Just like the night I carried her into her apartment, there’s photographs of dark skies illuminated by lightning shows, pictures of funnel clouds—some small, some spanning entire cornfields—and photos of the storm’s aftermath. Spiked remains of trees whose branches were twisted off their trunks, furnitureshredded and dropped in front lawns, chunks of roofs littering the streets.
But unlike the photos I saw that night, there’s also pictures of people in a restaurant booth, smiling and laughing. I recognize them from their Facebook page—Everleigh’s old crew. She’s in a couple of them, her long, blonde hair in a high ponytail pulled through the back of a pink ball cap sporting their team’s logo. Her blue eyes sparkle with confidence and excitement. It’s so clear to see shelivedfor this.
“I’m a storm chaser,” Everleigh says, reaching for a crew photo taken in a parking lot with their van and dark skies in the background. She immediately clears her throat. “Iwasa storm chaser. Until I let the voice of a stranger get inside my head and rob me of the thing that made me feel the closest to my parents. Until tonight, I think I forgot the why part.”
Despite the urge to ask what specific thing happened tonight, I don’t dare. Instead, I drop a hand to her bare knee and keep quiet. My thumb strokes her soft skin as she continues.
“An older woman in overalls came up to our booth. She’d been eating a few spots down. She zeroed in on me, as though she had a personal vendetta or something. She told us we should be ashamed of ourselves, chasing storms like it was some kind of sport. That it wasn’t some stupid movie. Real people suffered consequences.” Everleigh sets the photo down, but her gaze remains locked on the image. “I blew it off. Not everyone’s a fan, and that’s okay.”
“What happened?”
“I experienced my first EF4 tornado later that night. It took out half the town and left behind miles of devastation.”
“It changed you?” I guessed.
“Not right away. I’d seen destruction before, and I’m not heartless. I understand the aftermath is devastating for those affected, especially with a tornado of that magnitude. You’retalking hundred and eighty, hundred and ninety mile per hour winds. My crew, we always help with search and rescue where they’ll let us. Set up Go Fund Me’s when we can. We chase storms in a better attempt to understand them. Are we a little crazy?” She shrugs. “You have to be in that line of work. It’s dangerous.”
“Did you see her again? The older woman?”
“I was in a cul-de-sac the next morning taking pictures of a neighborhood that’d been leveled while my crew helped rescue teams search for survivors. I wanted to get a fundraiser up as soon as possible.” She reaches for another photo and holds it out to me. “This was her house.”
“Did she survive?”
“She had a broken leg, so they had her on a stretcher. I was trying to stay out of the way of the EMTs, but I recognized her. I thought about steering clear considering the interaction we’d had the day before. But I thought I’d be the bigger person. So, I went up to her to ask if I could include her name in the story for the Go Fund Me I planned to start for the whole neighborhood. But before I could get the words out, she grabbed my wrist in a death grip. I’ve never seen such hatred in someone’s eyes before. I tried to brush it off, told her I was so relieved she was okay. But she cut me off.” Everleigh shudders.
“What did she say?”
“I hope it was worth it.”
I wait, expecting more. But Everleigh sets the photo back in the pile.
“Those six words wrecked me.” She lets out a pitiful laugh, shaking her head. “There were others who said things that were so much worse. People who called us names. Accused us of chasing ratings online. Claimed we were just adrenaline junkies who deserved to die. Yet it was Connie Wilson who caused me to have some quarterlife crisis with one venomous sentence.”
“Ev—”
“I held it together for a couple of days, but the words wouldn’t stop playing over and over in my head. It was thewayshe said it. I felt so fucking guilty, which still doesn’t make any sense. I know. But that didn’t stop me from packing up my things and driving nonstop to Montana. I didn’t even say goodbye to my crew. I couldn’t’ face any of them. I just…left.”
I shift in my seat to face her, the urge to pull her into my lap overwhelming. I hate that this happened to her. I wish like hell I could go back in time and stop it all. I reach for her, dropping my hand to her elbow. “It wasn’t your fault, Everleigh.”
“I know,” she says, standing quickly before I can tug her closer. “Anyway, I thought you deserved an explanation after…this morning.”
Thor lifts his head as she zips toward the hall, but he doesn’t move. Stormy’s curled up next to him fast asleep, and only a really good treat or a taunting squirrel could tempt him into moving now.
I push to my feet, following Everleigh to her second bedroom.
“The desk’s in here,” she says, pointing to a box but not going into the empty room herself.
The silent message is loud and clear: we’re not going to talk about this morning.
“I’ll get started on it.”
“Thanks.”
Everleigh returns to the living room, the sound of a printer starting up. I pull the cardboard box apart, laying out all the pieces and hardware for the L-shaped desk. I replay her story over in my mind, the missing pieces of this past year finally falling into place. It all makes so much sense, and yet, leaves me feeling fucking helpless at the same time. I’m so lost in thoughtthat I don’t realize I forgot my drill until I absently reach for it. Oh well. A screwdriver should suffice.
“Hey Ev?” I call to her.
“Yeah?” she hollers back, her voice distant as the printer continues humming.
