Reverend Kramer had invited me to join him and his family for Christmas dinner, but I pretended I had plans with family in Litchfield. On Christmas morning, I parked my truck two blocks down the road and snuck in around back so I wouldn’t run into Thomas or his wife. I made a roast chicken and ate it while watching The Odd Couple reruns on TV.
Nate and I had always gone to his parents’ house in Indiana for Christmas. The Lowrys had been married and lived in the same house for over fifty years. For dinner, they had various birds served Russian doll–style and made everyone wear silly hats. Afterward, we’d play charades, and Mr. Lowry would act out the same movie he did every year, It’s a Wonderful Life.
“You have to pick another movie!” his wife would shout.
His reply was always, “Well, I couldn’t think of a movie that better sums up the life I’ve had with you, my dear.”
As corny as it was, it always made me want to cry. Knowing that he’d do it again and I would miss it made me actually cry.
Merlin watched me from Uncle Ben’s chair with an expression that resembled empathy. “I’m sorry, Merlin. I must be ruining your Christmas.” His face was sticky with apple juice, and his eyelids lolled dreamily. He was having a fine Christmas.
At nine o’clock, I was about ready to throw in the towel for the night when there was a knock at the door. I peeked through the closed blinds to see who it was, then opened the door.
“We’ve got pumpkin pie,” Lydia said as she and Weylyn scooted inside. “Man, it’s really coming down out there.”
“How’d you know I was here?” I asked.
“I saw your truck parked on Oakland. Don’t worry, my parents don’t know.” Lydia collapsed her umbrella and hung it on the coat rack.
“I wasn’t trying to be rude. I just didn’t feel that … festive.”
“Don’t worry. I totally get it. We snuck out after the talent show started.”
“Talent show?”
“For Mama’s Mississippi relatives. Caroline was playing ‘Silent Night’ on the piano when we left, and Aunt Corinne started singing.”
“She sounds like a goat,” Weylyn chimed in.
Lydia made herself comfy on the sofa and peeled the foil back from the half-eaten pie. “Want some?”
“Sure. I’ll get forks,” I said and headed to the kitchenette.
“We brought my Twilight Zone box set if you wanna watch.”
“Sounds good.” I was grateful they hadn’t brought any Christmas movies. If I had to watch It’s a Wonderful Life, I probably would have had a meltdown.
I passed out plates and forks, and we divvied up what was left of the pumpkin pie, including a small slice for Merlin, who wasted no time devouring it. Weylyn came in a close second. “I had no idea Christmas was this delicious,” he said as he licked chunks of pumpkin off his fingers.
“I guess this is the first Christmas you’ve had in a long time, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. I kind of remember Christmas with my parents,” he said thoughtfully. “Not with the pack, though. The only holiday wolves celebrate is the full moon, and there’s no pie or anything. It’s mostly a lot of howling.”
I swallowed to stop myself from laughing. I was still getting used to Weylyn’s strange anecdotes.
“There’s gonna be a full moon soon. You should teach us how to howl!” Lydia chimed in.
“It’s not that hard,” he said. “You just have to use the back of your throat. Like this.” Weylyn tilted his head back, formed a loose O with his lips, and let out a long, doleful howl. Lydia immediately responded in kind.
After a brief moment of hesitation, I joined the chorus, and we all howled at a waxing moon we knew was there but couldn’t see.
17
LYDIA KRAMER
One of my favorite Twilight Zone episodes had just started when we heard the scream. It was Caroline, and she must have had her window open because I could hear it as clear as day, even over the storm. Ms. Lowry, Weylyn, and I ran out onto the porch. Through her window, I could see Caroline pacing back and forth and shouting. At first, I couldn’t make out what she was saying because of the rain, then I heard her scream, “Crown!” and look out the window at the three of us watching her from the porch.
Shit. I had forgotten all about the crown. June said she would put it back, but then again, she hated Caroline. At that moment, Caroline’s most prized possession was probably nestled between the shaggy ears of Coconut, June’s fourteen-year-old mutt with the balding tail that made it look like a sewer rat.
