Really Something

by Shirley Jump

“So I did,” Katie said. “It’s all cooked, though I was just packing the food away. I wasn’t sure you were coming.”

  “I know,” Allie said. “I owe you an explanation.” Allie drew in a breath, then decided to get honest with Katie, too, and hope that Katie would understand. “My real name, Katie, is Allison Gray. I grew up in Tempest. I’m sorry I—”

  Katie waved off the explanation and shrugged. “I already figured that out, Allie, a while ago. I’m smarter than your average bear.” She gave Allie a smile of understanding and when she did, Allie put the pieces together.

  “That day when I told you my story?”

  Katie nodded. “One thing about being bedridden, it gives you lots of time to think. I put the pieces together pretty soon after that. I understood why you did what you did.”

  Katie disengaged the chair from the lift, then rolled it over to the group, halting before them and extending her hand. “I already know Carlene. This must be your mother and father?”

  “Yes,” Allie said, amazed at the resiliency of Katie, who had seemed so much the opposite just days earlier. “Beatrice and Larry. Ma and Dad, meet Katie Henry.”

  Awkward silence greeted Katie at first, then Beatrice put her hand out. “Why you’re just a speck of a thing.”

  “Duncan got all the beefy Henry jeans,” Katie said with a laugh. “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Gray.”

  Beatrice elbowed her husband, who finally shook Katie’s hand. “Nice to meet you,” he mumbled.

  “I know I’m not the one who did it, but I’m sorry about the factory,” Katie said. “My father ruined a lot of people’s lives.”

  Her parents looked stunned for a moment, then, as if all it took was an apology to make up for the ruin John Henry had wreaked, Dad gave Katie a smile. “All in the past, young lady.”

  Allie turned to see her sister’s reaction to the comment. Carlene was gone. Either she’d gone back into the car, opted to walk back home, or was wandering the Henry house.

  Allie opted for door number three, considering the rain was coming down in sheets now. “Katie,” Allie said, glancing again at the sky, “do you have a TV down here, too?”

  Katie pointed to one in the front parlor, and the four of them gathered around it, watching Duncan come to life on the screen.

  The picture took its time coming into focus, the volume and the words hitting first. “Storm this size…packing quite a wallop…parts of Tempest are in for a direct hit…possible tornado.”

  Duncan’s eyes stared straight into Allie’s, it seemed, from the TV set. Her heart still reacted to him, still loved him, still contracted and wanted him. She wished she could turn back the clock and fix things, somehow undo that look in his eyes today. Maybe later, after all this was over, she’d find a way.

  Outside, the wind began to howl, whipping at the power lines. The phone rang. Ranger dashed off to find it, but before the second ring finished, the wind had ripped the line off the house.

  Foreboding filled the pit in Allie’s stomach. Something in Duncan’s eyes, in the deep, dark electricity in the air—a warning, a death knell. This was bad. “Katie, do you have a basement?”

  Katie’s gaze flicked from the blank TV screen, then to Allie’s, and then her eyes widened. She shook her head. “My father didn’t like them because they could flood. He didn’t want to ruin the carpets.”

  Allie’s pulse thundered in her ears, the wind increasing its howl. Think, think fast. “We need to get out of here.”

  “But we just got here,” Beatrice said. “And no one has eaten. We really should think about food. Now, dear, tell me where the dishes are and I’ll help you serve it.”

  Carlene was missing. Her mother was talking food. Katie was eating up the mother-hen attention, and her father was already in the chair with the remote, staring at the TV as if watching the dark box would restore the electricity.

  And Allie seemed to be the only one noticing that all hell was about to break loose.

  Duncan flipped through the Indianapolis stations. The other forecasters were calling for heavy thunderstorms. Why weren’t they seeing what he was seeing?

  “Dunk, you better be right about this. I’ve answered twelve phone calls from women angry that you cut off Dr. Phil just before he told off that interfering mother-in-law. You know how these ladies get about their Dr. Phil. If this thing runs into Oprah, I’m going to have a riot on my hands.”

  “Did you get a hold of my sister?”

