Dani
“TURN A LITTLE MORE TO your right and smile at your husband, Julia. You know, act like you like him,” I joke.
Julia does what I ask and it’s exactly what I was hoping for. The smile is more genuine as her eyes light up. Her husband, Mark, can’t take his eyes off her. The whole scene, with a cityscape of Birmingham in the background, is perfect.
I quickly snap a few more photos, the last of the session, sucking in the last of the setting sun. The golden hour is my favorite time and I have high hopes that this evening’s photos will be exactly what I’m needing to finish up the article.
This piece I’m doing for Southern Style focuses on Julia’s business. It was Piper’s idea to spotlight small businesses around the area, featuring them in a spread. Without A Hitch is Julia’s party planning business, focusing on children’s parties in the Birmingham area. I’ve been following her around the city all week, capturing her in action, doing before and afters of venues, and getting the inside scoop of how she runs such a successful small business, while also taking care of her family.
Based on outward appearances, one may assume balancing work and family comes easily to her. But after spending the last few days with her and her family, I’ve learned she’s a normal woman who struggles with balancing work and home life. Over and over she’s told me how grateful she is for her husband, Mark, who’s extremely supportive. But she didn’t have to tell me. I’ve seen him in action, just as hands-on as she is with their three adorable children.
Taking pictures of families for the stories I normally do is always my favorite. I love watching their dynamics, and if I can capture the love shared between them to pass on to the readers, then I consider my goal accomplished. I think it’s that personal connection that sells magazines. Sure, people want pretty pictures, but what really draws them in is the personal connections.
“That’s a wrap, you guys! Great job!”
“Thank you so much for this, Dani,” Julia says while hoisting her adorable toddler on her hip. “This week has been so much fun. I can’t wait for the magazine to come out. I’m sure my family will buy every copy they can find!”
“As they should,” I reply. “When I have the proofs, I’ll email you a sneak peak.”
“That’d be amazing. Thanks again.” She gives me a hug with the arm not wrapped around her son before leaving with the rest of her family.
This last session has been a lot of fun. I’ve loved watching her cute kiddos run around. The shots I’ve taken are going to turn out great. I swear, the way she has them dressed to the nines, these kids could be models for a clothing line. It makes me want to up my fashion game. But watching all of them, I’d be lying if I said it didn’t stir up other feelings, as well.
Baby fever, to be exact.
Now, I know this isn’t a great time for me to be thinking about having babies, but I can’t help it. They’re so cute and sweet and they smell so good, most of the time.
With the way things have been lately, between me and Micah, and the craziness and unpredictability of our careers, it’s ridiculous to be daydreaming about starting a family but, really, none of that matters. Not to me, anyway. All I know is that Micah is the one for me and I can’t wait to start the next chapter of my life with him.
Even with things being rocky in our relationship, I can still see it all so clearly—married with a bunch of kiddos running around, keeping the house dirty, and our lives being in constant disarray in the most wonderful way. Beautiful chaos, we’d be. I want it. I want it so badly I can taste it.
Micah thinks he’s not good at being in a relationship but he’s wrong. Yes, he could be a bit better but so could I. We’re supposed to learn and grow together, our relationship strengthening along the way. I see him, though. I see how he is with his family, the people he loves most in this world. I see how this mess with Deacon has him torn inside out. I see the struggles and the stress and the sacrifices he’s dealt with to achieve his dream and I don’t doubt for one second that he wouldn’t put even more effort into keeping his family—our family—happy and safe. What he needs to realize is it’s not all on him. If we’re to be together, we have to be partners. Fifty-fifty. I want to help him with his burdens, ease his worries but he has to allow me the opportunity to do it.
There I go getting lost in thought again. I know I’ve been doing that a lot this week and it’s been difficult focusing on work instead of Micah, but it’s my own fault. I shouldn’t have left without giving us both the closure we needed from our last conversation at the apartment. I think we both felt better after talking on the phone while I drove over here but I’m dying to see him again. I can’t wait to be home.
Packing up my last few items into my trusty camera bag, I head to my rental car. The red mustang waiting on me makes me smile. I’ve always wanted one, so when Deacon drove me to the car rental the morning before I left, I couldn’t resist getting it, if only for a week.
As I start up the car, my phone rings and I expect it to be Piper. She’s been on-site with me for the last few days, but she had a meeting this evening and told me she’d meet me back at her apartment. I’m not going to lie, having some girl time has been great.
