Beyond the Storm: Quilts of Love Series (14 page)

A
tta girl. That’s right,” Bernie said, as he coached Jen from over Justin and Abigail’s shoulders. “One more and you’re done. Justin, get ready.”

Try as she might to wait for the professionals, after midnight, Jen finally had to give in to her urges to push. And scream. They’d all scrambled to assemble a bed of sorts from the PetSmart pile and Chaz had run back to the cleaners for another load of battered, but still usable, dry cleaning. Abigail was holding the flashlight, and Justin was supporting her baby’s head.

Jen tensed, her entire body bunching. Then, with one amazing shriek, she pushed her son into Justin’s hands.

“I got him! I got him!” Justin was laughing and his smile was huge. “He’s a slippery cuss. What should I do now, Bernie?” Arms waving in the sudden lack of confinement, the baby was squirming and bleating like a lamb.

“Put him up on mama’s tummy and let’s get his nose and mouth cleared out and get him covered up. Chaz? Get that blouse you got from the cleaners?” Bernie pointed to the plastic-wrapped garments Chaz had brought over earlier. “That cotton blouse oughta do the trick. Zuzu? Wipe him down real good with that. Do his nose, like I showed you. Chaz, let’s get something we can wrap him in when she’s done. Abigail, hold the light up a little higher, that’s right. Good.”

“Oh my goodness!” Abigail stared at the baby, suddenly overcome with emotion. “Oh, Jen!” she breathed. “He’s so . . .
beautiful!
” She laughed and cried and tried not to drop the flashlight as she moved the beam to the baby’s face. Abigail glanced around and could see that everyone was brimming with happy relief, just as she was. Mother and baby were alive! It was a miracle. “Do we need to cut the cord?” Abigail asked Bernie.

“No hurry on that. Let him get used to breathing on his own first.”

“How is he?” Jen asked, peering down at the top of her baby’s head. She was exhausted, but smiling.

Bernie leaned forward. “Looks like he’s pinking up real nice. Good job, team. You’re all quick studies.” He slapped his thighs with the palms of his dirty hands. “Looks like you got a healthy, strapping boy, far as I can tell. Hard to perform an Apgar out here, but I don’t think you have anything to worry about with him being a preemie. He’s gotta be a six- or seven-pounder, easy. Chaz, bunch up some of that laundry, will ya? Put it behind mama’s head so she can get a look at her boy. Justin, grab that blanket and put it over mama and the baby now.”

As everyone quickly and efficiently did their job, long-awaited help finally emerged from the shadows. A policeman led two EMTs through the rubble and over to their group, his radio crackling with cross traffic. “We got some reports of screams coming from this area and—” The officer stopped talking when he saw the baby and laughed. “Well, if this isn’t a pleasant surprise after everything else I’ve seen tonight. Come on, guys! Over here.”

All smiles, the EMTs got to work checking Jen and the baby and getting her ready to transport. Heavy equipment must have been clearing the area while they were all otherwise occupied, because Abigail was amazed to discover there was now a maneuverable path down the middle of Homestead Avenue for the ambulance.

When had that happened?

Behind the front loader tractor, a siren squawked and another EMT backed in as close as possible and parked. The back doors of the ambulance were thrown open and a gurney was pulled out and carried over to Jen.

“Besides mother and baby, it’s just you four?” The police officer asked, indicating Justin, Abigail, Chaz, and Isuzu.

“Actually, it’s—” Hands on his hips, Justin paused and glanced around for Bernie.

Puzzled, Abigail’s gaze followed his gaze with her own. Funny. Bernie was here just a minute ago, but he seemed to have vanished. Squinting into the darkness, they both took several quick turns around the area where they’d delivered the baby, but Bernie—also known as Dr. Bernard Blumenfeld— was gone. Clearly, that’s how he wanted it.

“Yes,” Justin said and cast a knowing glance at Abigail. “Everyone else walked out earlier and as far as we know, the businesses were all closed and locked and there were no other people in the mall.”

“Good.” The officer radioed his findings in and then said, “Right now, the Red Cross has set up an area in the hospital parking lot for people to go and sign a survivors’ list to help everyone check on loved ones. They tried that out up in Dakota during a nasty flood, and it worked really well. Their voluntary sign-in list is really helpful and it’s growing. If you’d like, I can give you all a ride to the hospital.”