  “Nope. No answer.”

  A fist clutched in Duncan’s stomach. “The Grays?”

  “No answer there either.”

  Duncan hurried to his desk, dug out the card Allie had given him and punched in the cell phone number on it. “All circuits are busy, please try your call again.”

  “Damn.”

  “You trying a cell? I heard the tower on McGreavy’s barn got struck by lightning. Reception’s never been all that good around here to begin with and without that tower, you’d be lucky to call the cell in your own pocket.” Steve shrugged. “Anyway, I think—”

  “What?” Duncan prompted when Steve didn’t finish.

  Steve’s eyes widened, his mouth dropped, his gaze transfixed on the radar, now going from green to ugly angry red and yellow. “Holy crap. We’re cutting into Oprah!”

  Chapter 26

  Devastation.

  There was no other word to describe downtown Tempest. Rubble covered the streets, buildings had been reduced to piles of bricks and pieces of framing, sidewalks torn up like fragments of carpet. In the distance, a few houses remained, like little sentries guarding the perimeter.

  Margie and Dick stood outside the remains of the diner, Margie sobbing into her husband’s shoulder, cradling a lone sugar dispenser.

  “Duncan!” Dick called when he saw the weather forecaster slowing to make his way among the ruins after running the entire distance from WTMT-TV to downtown. “Hey, Duncan!”

  It took a long minute for the words to penetrate the fog in Duncan’s brain. For his name to register amid the destruction before him.

  “Duncan,” Dick said again, taking Margie by the hand, and pulling her over with him. “We wanted to thank you.”

  “Thank me? For what?”

  “For warning us. Those damned sirens didn’t work. Probably rusted shut after so many years of not having to go off. And those Indy forecasters, hell, they didn’t see what you saw, not until the damned thing was right on top of us. But our Duncan, I just knew you’d get it right and get it early. And you did.” Dick clapped him on the shoulder. “Just like you always do, boy.”

  Duncan shook his head. “Dick, I don’t. Please, don’t put your faith in me.”

  But Dick was drawing him into a hug and Margie was sobbing on his shoulder, promising him free meals for the rest of his life. “You were never your father’s son,” Dick said, his voice thick with emotion, gratitude. “You’re a good man.”

  “I’m not,” Duncan said, extricating himself. “I’m not what you think.”

  “I thank my lucky stars for you. If you hadn’t come on the TV—”

  “And interrupted my Dr. Phil—” Margie put in.

  “—we’d be sitting under that diner instead of outside of it. And so would all our customers. Instead, they got home to their families.” Dick waved his arm, indicating people that Duncan could now see coming out of the rubble of Tempest, waving at him, calling out to him and thanking him from across the street, behind buildings, around corners.

  He couldn’t let them go on thinking he was this miracle worker. He’d gotten lucky today. Next time, he might not. What if he’d missed this storm? “No, Dick, you have it all wrong—”

  “You’re our weatherman,” Dick said, “and we are damned proud to have you.”

  “No, I’m not,” he insisted, cutting Dick off before he launched into another praise fest. “You want to know how I got all those forecasts? I used a Magic 8 Ball, Dick. A Magic 8 Ball!” Beside him, Margie gasped. “I relied o
n that damned thing and its little triangle of answers to tell you all if it was going to rain or snow or be sunny. Don’t trust me. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.”

  “I don’t care if you read tea leaves or the crap in the bottom of your toilet,” Dick said, eyeing Duncan square in the eye. “You gave me and my Margie enough warning for us and our customers to get in the basement. Not a person died, Duncan. Not a one. The building, that can be replaced, but the people, they can’t. For that, I want to thank you. You did a good thing and whether you believe it or not, you are a good man. And you’ve done right by your name.”

  Done right by his name. Had he? Duncan didn’t know anymore. He thanked Dick and went on his way. Yet, even as he made his way through the town and heard one resident after another echo Dick’s words, Duncan felt anything but proud. If he’d had more time, he could have warned people earlier, could have…

  And then he rounded the corner of Washington and the dread that had been building reached its crest, rising in his throat, threatening to unhinge him.

