“We haven’t seen much of Patrik and Jonas since we moved here, but Peggy’s a real friendly lady,” Dad says. “She’s tried to get us to come to church a couple of times, but you know Sheryl.”
I do. She’s defiantly atheist.
“Peggy didn’t mention Anders was coming home,” Dad muses. “He works for an IndyCar team, you know.”
“Yes, Casey mentioned it.”
“I’ve been hoping to meet him.”
“You haven’t yet?”
“No. Peggy said that he never comes home during racing season, but obviously that’s not entirely true if he’s here now. He’ll be heading to Toronto the week after next, so he must be very busy at work.”
Dad has been a motorsports fan for as long as I can remember. I’m not surprised he knows Anders’s racing schedule.
“He’s only here for the weekend,” I say.
“Maybe we could invite them over for a drink later?”
“Fine by me,” I reply, wondering if he can hear the waver in my voice that’s caused by a kaleidoscope of butterflies taking flight in my stomach.
When we getback inside, Sheryl reports that the radio warned of tornado weather. It certainly looks dark out there.
Hailstones arrive before rain and I stand at the living room window and watch, awestruck, as round white ice cubes pelt down from above, turning the lawn almost as white as snow. The sound of them hitting the roof is like a hundred thousand hammers banging away at once. It’s ear-shattering, and the rain that follows soon after is almost as deafening. The sky flashes with distant lightning, followed by thunder that reverberates through the walls. I keep an eye out for lightning forks and wonder if the main body of the storm is yet to reach us.
“I hope Bailey made it into work okay,” Dad says with concern from beside me.
I check my watch. It’s twelve thirty. So much for her coming here this morning to nurse our hangovers together.
It’s not the first time Bailey has made a decision on the spur of the moment and a promise she won’t keep. But she did cheer me up last night and I’m grateful for that. Maybe it’s enough that we have fun together occasionally without any great expectations of sisterly bonding. It’s unlikely we’re going to grow much closer in the next two weeks, anyway, despite my earlier optimism that we might without Scott around.
“I’ll call her,” Dad decides, digging his phone out of his pocket as he leaves the room.
Jealousy needles me. He hardly ever callsme.
Bailey lives nearby, I reason with myself.She’s in the same time zone.It’s easy, convenient, to call her.
But there’s no denying that Dad and Bailey have a much closer relationship than he and I do. She would never hesitate to pluck a twig out of his hair.
Dad returns a couple of minutes later when the rain has died down.
“She and Casey are at work,” he says with relief. “The golf club has a cellar.”
I turn to look at him properly. “Are you genuinely worried about a tornado?”
“It’s the right weather for ’em,” he murmurs, scratching his peppery stubble.
Suddenly, he tenses, his eyes widening.
“What?”
He holds up his hand to silence me.
And then I hear it, a high-pitched whine coming from outside.
“That’s the tornado siren. Sheryl!” Dad shouts up the stairs.
“I heard it! I’m coming!” she shouts back.
