Page 42 of The Final Storm
This was after that storm. When it was all starting. I fixed the roof because I didn’t want to wait anymore.
I look down at my hands. They look normal, like me. I can feel them, and I touch my face. The warm smear of blood runs across my cheek. Would this happen if I were dead?
There’s laughter in the distance, and I whip around, looking for what I know will be BeLew.
They play in the distance, their blonde hair muddied by a pile of dirt we dug up with the backhoe. The boys climb the dirt mountain and run back down, giggling and carrying toy trucks.
They’re so little.
Turning back to the house, I stare at myself once more. She won’t answer. The Rowan up there happened years ago. She’ll be up there for hours until her arms ache and her skin burns, determined to fix that roof herself while her brother-in-law drinks coffee inside.
Inside?
I walk around to the front porch, curious if I can see beyond myself. Is this a movie I can watch even if I’m not in the shot? I don’t know how this works.
The sound of my hammer fades with distance, and I walk up the porch steps, my legs trembling underneath me. Everything here looks the same as I remember. The boys’ plants grow in solo cups, and our muddy boots line up on the shoe rack. The plank by the door has a nail that I keep hammering down but pops back up, and I run my thumb across the head of the metal.
It’s so real.
The windows are open to the house, and the curtains inside fan out with the wind. Footsteps sound on the wood floor inside. There’s the back of a man’s head talking to someone, waving his arms in the air with his words. The movement of the curtains brings him in and out of focus, shielding him from view every few seconds.
“You need to do what’s best for your family, and I’ll do what’s best for mine,” he rants. “Rowan doesn’t know what’s good for her.”
I know who it is, and my chest constricts. I’m frozen in place, as the footsteps grow louder in my direction until he’s standing in front of me. His hands reach up and pull the window pane down, shutting out the wind. The curtains collapse, falling to the sides.
He turns his head forward, looking right at me, but there isn’t a flicker of acknowledgment. I’m invisible to him, and he’s looking through me, watching BeLew in the distance making a mess in the dirt.
I touch the glass, placing my open palm on the window and hold my breath, waiting to see if he notices.
Dean doesn’t acknowledge me. He simply grabs one curtain, pushing it fully open, letting me see inside the home I lost so many years ago.
Chapter 17
The Assembly
Deanlooksthesame.From where I’m standing, not much time has passed. I know when this was, but I don’t know why I’m seeing it now. His dark eyes immobilize me, and I watch him look out onto our farm, crossing his arms across his wide chest.
The boys look younger, but children have a way of aging so much faster. A year with them makes all the difference. After our weeks apart, they’ve probably grown a foot.
I’ll see them again. I’m not dead.
A smirk crosses Dean’s face as he gazes at BeLew, but it’s not an endearing look in his eyes. I know that look. The way his lips turn up when he thinks he knows how to turn a conversation his way. He spins around. “I know Rowan better. I’ve known her longer. You need to focus on your boys.” His voice fades away with each step, muffled by the closed window.
When the moment of shock passes, I rush to the door with shaking limbs.
It’s not real.
I hold my palm against my thudding heart.
It’s not real.
I tell myself to reach for the door, but I stare at it, waiting for the courage. BeLew’s laughter sounds in the distance, and I crane my neck in their direction. “It’s not real!” I yell at them. I feel the scream under the palm of my hand vibrate inside my chest. I ball my hands into fists and I roar again, as loud as I can. “You’re not real!”
The boys don’t stop playing.
No one comes to the door.
A steady hammer beats on the roof overhead.