  The house was gone.

  Flattened like a pancake.

  The massive Victorian that John Henry had pointed to with such pride had become nothing more than a bunch of sticks and stones. And somewhere beneath those pieces of house lay everything that Duncan loved.

  No.

  He couldn’t even say the word. It lodged in his throat, in his heart, sharp and hard.

  He broke into a run, diving for the pile, reaching for the timbers, the bricks, pulling and yanking them out of the way, digging furiously, splinters slicing his fingers, his palms, dust clouding his vision, smearing his skin.

  Nothing.

  “Katie! Allie!” He dug, he searched, his head screaming their names, even as his voice called out and his heart sobbed and his hands scrambled wildly through the debris. He found nothing but more dirt. More bricks. More wood.

  Duncan?

  The sob choked at his throat, and he dug harder, faster, telling that voice in his head to shut up because he wasn’t ready to lose Allie or Katie. God, no, he couldn’t lose them. Not now, not after all they had been through together.

  “Duncan, they’re okay.”

  And then, it felt as if Allie were touching his shoulder. He stopped, his hand resting on one last piece of wood—the piece of wood that had symbolized everything he hated about this house—and he spun around, still clutching the paddle, ready to beat off the voice that was telling him they were all right when he knew they weren’t.

  “What are you, deaf? I told you, Dunk, they’re okay.”

  And then, it all came into focus. Earl Hickey, his familiar John Deere cap on his head, a little dirtier than normal. “Earl?”

  “I been yelling at you for going on five minutes here and you’re digging like a beaver on steroids. For God’s sake, boy, pay attention. I saw Allison takin’ Katie out of here just ’fore the storm hit. I figure they went to your aunt’s house.” Earl tipped his hat back and wiped a bead of sweat off his brow. “Always did like that woman, though she’d talk my ear off when I brought her the mail. Don’t know what your dad had against her.”

  “She didn’t fit the family mold.” Duncan didn’t want to talk old family history right now. “Are you sure you saw Katie and Allie leave?”

  “Hell, yeah. Saw the whole Gray family pile into Katie’s van. Good thing, considering what happened to Allison’s car. Too bad it’s a rental, huh?” Earl pointed.

  Duncan followed the direction of Earl’s finger. Ice closed around his heart. The red Taurus lay crushed beneath a tree, nearly unrecognizable.

  “I have to go,” Duncan said. “I need to…” He ran a hand through his hair, spinning around, realizing the streets were covered with trees and debris, nearly impossible to navigate.

  “Let me take you,” Earl said. “You, my boy, are in no condition to drive.” They walked to the truck and Earl climbed inside. “Don’t you worry about a thing. I have my rifle along, in case we run into any looters lookin’ to take advantage of the situation.”

  But that was the one thing Duncan did do the entire time he sat in Earl’s truck—worry.

  Chapter 27

  Whatever big emotional scene Duncan had pictured in his head wasn’t what he got when he arrived at the farmhouse. Instead, he got a Hollywood drama, complete with a lot of waving arms, four-letter words, and complete freaking out.

  “My movie is total toast, Scotty!” Jerry Wiggs was shouting when Duncan climbed out of Earl’s truck. “No set. No movie. No moolah for anybody. Which means Wes Craven’s gonna beat my ass at the Christmas box office. Again. Man, I hate him and his freaky fingernail Freddy friend.”

  Chunks of Aunt Mae’s farmhouse remained, looking like a building project half-done. Allie’s mother was bustling between the crew and her family, handing out what looked like plates of food. It took a second for the whole scene to make sense to Duncan, and for him to register Katie’s spaghetti, such an ordinary meal, among the craziness of the tornado’s aftermath.

  Allie’s father kept trying to get his wife to sit down, to no avail. Allie’s sister Carlene sat to one side, quietly eating, watching the goings-on, not really talking to anyone.

  To the rear of the whole thing some skinny pale guy in a red velvet jacket paced back and forth like one of those crazy polar bears at the zoo, muttering to himself that if he could just get Jerry a latte, everything would be okay.