“What’s wrong?” Ms. Lowry asked.
“Caroline’s crown. It’s missing.”
“She’s going to think I took it,” Weylyn said soberly.
Ms. Lowry put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’ll talk to her if it comes to that.”
“Me, too,” I said reassuringly, and we went back inside to await the wrath of Mama. Five minutes later, there was a pounding at the door.
Ms. Lowry answered it, and Mama and Caroline stormed inside without acknowledging her. Daddy trailed in behind them and gave Ms. Lowry an apologetic shrug.
“Where’s Weylyn?” Mama demanded, then spotted him sitting in Uncle Ben’s chair, back straight like a man on trial. “There he is! Where is it?”
“Where’s what?” Ms. Lowry answered.
“The little thief stole my crown!” Caroline shrieked hysterically. I could tell she had been crying because her eyeliner had puddled in ghoulish shadows under her eyes.
“Why would Weylyn take your stupid crown?” I spat back.
“He took Emily’s bracelet!”
“No, he didn’t! And even if he had, Emily’s bracelet is diamond. Your tiara is cheap plastic and rhinestones.”
Caroline growled and lunged at me, but Daddy held her back. “Caroline! Stop!”
Weylyn was silent, but his fingers dug into the upholstery so hard I was sure it would rip.
Ms. Lowry stepped in and spoke evenly to Mama. “Do you have any proof that Weylyn did what you’re claiming?”
Mama’s lips pinched together to form a hard beak. “I don’t need proof. I know.”
The gentle patter of rain on the roof became a harder, clicking sound. I followed Weylyn’s gaze out the window and saw small pellets of ice bouncing off the surface of the glass. Mama and Ms. Lowry were yelling now, but all I could hear was the click click click of that ice. Weylyn’s left hand twitched in time with the sound.
Then Daddy spoke.
“Clara, be reasonable. It’s Christmas,” he begged. Daddy never got angry on Christmas, and I could tell that right now, he was trying really hard not to.
“I don’t care what day it is! I’m sick of you siding with that boy over your own family!”
Clack clack clack! The ice was now the size of marbles. I met Weylyn’s gaze, but he quickly looked away.
“Don’t make this about him!” Daddy had finally had enough. “This is about you! I asked you to open your heart to Weylyn, but you won’t even try. You’re only a Christian when it’s convenient for you.”
“And what about stealing? I guess that’s conveniently not a sin to you anymore?”
“No, it’s a sin.” The anger in Daddy’s voice had turned down to a low simmer. “But I would sooner forgive a thief his sins than I would forgive you your coldness.”
Mama staggered back like she had just been struck.
Weylyn stood up, his whole body quaking with anger. “I’m not a thief!” he shouted.
The room fell into a stunned silence, but it didn’t last long. The vacuum soon filled with the discordant wail of tornado sirens.
What happened next was like something straight out of the movies. The villain says something terrible, and there’s a flash and a boom! The lights flicker, and everyone in the theater screams. I didn’t scream at the noise because I’d seen enough movies to know what to expect. Only this wasn’t a movie. This was real.
18
MS. MEG LOWRY
We
Oklahomans are all too familiar with hail and the promise it makes and almost always keeps. That night was no exception.
At first, I assumed it was an ice storm, but when I opened the door, I was greeted with a warm, humid breath of air. Sirens wailed above cracks of thunder that sounded like giant bones breaking. Merlin’s ears perked up, but he didn’t appear spooked like my dogs would have been. The dogs! I hoped Nate had taken them with him to his parents’.
The anger in the room was broken by the apocalyptic chorus outside, and a new, fearful tension started to sink in. Lydia switched on the TV news. The meteorologist had the same bewildered look on his face as the rest of us did. He was wearing a Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer tie, and his collar had a small pink stain on it that looked like cranberry sauce, a remnant of the Christmas dinner he had been pulled away from. He pointed to a nasty red blob that was getting ready to chew through the city of Paris, his voice crackling with panic. “A tornado has touched down two miles west of Paris and is headed east. If you have a storm shelter, go there immediately.” Then he added, probably for his family at home, “Please…”
“But it’s Christmas,” Mrs. Kramer muttered in disbelief.