But the face that pops up on the screen is definitely not that of my best friend, at least not the female version.
“Hey,” I say, putting the phone on speaker as I drive away.
“Hey, good lookin’,” Micah croons into the phone. His voice always makes me melt, but being apart for nearly two weeks has me longing for him in ways I haven’t since I moved to Louisiana.
“God, I miss you,” I admit, pulling out onto the busy street, wishing I could just keep driving until I was in Baton Rouge, or New Orleans—wherever Micah is.
“I was just thinkin’ the same thing, which is why I’m callin’. I needed to hear your voice.”
“How was your day?” I ask. “Is everything shaping up at the restaurant?”
“Yeah,” he says with a long sigh. “We got the food delivery in yesterday and all of the wait staff has finished their trainin’. Randy did a trial run on the recipes today and, oh my God, I can hardly breathe.” He laughs and I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face.
He goes on and on about the food, and I love that he wants to tell me every small detail.
This is one of the moments where I want to tell him he’s getting it right. Calling me, talking about his day—this is what being in a relationship is about. He’s too hard on himself, but if I were to tell him that, he’d just get embarrassed and blow it off. Micah Landry might be confident and a bit cocky at times, but he isn’t arrogant, and he never likes the spotlight on him.
It makes sense to me, when I really sit back and think about it. He’s always lived in Deacon’s shadow, always trying to be as good as his brother. I think most younger siblings do that. I wouldn’t know first-hand, but I’ve seen it throughout my life. I’m a photographer, we’re observers by nature.
“That all sounds wonderful, Micah,” I tell him. “I can’t wait to try one of everything.”
“I can’t wait for that either, because that means you’ll be home.”
“That’s right,” I assure him. “Just a couple more days.”
Later that night, as I’m going over a week’s worth of photos with Piper, her phone rings and she jumps on it like it’s on fire.
“Hey,” she says, breathing heavy over her minimal amount of exertion. “I’m going to have to call you back.”
After a few nods and uh huhs, she hangs up and gives me a tight smile.
“What was that all about?” I ask, staring at my computer screen.
“Nothing, just work, but I want to finish going over these pictures before bed. I’ll call them back later.” She blows it off and goes back to leaning over my shoulder as I finally get to the shots I got tonight. We just need a few more photos to complete the layout, but she and I have yet to agree on the right ones.
“You’ve gotten a lot of weird phone calls since I’ve been here,” I mutter, pausing on one particular photo that I like. The lighting is perfect and Julia’s smile is genuine and honest. To me, it’s the perfect representation of her as a person. “I like this one.”
“That definitely has potential,” Piper agrees, pushing her glasses up on her nose. “And it’s not my fault that people call me at all hours of the night and day.”
“Yeah, but I highly doubt phone calls in the middle of the night are work related,” I counter.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She reaches over and stops my hand from scrolling. “That one, that’s perfect.”
“Okay.” I mark it and move it over into the file. “And, you do know what I’m talking about,” continuing our dual conversation. “The phone rings twice. You answer it. There’s whispering.” I stop, turning around in my chair to face her. “Unless, you’re doing that in your sleep. Are you taking Ambien again?”
“No, not since the Amazon Extravaganza of 2015,” she says seriously. “But let’s not talk about me. Let’s talk about you. I want to know what you’re going to do about this,” she pauses, waving her hand around in the air, “thing that’s going on between you and Micah.”
“Why are you changing the subject?”
“Because you’re my best friend and I want what’s best for you. Micah is a good guy. Good guys get married. I want to make sure he marries you.”
“Oh, my God. Are you working on some kind of arranged marriage? Have you promised him a dowry?”
“Shut up,” she says with a shove. For someone so petite, she sure can manhandle with the best of them. “Listen, I know things have been difficult the past few months, but I just want to make sure y’all are working through it.”
“We’re working through it,” I concede, giving in to her need to meddle. We discussed this briefly the first night I showed up, but instead of trudging through the details, we opted for Ben and Jerry’s. Since then, we’ve both been too tired and busy with work.
“He loves you,” she says wistfully. “It’s not often you find a guy who’s nice and smart and handsome. Like, you might find one who’s nice and smart, but he’s usually nerdy. And you might find one that’s smart and handsome, but he’s a jerk. Then, there are the nice and handsome one’s, but they’re usually dumb as a box of rocks. So, Micah’s a unicorn. He might be a bit remedial in the relationship arena, but that’s not a horrible thing, because you can teach him everything he needs to know. It’s perfect actually.”