  Duncan couldn’t have cared less. He’d barely listened to Earl’s conversation on the ride over here, and even now didn’t hear Earl’s ramblings about the movie crew, and how he’d changed his mind about the influx of cash. “Now that we’re going to have a rebuilding project,” Earl said, “well, I think Tempest could use a little boost in the financial arm. These movie people could be just the ticket.” He chuckled. “Pun intended. What do you think, Duncan?”

  But Duncan had already wandered away from Earl, his gaze scanning what was left of Aunt Mae’s farmhouse, looking for the two familiar faces he had yet to see. Earl walked off and joined in on the meal.

  Finally, Duncan caught a glint of metal.

  Katie.

  She was laughing as she came around the corner of the house, or what remained of the corner of the house, a tray of bread slices on her lap and Ranger on his leash by her side. The dog, apparently still a bit unnerved by the storm—or maybe worried about his mistress amid the debris—kept looking up at Duncan’s sister from time to time, his tail in a nervous wag, as if ensuring himself that she was okay.

  Relief flooded Duncan’s chest and he covered the distance separating them in a clip. “Katie, you’re okay.”

  She beamed at him. “Yep. Thanks to you and to Allie, I’m just fine.”

  He gathered her into a hug so tight, he lifted her out of the chair. “Thank God.”

  “Hey, you’re squishing the bread.”

  He laughed and let her go. “Sorry.”

  “That’s okay. I love you, too, big brother.” She gestured with her head toward the right. “Allie’s here, too.”

  He turned and saw Allie then, looking not much worse for wear. In fact, looking more natural than ever, her hair back in a ponytail, her makeup gone, still wearing the same dress pants and blouse from earlier, but paired with Katie’s old flip-flops. Allie was handing out napkins to the odd assemblage around the picnic table.

  The relief in Duncan’s chest quadrupled and all the damage around him seemed tempered somehow by the sight of everyone he knew, alive and safe and sound. “Allie got you out of the house?”

  “Dragged us out is more like it,” Katie said. “She came over with her family, took one look at that weather report, and made us all get in the van and drove us over here herself. Then she herded everyone into the storm cellar. Carried my wheelchair down there herself. You should have seen her, yelling at Jerry to get a move on.” Katie laughed. “I think he was more scared of Allie than he was of the storm.”

  Duncan chuckled. “That’s something I
would have paid money to see.”

  “You gotta love a woman like that.” Katie slugged her brother. “And don’t tell me you don’t love her.”

  He sighed. “Katie, it’s complicated.”

  “How so?”

  “She’s not who you think.”

  Katie waved a hand in dismissal. “You mean that whole Allison Gray thing? I know about that. It’s no big deal.”

  “No big deal? Katie, she lied.”

  “So? Who doesn’t?” Katie stared at him. “You never guessed?”

  “Hell, no. Who would? She didn’t look the same, not by a long shot.”

  “Duncan, she didn’t change that much. Maybe you only saw what you wanted to see.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Katie gave Ranger a pat, then looked up at her brother. “Allie lost a lot of weight, yes, but the real her was always behind her eyes, and in the way she talked, acted. You knew her a lot better than I did in high school. You never noticed any resemblance between Allie and Allison when you were with her? Never even put the names together?”

  “No. And I even had—” He cut off that sentence. Some things his little sister didn’t need to know about his private life. “I never guessed.”

  “Geez, Duncan, don’t you watch those makeover shows?”

  “You’re the one with the remote control.”

  She laughed. “True. And TLC probably isn’t your cup of tea.”

  Duncan’s gaze traveled in Allie’s direction again. He took in her hourglass figure, assessing it through new eyes, searching for the resemblance, the clues he’d missed. He’d found her beautiful, of course, but it had never been solely her looks that had attracted him. From the start, it had been her attitude, the way she’d matched him in wits—

  The way the Allison Gray he’d known had done the same thing.

  Two women, similar names—the idiot light went off in his head again—and he realized he’d been as blinded by the outside as anyone else. He hadn’t seen past it, hadn’t put the clues together, because he would have never imagined that Allison Gray could become Allie Dean.