“Yes, please,” Abigail said. Justin took her arm and they paused to talk to Jen for a moment before she was lifted into the ambulance. She reached out for Abigail’s hand.

“Thank you, all,” Jen said. “So much.”

“I don’t think any of us will ever forget your baby’s birthday, huh?” Abigail said with a smile.

“Where are you taking her?” Justin asked the paramedic.

“Rawston Legacy is southwest of the high school and— amazingly—it was just this side of the tornado’s path. Even though she’s not an emergency, they can take her in the maternity ward.” Turning to Jen, he asked, “Ma’am, is there anyone you need to notify about the baby?”

“Yes! My husband. Please. If you can, have him meet me at the hospital. His name is Danny Strohacker and his cell phone isn’t working.”

“We’ve been hearing a lot of that tonight. Cell phone reception is intermittent at best,” the policeman said. “Could I get his name again?” The officer relayed a message to be on the lookout for Danny and to have him meet Jen and his son at the hospital.

“His son.” Jen lay back and smiled at the baby. “He’s gonna love that.”

After stopping a number of times to assist people in need and to help clear debris from the road, Selma, Bob Ray, Guadalupe and Elsa finally made it to Hollingsworth Boulevard, the four-lane thoroughfare that ran by Barnaby Estates. As they slowly wove down the street, they were all shocked at the horrendous wreckage over here in Bob Ray’s neck of the woods. Upended and tossed on their tops and sides, single- and double-wide mobile homes were strewn about like the cars of a hobbyist’s Lionel model train wreck.

“How am I even going to find my place?” Bob Ray stared in disbelief, his nose pressed up against the glass. Aside from the full moon, there was only a little diffused light coming from his neighbors’ Coleman lanterns and auto headlights as they worked through their rubble.

“Are you sure you want to go in there? I see that there are paramedics in there with your neighbors now,” Selma said. They all knew she was thinking that finding Heather and Robbie’s bodies would undo Bob Ray. “Yes, ma’am. My family may need me, and I have to try to get to them before any more time passes.”

“Of course.” Selma parked over at the side of the boulevard, and Bob Ray jerked the door open before she’d come to a complete stop.

“I’m in a corner lot, the first street on the left,” he called over his shoulder before he turned and sprinted into the night, frantically shouting Heather’s and Robbie’s names. When the women finally caught up to him, Bob Ray was standing, his shoulders hunched, his hands cradling his temples. “I don’t even know where to begin.” There was a terrible panic in his voice, coupled with helpless confusion and grief. The mountain of refuse that had been his home was broken in two piles. One half was over in Mrs. Carmichael’s yard. The other was strewn all over the neighborhood. Their clothing, towels, and bedding were shredded and fluttering in the remaining branches of stripped down and toppled trees.

“How . . .” he faltered as tears overwhelmed him. “How could
anything
survive?”

His closest neighbor, Mrs. Carmichael limped over to their group to talk about his place being mostly over in her place now. “Don’t worry, honey,” she told Bob Ray in her raspy voice, and pointed out to the road with her cigarette. “They wasn’t home when the storm hit. I seen ’em leave, so if you’re lookin’ for ’em here, you won’t find them.”

Relief had Bob Ray’s head roll back on his shoulders as he exhaled thanksgiving at the sky. “Did Heather say where they were going?”

“Yeah, she was outta milk. So I’m guessing she went over to Safeway, cuz she had the baby in his stroller. I gave her a few bucks to buy me a lottery ticket and one of those barbecued chicken pizzas in the black box I like so much. I had a coupon. Said I’d share it with her and her visitor, since you had to work.”

“She had a visitor?”

“Yeah, some guy in a pickup truck came by. Can’t say I know him. Big guy. Silver crew cut. Came to fix your toilet and tub. By the way, they’re over at my place, if ya want ‘em back.” She coughed up some reedy cackles.

Bob Ray sighed. “Nah. Thanks though. Did the guy say his name was Danny?”

“Could be. My memory ain’t what it used to be.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Carmichael. How are the neighbors?” he asked, running his hands through his hair and turning to survey his street.

“Totaled. The whole park. Pretty much totaled. Everybody made it to the big shelter down on Morton Street though, as far as we know. Lotta folks weren’t home.”