Thomas turned to his wife. “Clara, you get the kids to the shelter. I’ll get the girls and your family.”
A still-stunned Mrs. Kramer nodded obediently, and Mr. Kramer ran out into the rain. Clara turned to face us. The angry fog that had been clouding her eyes cleared as she looked into her children’s scared faces. “Follow me, girls. Hurry,” she instructed and ran out the door.
Lydia and Caroline followed, but Weylyn didn’t move. He had a far-off look in his eyes and clutched Merlin tight in his arms. “Ms. Lowry,” he whispered. “I have to tell you something.”
I desperately wanted to hear the rest of that thought, but first, I needed to get him to safety. “Later. Come on.” I grabbed his hand, and we stumbled out into the storm.
Rain hammered on the back of my skull as I struggled to move myself through it. The sky had turned an eerie shade of dark green, and the clouds twisted and contorted like phantoms. My ears filled with a roaring sound, but it wasn’t the train noise that most people describe tornadoes sounding like; it was more like I was standing at the foot of a giant waterfall. A set of Christmas lights was ripped from the house and tried to wind itself around my feet. I let go of Weylyn’s arm while I shook them loose and searched the sky for the twister I could hear but couldn’t see.
Then a brilliant flash of lightning illuminated the monster lurking in the dark. He was a big boy and hungry. I watched in horror as he swallowed the neighbor’s barn whole and spat out the bones. I ran faster.
I could see Mr. Kramer guiding the rest of Lydia’s family into the shelter a hundred feet ahead. Almost there, I thought as I felt the drag of the wind on my back.
We reached the shelter, and Mr. Kramer helped the girls inside. First Caroline, then Lydia, then Mrs. Kramer, but no Weylyn.
“Where’s Weylyn?” I shouted to Thomas over the noise of the storm. He was looking at something, mouth agape. I followed his gaze and saw Weylyn and Merlin halfway between the carriage house and the shelter, staring down the storm.
“Weylyn!” we yelled at the top of our lungs, but he didn’t look back.
Lydia scrambled up the stairs of the shelter and tried to run after him. I grabbed her, kicking and screaming, and pulled her back inside.
When I ran back up to the top of the stairs, I saw Weylyn in the distance, resting his hand on the pig’s head and standing perfectly still. The twister kept advancing, looming over Weylyn like a God sent to ruin him, but he didn’t flinch.
Thomas turned to me. “I’m going to get him. If I don’t come back, close the door and bar it shut.”
I nodded. Thomas sprinted out of the shelter. His wife screamed in protest, then recoiled against the concrete wall and started sobbing, her makeup running in zebra stripes down her cheeks. Lydia wrapped her arms around her mother, and they cried together.
Then, all at once, the rain stopped and winds calmed. Mr. Kramer’s sprint slowed to a hesitant walk as the twister looked like it had been put in slow motion. The debris it carried bobbed around in a circle as if on a carousel, and the clouds swirled gently like a cotton candy machine. Slower and slower it churned until it was almost stationary, a photo in a National Geographic. Then it simply fizzled away, dropping five tons of debris and leaving a curtain of blinking stars in its wake.
Lydia and I rushed out of the shelter.
“Daddy!” Lydia exclaimed and wrapped her arms around him. Reverend Kramer started laughing. “What’s so funny?” she asked.
Merlin casually grazed on the grass beneath his feet as if nothing had happened, and Weylyn made his way slowly toward us, looking dazed and confused but generally unharmed. I looked him up and down just to make sure he wasn’t hurt. “Are you okay?”
Weylyn nodded slowly, then smiled. “I told you he was magic.” Then he kneeled down next to Merlin and patted him on the back of the head. The pig looked up at me, knowingly.
I guess I knew less about the universe than I thought I did.
