Page 86 of Holding Penalty

I pace the living room with my arms crossed tight over my chest and my chin tucked low, until the first thunderclap rips through the air like a bomb. The rasp of rain hitting the dry ground intensifies.

I try to call her, but I just hear her phone vibrate from on top of her bed. Damn it, she went out without it.

I step outside again, not caring a lick that the rain drenches me in an instant, my wet clothes clinging to my body. I gaze out into the distance, but the rain is too dense in the air to even see the distance of the hills.

Maybe she’s at the petting zoo. Maybe the rain started to fall, and she was closer to there than she was to home. I call them, practically praying that that’s the case, but they tell me she isn’t there. The worry pounding through my body is hovering on the edge of panic now.

I run outside, about fifty yards away from the back door, the cold rain whipping my body and soaking me to the bone.

I bracket my hands at the sides of my mouth, take a deep breath, and let out in the loudest bellow my lungs can power, “PIPER!”

If she’s close enough to hear me, maybe she’ll yell back, or at least blow the horn on the ATV. But right now, it wouldn’t matter if she were doing either of those things, because a deafening clap of thunder splits the sky, and the rain starts to fall harder.

My chest hitches, breaths coming in short and choppy, my hands jittery at my sides. It’s a full-blown thunderstorm, and my wife is somewhere out there.

My legs itch to set off in a sprint, running out to try and find her. But there’s way too much ground to cover, and the density of raindrops hurtling from the black storm clouds makes for minimal visibility. We could be twenty yards away from each other in rain like this and not know it.

I wring my hands together, trying to keep the tremors of worry from spreading through my body, trying to will enough collected reason into my brain to think of an actual solution.

There’s only one thing that comes to mind. I run to my truck.

I throw open the gate of the fencing surrounding the property, hop into my truck, turn the ignition, and start to drive.

Even with my headlights on and the windshield wipers going at maximum, the heavy lash of rain makes it hard to see. My wheels squish against the wet ground, throwing up a spray of cold water in my tracks.

I honk the horn and roll down the window, not caring about the rain that whips through it, to yell out Piper’s name as I drive across the land. My voice gets hoarse, but I don’t stop.

I’m not sure how much time passes as I try to cover as much ground as possible. The panic feels acrid and corrosive in my chest. I’m white knuckling the steering wheel, the only thing I can do to keep my hands from shaking.

The harsh lash of the rain against the truck fills the cabin with a constant, unnerving metallic hum.

Somehow, over the sound of my engine, the wheels spraying water, the pounding rain, and my own pulse beating a drum in my ear, I pick up another noise cutting weakly through the chaotic air outside.

It’s short and sharp, but my heart leaps in my chest when my ears sense the slightest hint of recognition.

I stop the truck and get out, cold rain thrashing me.

“PIPER!” I yell with every ounce of strength I can muster.

I press my eyelids shut tight, trying to put every power of sense I have into my hearing. My breath catches when I hear what sounds like a voice respond. The feeling of recognition is stronger this time, and though the sound is too distant to make out what it says, hope blooms through me.

With fragile hope, I bellow into the beating rain, “PIPER, STAY WHERE YOU ARE! I’M COMING!”

I get into the truck and drive toward the source of the sound I heard—or at least think, hope, pray that I heard.

“PIPER!” I yell out the window, my heart stalling in my chest with the desperate hope that I hear a response.

“Nash!”

I gasp, eyelids shooting open at the unmistakable sound.

My whole body is vibrating with a mixture of hope, worry, and impatience as I drive toward it.

Finally, I see her.

I drive until I’m just in front of her, then leap out of the truck and run to her, taking her in my arms and holding her tight, gasping breaths of relief.

She’s soaked by the rain, her usually warm skin frighteningly cold to the touch. I hold her tighter, rubbing my hands all over her to warm her, even though my own are chilled from the rain that poured through the open window.