Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 83933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
“We’re closing early tonight,” a harried voice called from the kitchen. “Meteorologist says the storm is getting worse. Why don’t you buss the table, sweep, and go. I wanna get home to Darla and kids and batten down the hatches.”
My boss, James, was a former marine. He did the cooking, and I did the serving. Usually two other waitresses assisted, but he’d released them hours ago due to slow business.
“Sir, yes, sir.” I welcomed the chance to be with my dad.
“You make something in tips at least?”
Tone drier than desert sand, I told him, “Oh, yes. A grand total of seven dollars. I’m a bona fide nillionaire now.”
He snorted. “Nil. Funny.” Thunder boomed, reverberating in the air and erasing any good humor.
Picking up the pace, I cleared the remaining dishes, fished a rag from the pocket of my uniform, and sprayed the tabletop with cleaner. Swiping the surface free of debris, I glanced out the wall of windows overlooking the parking lot. A single streetlight showcased the heavy rainfall pelting the asphalt. The storm had raged most of the evening, keeping the usual customers away.
Ready to be done, I grabbed the broom and dustpan to clear the yellow “brick” floor. The perfect complement to the rest of the diner. Booths looked as if they’d grown straight from trees, courtesy of the mural covering the walls. The forest scene also depicted flowers with teeth, and horned, flying horses, all surrounding an injured scarecrow, a crying lion, and a frozen tinman wielding a crimson-stained ax. Amazingly detailed artwork created by my mother, and the main reason I’d come here looking for a job.
Sandra Shaker had been—was?—a talented artist. She’d painted all kinds of images throughout the town, but few others remained. They were either worn from weather or just painted over in favor of something new.
A new spear of lightning flashed, dancing shadows over the colorful depiction. The trio came alive, the scarecrow seeming to wink, the lion to laugh, and the tinman to scowl. It was super creepy, and I loved it. Mom possessed a talent like no other.
Guaranteed, she would want me home with Daddy, not mooning over images I’d see again tomorrow. I picked up the pace, finally completing my task, then rushed the tub of dirty dishes to the kitchen. James was in the process of hanging up his apron, his wizened features tight with concern.
“You want me to wash these before I go?” I asked, motioning to the array of plates, cups, and silverware.
“Nah. Don’t worry about it.” Another crack of thunder boomed, and he paused to exhale. “I’ll scrub everything tomorrow morning. You just get on home.”
“Thank you.”
We donned our coats and exited. James locked up, and I raced into the torrent. By the time I sealed myself in the cab of my old beater of a truck, I was soaked to the bone and shivering. More lightning flashed. More thunder boomed. The icy cold made my fingers feel like sausages, so it took me a couple of tries to buckle in and fit the key in the ignition. Please don’t stall as usual.
It stalled.
“Come on, come on. Yes!” The engine sputtered to life as James exited the lot in his SUV.
I cranked the heater. With the windshield wipers operating at warp speed, I eased onto Main Street. Thankfully, there were only a few miles to go. Usually a ten-minute drive. But fifteen minutes passed, and I barely reached the halfway point. Visibility was shot, forcing me to travel at a crawl.
At the twenty-minute mark, my nerves frayed, and the muscles in my back grew as tight as a lid on a new jar of pickles. Violent wind blustered with increasing force, rattling the truck. I white-knuckled the steering wheel. Better to pull over until the storm lessened. Otherwise I might end up in a ditch.
I parked at the edge of Main Street in the lot of a little white wedding chapel with flickering Christmas lights. There were no other cars nearby.
On my own. Doing my best to stay calm, I whipped out my cell and keyed up my father’s number.
Dang it! Straight to voice mail. Hopefully Daddy was sleeping through this and not racked with worry for me. Stress wasn’t good for him.
Wait. I craned my neck, peering out the window. Was that… No. No, no, no. But also yes. A telltale green tint spread through the pitch-black sky. My stomach dropped. Anyone who’d grown up in this part of the country knew that particular shade heralded a tornado.
A high-pitched whistle escalated into a rolling howl, and I sucked oxygen between my teeth.
I needed inside that chapel. Now!
The front door blew open, as if in welcome, banging into the frame. In a rush, I stored my phone in a coat pocket, threw off my seatbelt, and launched outside. Or tried to. The gale-force sealed the driver’s door shut. Fine. I wiggled out the passenger side.