“Wow, Dr. Phil, you should see about writing an advice column.” Piper’s rationale is kind of crazy, but it does make sense. Micah is all those things—handsome, funny, smart, kind, caring, a great cook, ambitious, determined . . . so good in bed.
“Earth to Dani,” she says, snapping her finger. “Listen, you know I’m right. And I’m not a dummy when it comes to relationships, even though I don’t have time for one myself. I know how these things work.” She huffs, walking into the kitchen and taking two wine glasses out of the cabinet. “Rosé?”
“Yes, please.” I turn back to the computer and finish looking through the last few photos, making sure we haven’t missed a diamond in the rough. As I’m engrossed in the screen, Piper’s phone starts buzzing on the table beside me. Looking down, I see a text message pop up on her lock screen. “TTF wants to know when’s a good time to call.”
It’s a good thing I’m sitting, because Piper lunges for me like she’s a linebacker lurching for a ball. “Give me that,” she scoffs. “When did you get so nosey?”
“I’m not,” I bark defensively. “Your phone was right beside me. Since when did you get so touchy?”
“I’m not. It’s just work.”
She tries to play it off, but she’s not bullshitting me. I know something is up and given time, I’ll figure it out. But for now, I let it go. I know how she works and if she thinks I’m suspicious, she’ll lock down tighter than Fort Knox.
Piper and I go back to looking over the photos and inserting them into the layout for the article. By ten, we’ve consumed a bottle of wine and have an article ready for submission.
“Nice team work,” I tell her, offering a high five.
She accepts, pulling me into a hug. “It’s been great having you around for a few days.”
“It has been,” I reply, returning her hug.
“Thanks for bailing me out,” she mumbles into my shoulder.
“Anytime.” As much as I’ve missed Micah, I really needed this girl time.
“You should go home early,” she says, still holding onto me. “Surprise Micah, have some great makeup sex, make a baby—”
I pinch her side, causing her to let go and laugh. “Hey, you’re the one who said you were feeling like you were coming down with a bad case of baby fever today!”
“I think I will go home early,” I agree, wishing it wasn’t too late to leave tonight. “And I’ll practice making a baby.”
“That’s my girl. Practice makes perfect,” she sighs. “Get some sleep. I don’t want to worry about you falling asleep on your way home.” She kisses my head and starts walking to her bedroom, leaving me behind to finish up a few last-minute details.
“I don’t want to hear you talking on the phone, missy!” I yell at her down the hall. “No phone calls after ten.”
“Mind your own business, Reed!”
I smirk, waving in her direction. “Don’t bet on it,” I mutter to nobody but myself.
After I shut my computer down and crawl into bed in Piper’s spare bedroom, which happens to be across the hall from hers, I’m almost asleep when I hear Piper’s phone vibrating like it was earlier on the kitchen table. There’s some commotion, like when someone’s trying to silence an alarm clock, then silence.
For a second, I think Piper’s back to sleep, but then I hear an unmistakable laugh, one I haven’t ever really heard from my best friend. It’s girly and flirty, so unlike Piper. I’m not saying she doesn’t laugh, she has a great sense of humor, but she doesn’t laugh like that—like a fifteen-year-old girl laughing at a boy’s joke.
I lay in the dark, practically holding my breath, trying to overhear any piece of conversation. Just as I’m about to crawl out of bed and tiptoe across the hall, I hear a door shut.
Shit.
Tomorrow she’s going to tell me what the hell is going on. I’m her best friend for Pete’s sake. If she can’t tell me who she’s talking to in the middle of the night, something is way wrong.
Maybe she met someone on the internet?
No. Piper wouldn’t do that. She’s much too cautious.
Someone from work?
But why the secrecy? I don’t know anyone she works with, not too personally, anyway. I mean, I’ve met a few, but just in passing. And I don’t recall anyone who put off a vibe that they were into my best friend, not in a romantic sense.
The other side of the hallway remains quiet, and eventually, I give up the mental sleuthing and fall asleep.
As I’m packing up my things, I think about calling Micah to tell him I’m on my way, but I really want to surprise him. So, I send him my typical morning text instead.
Good morning. I love you.
Good morning, beautiful. I love you.
Having a good start to your day?
Yes. You?
