As it transpired, the tornado touched down a few miles south of here, ripping its way through a forest and some fields. Thankfully, no lives were lost, nor were any homes or farms destroyed, but the storm did cause some minor damage to properties, and we saw a lot of debris lying around on our way back to Dad and Sheryl’s.
Sheryl told me that there are around twenty tornadoes a year in Indiana, mostly in the spring and summer months.
I’m thinking next time I might visit in the dead of winter.
“There sure was a lot of tension in that shelter,” Dad continues. “Didn’t really feel right, striking up a conversation with Anders about motor racing, although I was tempted.”
“Do you think he came home because of Patrik’s accident?” I ask, remembering Dad saying that Anders normally never visits during the racing season.
“Maybe,” Dad replies. “I can’t stop thinking about Patrik laying into Jonas like that. Didn’t realize he had it in him to get so angry.”
“Oh, I did,” Sheryl replies flippantly. “Don’t let his age fool you. That man is someone to be reckoned with.”
What was it that Patrik shouted?I can’t have you disappearing all the time, boy!
There was something about Jonas that seemed kind of...off. WhydidAnders feel the need to go looking for him? And why was Anders so upset when he arrived at the shelter?
Jonas sat on that sofa for ages with his face buried under his arms and he barely said two words when he eventually emerged from the shelter and stalked away across the farmyard.
Spying a particularly fat peach on a branch above my head, I reach up to pluck it off. But I have to tug harder than I was expecting and my effort brings down a cascade of raindrops, making me flinch as water runs down the inside of my coat.
“Not ripe yet, Wren. Stick with the ones on the ground,” Sheryl commands.
I surreptitiously roll my eyes at her bossiness as she lets out an “oof” and straightens up, stretching her back.
“Maybe you should let Dad and me do this if your back is hurting,” I say, aware that this will probably annoy her, yet failing to hold my tongue.
“Don’t be ridiculous, I’m fine.” Sheryl brushes me off with a predictable scowl, bending down to scoop up another peach.
I’m at the edge of the peach orchard, close to the barn, when I notice a grubby-looking tarp covering something bulky. When the wind catches it, a corner lifts to reveal a flash of pale silver.
“What’s that?” I ask Dad.
“Caravan,” he replies. “Came with the farm.”
“It’s not an Airstream, is it?”
It’s the right color for aluminum and seems to be the right shape.
“I think so,” Dad replies. “Haven’t had a lot of time to investigate.”
A surge of excitement rushes through me.
“Can I?”
“Sure.” He nods encouragingly. “You know much about them?”
“A bit. They’re a design classic. I’ve always wanted one.”
“I don’t know what shape it’s in, but you’re welcome to it.”
I laugh. “If only I could take it back to the UK.”
“You could use it when you come to visit,” Dad offers. “Go on a trip across America or something. Didn’t you always say you’d like to do that?”
“Iwouldlike to do that one day,” I reply. It was actually something Scott and I talked about doing together.
Dad and Sheryl retire inside while I go take a closer look.