* * *
There was a nervous energy among the congregation that filed out the wooden double doors of St. Agnes’s Church the following Sunday. Some headed straight for their cars, but many lingered on the sidewalk, murmuring to each other and periodically casting apprehensive glances at the gray clouds overhead. As I wove my way through the crowd, I caught pieces of their conversations that individually sounded like nonsense, but together, they told a story:
… the Kramers’ house was almost destroyed …
… my son is friends with his daughter, and she said it just vanished into thin air …
… I heard it was the pig …
… you know, the wolf boy …
… he just stood there like nothing was wrong …
… I knew there was something weird about that kid …
… it’s a miracle.
I walked inside the empty church and found Reverend Kramer sitting alone in one of the pews in the back row, bathed in reddish light from the stained glass window. He looked deep in thought as I suppose most clergymen are on a Sunday afternoon.
I sat down in the pew in front of his and turned around. “Hi, Thomas.”
“Meg,” he said, smiling gently. “Thanks for meeting me here. I thought it best not to get Clara involved in all of this.”
“Sure,” I said, although I was unclear on his meaning. “So, what is it you wanted to talk to me about?”
Reverend Kramer glanced down at a pocket Bible cradled in his hands, then back up at me. “I’ve been praying a lot over the last few days, asking God for guidance because I had an important decision to make.” He took a deep breath and continued, “I don’t think I’m going to be able to take care of Weylyn anymore, and I was hoping you would.”
“Oh,” I replied, taken aback.
“I’m sure it comes as no surprise to you that my wife and I have been having … problems, and not just since fostering Weylyn. It’s been going on for years. That tornado reminded me there are greater things in this world than our petty arguments. Maybe the storm was God’s way of reminding me that my family comes first. As far as Weylyn’s part in all of this…” Thomas trailed off as if hoping I’d finish his thought for him so he didn’t have to say it out loud.
I obliged. “He complicates things.”
He looked me in the eye and nodded soberly. “Am I crazy?”
“No, you’re not crazy, and neither am I. I can’t speak for your congregation, though. One of them thought the pig caused the tornado.”
Thomas guffawed and cringed slightly as his laughter echoed off the walls of the church. “It’s good to know there’s at least one person crazier than we are.”
I glanced out the front doors at the chattering churchgoers. “It would probably be best if Weylyn left Paris. He could use a fresh start.”
“I agree,” Thomas said. �
�Are you sure you’re okay with that?”
“I was thinking of moving, anyway. I’ve already bumped into Nate twice since we split up. This town is just too small.”
“It can be, yes … You know I’ll help in whatever way I can.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“Maybe I could stop by tomorrow evening to work out the details?”
“Yes, that’s fine.”
Thomas smiled despite the otherwise doleful look on his face. “Weylyn’s a special kid. I just wish my wife could have seen it, too.”
“He is special,” I said, standing up. “I promise I’ll take good care of him.”
I turned to leave, but the reverend held out his hand, signaling me to stop. “Oh, Meg,” he said, his voice thick with remorse. “Will you tell Weylyn I’m sorry? I plan to tell him myself, but he’ll probably be too hurt to believe a word I say. Will you tell him again for me? Once the dust settles?”
I would tell him. I would also tell him how, as I was leaving, I saw Thomas wipe a stray tear from his cheek.
19
LYDIA KRAMER
“It’s important you know that we still care about Weylyn. He just won’t be a part of our family anymore,” Daddy said reassuringly.
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. My parents were kicking Weylyn out for the “good of the family.” Weylyn was part of our family. If they were going to send anyone away, it should have been Caroline. She’s the one who started a fight over a stupid tiara.
“You can’t do that,” I fumed.
“I know this is hard, Lydia, but it’s the best thing for all of us.” Daddy placed his hand on my shoulder as if that would comfort me somehow.
I squirmed out of his reach. This had nothing to do with Weylyn. My parents were using him as a scapegoat for their failing marriage. I expected this kind of response from Mama, but not from Daddy. I thought he was better than that.
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