Busy as usual.
I smile to myself, feeling a tiny bit bad about lying, but it’s just a little white lie and I plan on making up for it later. After our final goodbye, I toss my phone in my bag. That should suffice for now. I’ll text him again on my way there.
I was thinking about sweetening the surprise by stopping at Topher’s on the way home and picking him up a peanut butter burger. Micah loved that place when we stopped there last summer on our road trip.
That seems like a lifetime ago.
Crazy to think it’s only been six months, but so much has happened between then and now.
It was on that trip when I knew I loved him—this man I’d only known for a couple of months, but who had stolen my heart so completely. Just in the short time since I showed up in French Settlement, he’d become a best friend, a confidant, someone I knew I could trust and depend on. Then, as we traveled around and spent time together, that friendship morphed into something life-changing.
I didn’t know love like this was real. I thought it was saved for fantasies and fairytales.
My phone chimes and I grab it quickly, smiling to myself that Micah must know I’m thinking about him, but it’s not him. It’s Piper.
Meet me in fifteen at that little bistro I showed you the other day.
It’s not a request, it’s a demand, and that’s my best friend. I’m getting a little later start than I’d intended, but, of course, I will indulge her.
It’s warm today. The high is supposed to be in the low eighties . . . in January, but that’s the south for you. We’ve been having some semi-normal temps for winter. I even got to wear my new scarf Micah bought me for Christmas. But then, these last few days, it’s felt like a heat wave, which worked in my favor for the photo shoot.
Once I have my bags loaded up, I head out, rolling down my windows as I drive down the side streets. Every street is busy. Birmingham might not be New York City, but it’s definitely bigger than Baton Rouge, and a metropolis compared to French Settlement.
I don’t miss city life one bit. I thought I might, but I don’t. I’m actually missing the plantation. Just a few days away and I’m ready to be back.
Piper spots me as I luck out on a curbside parking spot, waving me over to the restaurant.
“Hey, thanks for meeting me.” She hugs me then motions for me to sit at the table she secured and pours me a glass of sangria that’s already waiting.
“Like I had a choice.” I smile and take a sip from my glass. “But I miss this,” I tell her, peeking out over the top of my sunglasses.
“Well, you should convince Micah to move to the big city. Birmingham could use a Landry restaurant.”
“No, not the city,” I say with a hint of disgust. “I miss our lunches and late night chats. Maybe you should move to the Red Stick.”
“Red Stick?” she asks with a laugh.
“Yeah, that’s what Micah and Deacon call Baton Rouge.”
“Ahhhh, yes. Well, unless Southern Style ups and moves to the Red Stick,” she says with a deep southern drawl. “I doubt that’ll happen. I kinda have to work.”
“Right, work,” I moan, tilting my head back to soak in the sun, before the clouds looming in the horizon suck it all away. “Too bad we’re not independently wealthy. Maybe we could win the lottery.”
“Probably have to play it to win it,” she quips.
“Right again.” We sit in silence for a minute, watching people pass by. “You know, I’m not going to leave without you telling me who you’ve been talking to in secret. I’m pulling the best friend card.”
“Well, this has been great, but duty calls,” she deflects.
“Piper,” I say incredulously, disbelieving that she’s going to keep this from me.
“I promise I’ll tell you, but not today. It’s complicated and . . .” she groans in frustration. “I just don’t want to talk about it.”
“I’ve never seen you like this. It’s kind of worrying me. You’re not in trouble or anything, are you?” I ask, letting the worst of my fears come to mind. “In with the mob? Dating a biker?”
“No,” she says with a smirk. “Nothing like that.” Her expression turns more serious. “But thank you for worrying about me.”
“That’s my job,” I tell her, not satisfied with her answer, but hopeful she’s telling me the truth about not being in danger. So, I guess I’ll leave it alone, for now.
Placing money on the table, we both stand up, hugging it out one last time.
“Call me when you get home, before the sex. I don’t want to hear that shit,” she grumbles.
“Okay, I’ll be sure to put you on speaker phone mid-orgasm.”
“Give Micah my love,” she says with a wink and a wave as we part ways.
Finally on my way home, driving down Interstate-59, I have the cruise set and my playlist going. This drive is actually super easy—a straight shot down the interstate to Louisiana—and it takes me right through the town I grew up in. I don’t know why I hadn’t considered driving to see Piper before now, but I’ll definitely be making this trip more often.