Selma and Guadalupe moved through the wreckage and began to gather some clothing for him and Heather and their baby. When Guadalupe’s purse was stuffed to its oversized gills, they loaded Selma’s.

“Look at this,” Selma said as she pulled a rag off a pointed limb and aimed her tiny key light at the scrap. She held it up for Guadalupe to examine. “Isn’t this . . .”

“Mm-hum,” Guadalupe said. “Danny’s Bible cover. This is the one Jen was showing to us at the store this afternoon, I’m sure.”

“So he was the visitor. Probably left in a hurry once the storm started up. No doubt wanted to be with that baby of his. Though . . . it’s odd for him to leave this behind.” Brows knit, Selma studied the tattered scrap. “I’ll give this back when I see him again.”

Elsa took the fabric and pressed it to her damp cheeks. Selma slipped an arm around her waist. “How are you doing, honey? Do I need to get you back to my house so that you can get to bed?”

Giving her head an emphatic shake, Elsa adjusted her slipping tiara. Her words were halting as she said, “I don’t think I could sleep. Maybe not ever again.”

Selma nodded. “Good enough. I feel just the same way. You and me? We can stay up all night and play cards and watch movies and do facials. What do you say?”

Elsa sniffed. “Sounds real good.”

“Okay, but, if you’re going to hang with me, I can’t chance having you fall. Hold still now.” Selma bent down and grabbed the torn hem of Elsa’s skirt and yanked it off. She tucked the remnant into her purse.

Bob Ray stepped back to make room for Selma and Elsa. “Mrs. Carmichael was just telling me that they’re saying the Red Cross has set up an information booth in the hospital parking lot. They might know something about my wife and baby.”

Selma liked that.
His
wife and baby. That was a good sign. “Come on, girls! Let’s go. We’re off to the hospital.”

2:00 a.m.

A
bigail was wedged between Isuzu and Justin in the back seat of the police cruiser on the way to the hospital. Chaz rode shotgun while one at a time, the policeman answered their questions.

“I’m really sorry it took so long to get out to you all tonight, but we just don’t have enough help yet. I’ve been transporting folks all evening long. We didn’t expect an EF5. Mowed right through the middle of Rawston like Gulliver’s lawnmower. Took neighborhoods and businesses alike. I’m talking
gone
. So many places . . . just,” he choked up as he spoke, “gone. People are wandering down the streets, shell-shocked. I saw some of the same stuff back when I was in Iraq. It’s just like a war zone here. Not to be indelicate ladies, but there are body parts and cadavers and injured people everywhere, so brace yourselves.”

Abigail stared with horror at Justin and Isuzu.

“We’ve got medical teams from other states arriving with supplies. The hospital was not hit too badly. Regular citizens have been coming in from Fisher’s Mill and Southshire and even as far away as Antonito and Midpoint to transport people and help folks dig the injured and dead out of the rubble. Everybody’s pitching in to help each other out. It brings tears to your eyes, know what I mean?”

“This has to have been the weirdest day of my life,” Abigail whispered to Justin.

He glanced first at her, then at Zuzu, then back at her with a weary smile. “And just think. I was a big part of it.”

Abigail lifted her eyes and their exhausted gazes caught. “Can you believe you delivered a baby tonight?”

Justin snorted. “No. But I can tell you that for once I’m going to hog the conversation at Christmas this year.”

Abigail smiled. “Your sister-in-law is going to be impressed, I’ll bet.”

“Oh, yeah. I’m sure she’s never delivered a baby in the middle of a tornado-ravaged parking lot before.”

“You were brave. My hands were shaking and all I had to do was hold the light.”

“If I was brave, it’s only because Bernie was there and Isuzu was praying like a foghorn in my ear.”

“Bernie. Was he for real?” Abigail mused aloud. “I wonder where he went. And why do you think he didn’t want to get help?”

Justin lifted and dropped a shoulder. “Probably thinks he doesn’t deserve it. Plus, he’s used to living outside.”

“That’s so sad.”

As they pulled up to the Rawston Legacy Hospital, the first thing Abigail noticed was the stunned and bloodied crowd milling around the debris-strewn parking lot. Children and adults alike cried and looked to each other for solace for their pain and grief. Others frantically searched for loved ones and pets. Some simply sat eyes glassy, in wordless shock. A large truck, generally used to haul furniture, had a big sign attached to the side:
MORGUE UNIT
. Just outside the truck’s back doors, gurneys were lined up, loaded with bodies draped in sheets.

