Chapter 18

Jayce

Last night, Shay and I sat curled up on my leather couch while I listened to her read the words she wrote. I believe this brought us closer together.

Her main character’s name is Angela Lane. Named after Angela Lansbury, the actress from reruns of Murder She Wrote —some mystery show she loved watching growing up . Just like Jessica Fletcher, who wrote novels based on the murders she encountered and solved in her everyday life, Angela Lane writes a travel blog and while traveling the world finds herself entangled in murder cases she helps solve.

Shay has aspirations to write as many books in this series as Agatha Christie wrote with Hercule Poirot or Mrs. Marple.

I’ve never seen an episode of Murder She Wrote or read any of Agatha Christie’s works. The history lesson Shay gave me went over my head, as I knew nothing of them. Yet, I hung onto every word.

The passion oozing from her nonstop chatter made it clear how much she loved writing and traveling. I could never ask her to give up either of those things.

If children ever happen, I can see myself as a full-time dad. I’d even entertain hiring a nanny—one I haven’t seen naked—to ensure Shay could continue to devote herself to the things that make her heart sing.

I brought her book for the drive to Slidell for her therapist appointment. The timbre of Shay’s voice while she reads is my new favorite sound.

“Park here,” Shay says mid-sentence.

This therapy situation, and Shay’s uncomfortable attitude, adds to the mystery.

While I know little about her, she doesn’t seem like a woman with excess baggage requiring a shrink to guide her through hurts and hangups.

The heavens threaten to open any minute. Since she made me promise to let her walk in alone, I made her take an umbrella for later. The weather prediction was severe enough that schools in the area canceled classes for the day. I only know this because Priscilla didn’t have to drive the hour to the high school that she’s finishing out the year in as a teacher. Next year, she’ll join the school in the labyrinth as a teacher for our young.

Once Shay’s safely inside the little house nestled in an out of the way, side street, I pick her book up and continue reading where she left off.

The rain fell from the sky not long after she slipped behind the door.

Fourteen or twenty minutes after she left the truck, my phone screams at me with an emergency alert. It’s probably nothing, but I glance at it anyway. A tornado warning.

I think nothing of it until I look up at the sky. The green sky. While I’ve never been in a tornado, I know the heavens turning green can’t be a good thing.

I’m a sitting duck outside in my truck. My promise to remain put forgotten at the sound of a roaring train.

Without an umbrella of my own, I run through the pelting rain into the building Shay went into.

I’ve walked into a living room. Not a soul in sight. Muffled voices come from a room on the side.

The door opens. A very pregnant woman and Shay, who’s wrapped in a sheet from the waist down, emerge from the room in a panic. What the fuck kind of therapy is Shay having, runs through my head, but there’s no time to dwell on it.

“Is there a bathtub or a room without a window? We need to get to safety,” I say with haste. Water drips from my clothes onto the floor.

I’m torn between helping this pregnant doctor or Shay .

“There’s a bathtub. This way.” The doctor waddles about ten steps down a hallway.

I grab Shay by the hand to follow.

As the tornado roars overhead, the three of us huddle together in a cramped bathtub—the safest place to seek refuge from the raging storm.

The bathtub is barely big enough for three bodies. I pull Shay into my arms to make more room for the doctor and her protruding belly.

She trembles beneath my arms. Out of fear or being in my arms, I don’t know. It could be my wet body making her cold. My pride prefers to believe that it’s because of our nearness and nothing else. My concern for her knows better.

I keep my eyes and ears open for any sign of danger. “Everything is going to be okay. We’re safe in here.” I say with a steady voice, hoping they believe it because I truly don’t know if I’m speaking the truth.

Now isn’t the time to panic.

Shay’s hair hangs tousled beneath my chin. She clings to my sides. Her fingers grip my shirt, as her breathing rises and falls erratically. I say a prayer to Helios that my presence brings Shay peace and not anger over my failure to remain outside.

I look over at the doctor. She’s leaning against my back. Her face carries worry while her hands protectively cradle her swollen belly.

Despite the cramped space and the storm wreaking havoc outside, she remains calm .

When we can no longer make out the sound of a train barreling in our direction, we wait another few minutes before leaving the safety of the tub to assess any damage.

Shay lets go of my hand to secure the sheet she’s wearing. Then grabs my hand again. She squeezes my fingers tightly but is no longer shaking despite being damp from resting safely against my wet body.

Together, we head outside the house. We pass signs in the living room for midwife services and pelvic floor therapy. I know Shay’s not pregnant. My bull and I would have heard a heartbeat. What is pelvic floor therapy?

The aftermath that we find ourselves in could be nothing else but the work of a tornado. The scene before us is one of chaotic destruction. A once peaceful street now transformed into a debris-strewn battlefield, with the destructive force of the tornado clear in every direction we turn.

The sight directly in front of the house knocks the wind from my lungs. Tears stream down the doctor’s eyes, while Shay squeezes my hand tighter.

The tornado had grabbed hold of a large tree, uprooting it with its fierce winds. It crashed down onto my truck. The weight of the tree had pinned the doors shut, rendering it a mangled, immovable obstacle.

The neighboring house to our right had borne the full brunt of mother nature’s wrath. It lay split in half—a jagged tear running down the middle like a gaping wound. The exposed rooms and shattered windows bore witness to the sheer power of nature unleashed.

Across the street, a once picturesque home now stands in disarray. Its roof gone. Leaving the upper floor exposed to the elements. Inside, furniture and belongings lay scattered about.

Everywhere we look, trees lay uprooted or snapped like matchsticks, their branches and limbs scattered across lawns and streets. Debris from shattered buildings and torn structures adds to the surreal landscape, creating a maze of hazards and obstacles.

A power line leans on an angle, threatening to fall at any moment.

Despite this devastation, the house where we took shelter remains remarkably intact. It stands like a solitary beacon of resilience amid the chaos. Its sturdy construction and good fortune sparing it from the worst of the storm’s fury.

I turn to the doctor who’s still rubbing her belly. “Are you and the child okay?”

“Yes, thank you for asking.”

She glances over at Shay. “Why didn’t you tell me you found a partner? Is he helping with your stretches?”

I raise an eyebrow. Stretches? Shay needs my help. Her face is bright red. I tuck my lips in, resisting the urge to force her to spill something she obviously wants kept a secret. Oh, I plan to ask her. But not in front of the doctor.

When Shay says nothing, realization dawns on the doc’s face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

Shay shakes her head. “It’s okay.”

“Well, if that’s your truck over there, you’re not going anywhere for a bit. Do you want to finish your session?”

Shay awkwardly nods.

“I’ll find us a ride,” I say. Shay releases my hand and walks back inside.