The clouds that had started to build while we were eating lunch are now turning the sky ahead of me a dark grey, but I’m not opposed. As long as the rain holds off, the overcast is a nice reprieve from the sun. I prefer it, actually.
I filled up my tank before leaving Birmingham, so unless I need to stop for a bathroom break, it’s just me and the open road for the next few hours.
My phone rings and I answer, using the Bluetooth in the car that I finally figured out a few days ago.
“Miss me already?” I ask, smiling to myself. “Or did I mess something up?”
“No, the article is great. I’ve already sent it over to be proofed. My boss said he’s planning on looking over it tomorrow.” Piper’s voice sounds a little rattled and I can hear papers shuffling in the background.
“What’s up? You sound busy.”
“Yeah, I am, but I just wanted to call and give you a heads up about some nasty weather. Where are you?”
“Ummm,” I crane my neck, looking ahead to see if I notice any road signs. “I’m not really sure, but I passed Tuscaloosa a little bit ago.”
“Well, my boss was supposed to fly to Dallas this afternoon for a meeting, but his flight was delayed due to bad weather. Looks like you’ll be driving through it, so keep your eyes open. I’ll keep the weather pulled up on my computer and call you if I see anything.”
“Okay, thanks, Mom,” I tease. “But it just looks like a little rain. I’m sure it’ll be fine. If it gets too bad, I’ll pull over.”
“Alright, stay safe and call me if you stop. I’ll check back in after my next meeting.”
“Ten-four, good buddy.”
I continue to make good time, getting lost in deep tracks from my Prime Country playlist. Me and George Strait are singing away to Fireman when a large gust of wind practically blows me off the road.
I grip the steering wheel tightly and sit up a little straighter in my seat.
What the heck?
Keeping my hands at ten and two, I start to pay closer attention to my surroundings. Maybe this weather Piper was talking about is no joke. The sky that was just grey and gloomy half an hour ago, now looks downright angry. The horizon has disappeared into the black abyss and the rain is starting to pound on my windshield.
There aren’t a lot of cars on the road and I start to panic. Switching off my music from my phone, I turn on the radio, scanning the stations for some kind of weather bulletin.
When I can’t see the middle line any longer, I slow my car to a safer speed.
After a few miles of torrential rain, it starts to let up a little, so I try to relax back into my seat, peeling my fingers off the steering wheel, trying to calm my sudden nerves.
This is just a little storm.
Happens all the time.
I’m sure it’ll be fine.
That’s what I’m telling myself when the wind picks back up and the rain begins to blow diagonally across the road in front of me. I think about pulling up under an overpass, but there are only small ones and the two I’ve seen already had cars occupying the shelter. So, I keep driving, hoping it clears.
When I see a green sign, I can’t make it out, but I know where I am.
Laurel is just another ten minutes up the road. Surely, I can make it that far. If it’s still raining this hard, I’ll find a place to pull over.
Hitting redial on my phone, I try to call Piper. She said she’d call me if something really bad popped up, so I’m sure it’s nothing, just a thunderstorm.
The phone rings a few times and then I get the obnoxious triple beep, telling me it can’t connect my call.
Shit.
I had trouble getting service through here on my way to Birmingham, and I’m sure this weather isn’t helping anything.
The ebb and flow of light and heavy rain, mixed with gusts of winds and scary looking skies, continues. I drive as fast as the weather will allow, hopping I’ll eventually drive out of it.
As I start passing familiar buildings, I think about stopping, but the rain has let up a bit, so I keep driving. I really don’t want to get out of the car in this nasty mess. Micah getting a burger at Topher’s is out of the question. He’ll have to just settle for me.
I smirk to myself and think about calling him. He would definitely know what to say to calm my nerves and get me through this mess, but I don’t want to ruin the surprise, so I keep driving.
Just as I think I’m in the clear, a set of low hanging clouds get my attention from the south and something in my gut tells me I should at least pull off and find out what kind of weather I’m facing. I’m a southern girl. I might’ve lived in New York, but I was raised about five miles from here and I’m no stranger to storms.
A siren in the distance has me turning my radio completely off and straining my ears to hear. I can’t tell if it’s coming from behind me, so I get over into the slow lane, just in case an emergency vehicle is coming. The rain lets up a little more, and the siren is more distinct. It’s something I’ve heard before and I know exactly what it is.