Abigail gasped, and Justin shot her an empathetic glance.

A generator had been set up and bright lights on tall poles illuminated storm victims by the dozens. They stood around drinking coffee, or sat on the curb, or gathered on blankets and in groups of folding chairs. The Salvation Army was already ministering to the walking-wounded and displaced masses, and the Southshire Red Cross had a table set up as an impromptu information center on local shelters for the newly homeless.

The police officer drove them down to a temporary off-loading zone. “Here we are,” he announced and twisted around in his seat. “Check the lists here for your friend, Danny. If he hasn’t voluntarily signed in here, he could be at a hospital in Southshire or Fisher’s Mill or even farther away. Due to the family privacy laws, you might find yourself frustrated. But don’t worry. A lot of people will turn up in the morning, when the sun’s up.”

“Thank you,” Abigail said, heartened by his encouraging words. With a gentle nudge to wake Isuzu, the weary foursome climbed out of the police car and stepped into the crowd. A flat screen TV was perched on a card table under a portable awning, and people crowded around to watch the latest on the traumatic storm.

So many good and innocent people had been hurt or killed. It made no sense. Where was the justice? Heart heavy, Abigail plodded along behind her friends, staring into the grieving faces of young and old alike. And these? These were the lucky ones.

Abigail tracked the aroma of fresh coffee until she spotted silver urns and platters of cookies. Her belly was hollow, and she had a feeling some sugar and caffeine would no doubt give her sagging spirits enough of a boost to see her through the next few hours at least.

“Haruo!” Isuzu found her brother standing next to his son, Tyler, who was in a wheelchair. She tugged Abigail’s blouse and pointed to the sidewalk. “I’ll be there.”

Abigail nodded and gave her a quick hug.

“And I’ll catch up with you all later, too,” Chaz said, holding up his cell phone. “I just got about ten seconds of cell service, but it was enough to find out that Kaylee is on her way here with a broken arm and some bruised ribs. Everyone else is fine.” Though the worry shimmered in his eyes, it was clear that just hearing her voice was a huge relief. With a quick hug for Abigail and a clap on the back for Justin, Chaz left their group, his eyes already darting from face to face as he scanned the crowd for Kaylee.

“You’re stuck with me, I guess.” Abigail sighed as she handed Justin a cookie.

“No hardship there,” he said.

Amusement did wonderful things to his face, and she felt her cheeks grow warm. Tentatively touching her hair, she could only imagine how she must look. “Do you see Danny anywhere?” she asked as she selected a cookie for dinner. Or breakfast.

“Not yet.”

Abigail poured them each a steaming cup of coffee. Between the warm drink and the food, she was beginning to catch her second wind. “There’s Jen,” she said, and pointed with her half-eaten cookie at the ambulance under the ER portico, vying with battered cars and trucks for a spot to offload patients. They were still a ways away when the back doors were opened, and mother and baby were unloaded and wheeled through the throng and up to the wall of sliding glass doors. Danny still wasn’t with her, but then, how would he know where to find her right now?

As he had done so often that evening, Justin spoke her thoughts aloud. “Let’s go see if we can find Danny and tell him where Jen and the baby are.”

Coffee in hand, Abigail slowly meandered with Justin through the parking lot, looking for Danny and gathering bits of information here and there. The high school gymnasium had collapsed. Kids were still being transported to the hospital. Two of them, to the morgue. Names were pending family notification. Old Town had been demolished. Her home was gone. Many of Rawston’s oldest neighborhoods were gone. The numbers being transported to the morgue were rising steadily. Walterville had been hit hard. The damage to Rawston was the worst so far. Hospitals were overflowing. Southshire had only minimal damage.

Justin looked at her with concern as she reacted to each bit of news. “Are you all right?”

Tears welled and stung her eyes, but she pinched them back and gave her head a quick shake. “I can’t process it all right now. As much as I’ll miss my building, I can’t believe how many people were killed. It’s just . . .” she lifted and dropped her free hand, “. . . so surreal.” Her face and throat ached with the effort it took to stem the emotional flood. The arm Justin draped around her shoulder was supportive in several ways, and she appreciated it more than he would ever know. Though she tried to block it out, the depressing reality had her feeling nauseated. All that work. Building a clientele. Building her home and shop. And for what?

