sprinkle,” she replies with a solemn face.
“Yup!” Maggie grabs her phone off the counter and sends a text to Tommy, who’s acting as deejay. Several seconds later, the music starts. Austin and Evan open the doors for Maggie and Allison,
then stand in the doorway with Abigail and wait their turn. Dad and I slowly count to ten, then begin our walk. I lock eyes with DH as soon as my feet hit the grass aisle. I don’t know which one of us is grinning more.
Once upon a time, a girl who loved The Wizard of Oz fell in love with the Scarecrow, the Tin Man, and the Cowardly Lion.
He thought he wasn’t good enough.
His heart was broken.
He needed courage to move on from the past.
It took a tornado to change all of that.
As I pass my bouquet to Maggie and join hands with DH, I can’t help but think of Dorothy’s quote from the end of the movie: “If I ever go looking for my heart’s desire again, I won’t look any further than my own back yard.”
DH, Three Years Later
“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” My heart swells with pride as I watch Poppy and Abigail chase fireflies. They’re doing more giggling than catching, but that doesn’t seem to bother either of them one bit. “This dad thing is pretty fucking awesome. I get why you talked about it so much.” Poppy is three now. She has my hair and her mother’s eyes, and every day I wonder how in the hell I got so lucky. It’s like the universe has spent the last thirty-six months making up for the first thirteen years of my life.
“I know it’s been a while since I’ve visited. Uncle Kurt finally retired, and now Eric and I each own half of the shop. Paige worried that I was taking on too much between working there and keeping my paramedic job, but we’ve fallen into a great routine. I still miss not having you with me on calls, though. I don’t think that will ever go away.” I clear my throat and take a deep breath. “Anyway, Kelsey looked beautiful today. It was weird seeing her up there with someone else, but she seems really happy.”
During the ceremony, she read a letter that Patch wrote specifically for that occasion. For as well as I knew him, I had no idea about the letters he left in case anything happened to him. Letters for Abigail on major milestones and for each birthday until she turns twenty-one. Letters for Kelsey on the day she went on her first date, the day she got engaged, and the day she got married. He left one for me, too. Kelsey brought it with her when she came to my wedding.