Swallowing down the spike of fear, I drive a little faster. I’m already through the main part of Laurel, but I know where there’s a small gas station up ahead and I’m hoping it’s still in business.
Please, Lord, let it still be open.
As I pull off the road, my heart sinks further into my stomach. Closed. I don’t know if it’s due to the storm or lack of business, but there’s not a car in sight and it’s darker than the clouds swirling above.
With nothing else to do, I pull back out onto the interstate and start to pray. I need some divine intervention and I need it fast. The combination of low-lying clouds and greenish tint to the sky isn’t good. I remember one time, when I was about five years old, there was a funnel cloud on the outskirts of town. Much to my granny’s dismay, my grandpa let me sit on the steps of the cellar as we watched it pass over. It didn’t drop down that day, but the sky looked just like this—ominous and dreadful.
Granny, what should I do?
I think about stopping, but if there really is a tornado, I can’t be in my car, that’s not safe. Looking ahead, I see a dim light from an old, worn-out road sign. As I pull up, the rundown gas station looks like it’s ready to fall over with the next good gust of wind, but it’s either this or turn around and go back to town. I take my chances, jumping out of the car and running for the cover of the awning.
With as much force as I can muster, I pull the heavy glass door open, the bell chiming above my head. A man, in overalls, is sitting behind the counter, watching the rain and then watching me.
“Hello, darlin’, what’re you doin’ out in somethin’ like this?” he asks, standing from his bar stool.
“Uh, hi, well, I was driving from Birmingham and . . .”
“Where ya headed?” he asks, walking around the side of the counter.
“New Orleans,” I reply, shivering slightly from being wet and maybe from fear. I can’t quite decide how I’m feeling. “Is there a tornado warning?”
“Yep, that’s what they’re sayin’ anyway.”
He doesn’t seem too concerned, so I try to force myself to feel the same. But about that time, those sirens I heard in the distance while I was driving are blaring out their warning.
“Uh,” he says, his jaw dropping as he looks out the large glass windows. “It might be a good idea if we get to the bathroom. Maw,” he hollers, and I look around to see who’s maw. “It’s either that or the deep freeze . . .”
“Bathroom,” I say, picking the less of two evils. Nothing good comes from people walking into deep freezes.
Nothing good comes from going into a bathroom with a strange man, either, but here I go.
“Maw,” he yells again, and as we walk into the small, dingy bathroom, a big fat cat comes running. “You first,” he says, motioning into the bathroom.
I’m having second thoughts when I start to hear the wind howling and a high-pitched sound of metal scraping against the side of the building. Without a glance back, I practically jump into the bathroom. The man walks in behind me, fat cat in hand, and calmly closes the door.
“Normally, I ain’t skeered about these sorts of things, but Maw here has been hidin’ all day and that’s never a good sign. Last time she hid from a storm, we lost the roof on our barn. She was in it. So, you’re gonna be alright.” He pets Maw’s head and then turns to me. “What’s your name?”
“Dani,” I tell him, my teeth now chattering with chill and fear. “Sheridan, actually.”
“You say you’re from New Orleans?” he asks, and I’m appreciative of the small talk. Anything to keep me from curling up on the floor in a fetal position, because that’s what I feel like doing right about now. “No, I’m headed there, but I’m actually from here.”
Lord, don’t bring me back to Laurel just to kill me.
I have to see Micah, at least one last time. I want to tell him how much I love him and that I want to have babies and grow old with him. It’s then I feel the first tear slip down my cheek.
“Sheridan, huh?” he asks, like he’s running it through a mental register. “Seems like I remember Matthew and Sarah Reed having granddaughter named Sheridan.”
“You know Matthew and Sarah?” The words tumble out of my mouth, while my body goes numb. I haven’t said my grandparents’ names in a long time. And I certainly haven’t talked to anyone who knew them. I can’t even remember the last time.
“I did,” he says with a thoughtful nod. “Good people.”
“They were my grandparents,” I reply, even though I’m sure he’s made the connection. I just needed to say it outloud. I need that connection anchoring me to the earth.
“We’ll be alright,” he says with another nod, but I can now see the fear in his eyes as the yellowish light above us starts to flicker. Maw meows and he pulls her closer to his chest.
I slide down the wall and hug my knees to my chest, praying. In that split second, I think about Micah. If I had my phone, I’d at least send him a text message, in hopes he’d get it, but I left everything in the car. Instead, I pray.