The point of life on this stupid planet suddenly eluded her, and she swallowed back a surge of bitter bile that threatened to make her sick. As they searched the crowd for Danny, odd thoughts flashed through her mind. Random thoughts. Rogue ideas mixed with raw emotion.

This would be the perfect opportunity to move out to California. She could live with her mother in her mom’s little bungalow in Beverly Hills. They never got tornados out there. Her new friend DJ had made her an offer to work in a high-end celebrity salon that only a fool would pass on. Think of the amazing people she would meet—the fast track life she would live. DJ’s client list and social circle were regularly featured on the covers of the magazines at the check-out stand. DJ himself pulled seven figures, and his house had been written up in Architectural Digest. The fact that she hadn’t jumped at his offer before now seemed ridiculous, especially in light of tonight’s disaster. There was so much there, and so little to keep her here.

Then again . . .

She had dear friends and of course, her precious Aunt Selma. And . . . her father and his family, if she could ever screw up the nerve to face him again. The homesickness would be horrendous. She’d lived her whole life, right here in Rawston. But wouldn’t it be prudent to cut her losses and leave now before the feelings that were germinating for Justin took root? Everything in her mind pointed to this logic. How could she have only known him for twenty-four hours? Would he stay here or go back east?

Her head was spinning. There was just so much to consider. Abigail had never believed in love at first sight. Love, Aunt Selma always said, was something that grew over time. Anything else was just so much lust. And lust didn’t last.

So, what exactly was she thinking when it came to Justin?

Taking a deep, heartening breath, she considered him as they stepped into the long line at the Red Cross information table. He was muddy and rumpled and in need of a shower and a shave, but still he was the handsomest man in the parking lot. In Rawston. Make that the entire state. So, yeah. The physical thing was a lot of it. But she’d had really handsome boyfriends in the past. And, after the second or third date, they made their expectations clear, and if she didn’t put out, they generally drifted away. Sooner rather than later, most times.

But if she took Justin’s looks out of the equation . . . there was so much more. His face when he’d held Jen’s baby? Just thinking about his joyful expression had her eyes swimming. And, what about the way he’d risked his own personal safety to protect her, a virtual stranger, during the storm? And that young mother and her small children? He’d taken charge and remained levelheaded when the woman had fought to stay in the store with her kids.

She sighed. Hopefully, things would be clearer in the light of day.

When they finally reached the head of the line, the woman in charge of the admission lists did not have Danny’s name recorded as one who’d voluntarily signed her public release list, or been listed by immediate family as one who’d been admitted to Rawston Legacy. Or Southshire’s Good Samaritan Hospital. Or Fisher’s Mill’s Emanuel.

“But,” she’d said with a tired sigh, “that doesn’t necessarily mean diddlysquat. Not every family is willing or able to sign for their injured. Not everyone who is injured can speak for themselves. Not everyone had ID on them when the storm hit. Not everyone has been transported yet. Information will be coming in for days. You’d be amazed at the number of people who turn up unscathed. Good luck,” she said, her kind eyes filled with compassion.

Though he’d nodded at all of the volunteer’s assurances, it was obvious Justin had doubts about her optimism. Conflicting emotions had his jaw muscles jumping and the worry kindling in his eyes. He pushed back his hat and scratched his head, a gesture that was becoming endearingly familiar to Abigail. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Certainly. And, if you would, please sign your name here, and that way I can assure others who might be worried about you, that you are alive and well.”

Taking up a pen, Justin signed his name, jotted his cell number and then handed the pen to Abigail.

“Would you have a Selma Louise Tully on any of your lists?” Abigail asked after she’d scanned the page she’d signed.

A quick perusal of several lists in her computer had the volunteer shaking her head. “I’m sorry, no. But no news is good news, as they say.”

“Thank you.” Abigail sighed, as disheartened as Justin. When they stepped out of line, Isuzu joined them. “Have you seen Danny?” Abigail asked, hopeful that she’d spotted him.

“Not yet,” Isuzu said and Abigail noticed that her eyes and nose all red and puffy. It was obvious she’d been crying for a while now.

Scared, Abigail touched her arm. “What’s wrong?”

Isuzu shook her head and the tears that spiked her lashes began to spill. “Tyler has broken leg. Many fracture. Brooke is in surgery . . . doctor not sure if she will walk again.”