Mom stood at the window. Her gaze was frozen on the clouds bunching over the farm. He could read her mind but couldn’t assure her that Dad was safe. Josh reached his hand out to her but let it drop at his side. He had to try.
“Dad will be safe at the conference.” He kept his voice soft and steady. If Dad were here, she’d be bossing him around, not fretting like this. She nodded, put her hand to her lips, dropped it to her side. She reached out to button his shirt, and he took her hands in his. Her eyes met his, her face a blank. Did she even know he was there? She wasn’t telling him something, but what?
“Right. Sure, he will.” She buttoned her own sweater with trembling fingers. “You’re just like him, calm in the midst of chaos.” She pressed her fingers to the side of his face, her lips in a thin grin.
“Mom.” How would he stop the panic brewing behind her eyes?
“It’s just… Why did he have to ride his bike?” Her voice trailed off, and her face lost its color.
“It was a perfect second-summer morning, as Grandpa would say.” Josh shrugged. “He did mention this would probably be his last ride of the year, if that helps?”
“It doesn’t.” She wiped her nose on her sleeve. “If he makes it back, he’s going to get a piece of my mind. This will be his last ride.” Color returned to her cheeks as she shook her fist.
And she’s back. Parents.
Dad always said, “Our love was written in the stars.” Their connection baffled him, but what did he know? He’d never even dated.
He combed his fingers through his hair. “Grandpa’s emergency plan is bulletproof, right?”
“Sure. I mean, yeah.” She turned to him and smiled. “Let’s batten the hatches. I left all the kitchen windows open. It was a pretty great day.”
He watched her back disappear down the hall then hurried to a living room window, checked the barn, a haunting silhouette against the dark stew of storm clouds.
The hair on his arms stood on end. Lightning would strike and soon. Humidity had swollen the wooden sash windows, and he grunted as he tugged. The window shut with a bang.
He turned the lock. “Ow.” He jerked his fingers back, stung by the static. Branches pelted the roof, and pinecones pinged against the gutters.
“Hurry,” Mom called.
She slammed the dining room window shut and latched it, then dashed to the den. He closed the windows lining the front of the living room. His great grandmother had wanted a light-filled house, but today they seemed extravagant and dangerous.
He raced up the stairs to his bedroom. Four bedrooms meant four windows, four too many. The wind howled. He spun around his room. Maps on the wall, laptop on the desk, twin bed that he’d outgrown three years ago.
“If this gets any worse, we’re heading to the basement.” Mom’s muffled voice came from a back bedroom.
Would it get that bad? His mind raced through the list of things his grandpa and dad would do if they were here: prep the generator, check the solar panels, connect the well pump for running water. Grandpa always stacked firewood to get them through the winter, and food and water to survive for month. They would be fine, and he could take care of everything, but he’d never had to do it alone.
He picked up the dirty clothes he’d left where they fell around the room. Mom had asked him four days ago to bring his laundry down. He kicked his clothes into a pile in the middle of the room. The winds roared outside, and mom appeared at his door, her pinched lips and hollow eyes unsettling him. She didn’t glance at the dirty clothes.
“This has to be El Primo!” he shouted over the winds.
“No. It can’t be.” She shook her head but raised her fingers to touch her lips.
“Dad will stay in Vandby now, for sure.” He clapped a hand over his mouth. Too late to stop those words. Mom’s haunted expression left him kicking himself.
“This was supposed to be the conference that changed everything. Are we already too late?” She raked her hands through her hair and paced in a circle. “Climate experts, government representatives from around the globe, even the vice president is slated to attend and hear Dad’s lecture. El Primo is the main event.”
Was that what was raging outside right now? Was this dad’s storm? “No one can predict the future,” Grandpa had always said. But his dad was trying, in the hope of saving lives and the planet.
Josh’s temples throbbed, and he massaged the wrinkles on his forehead. Why would El Primo hit now with Dad gone? Mom struggled to maintain a blank face, but her jaw clenched and unclenched. The winds blew stronger as she ran into the spare bedroom. His shoulders tied in a knot.
He lifted his phone from his back pocket and sent a message to his dad, but it failed to send. He hit retry three times, but no luck. He slipped the phone in his pocket.
A crack like a gunshot rang through the house, then a thump shook the walls. He raced to his window. A Douglas fir lay sprawled across the front yard, missing his bedroom by only a couple of feet. In the distance, the silhouettes of trees waved like tall grass in the high winds. Then another crack split the air. Another tree hit the ground, then another. They left a view of the sky and a dark swarm of clouds.
He opened the window, sliding the screen out of its track, but the wind tore the screen from his hands and flung it into the gathering darkness.
“Whoa.” The force of the wind took his breath away.
“What are you doing?” Mom appeared in his room. “Close your window and help me.”
He slammed the window, his heart pounding in his chest. This was bad—very bad. He joined Mom on the landing and waited for her scold. She grasped his hand, and she pulled him down the stairs into the living room.
The wind whistled through cracks he didn’t know existed, and the walls shuddered. He grabbed his violin, threw it in its case, and slid it under the window seat. Another tree fell, and the whole house shook with a loud boom. A large branch crashed through a living room window, and he stepped back, bumping into a bookcase. The tart scent of fir blew in with the wind. Shards of glass sprinkled across the floor.
“My God.” He stared at the chaos.
“Come on.” She ran to the dining room table.
“I’ll take the papers. You get the books.”
He lifted the box, clutching it to his chest. Another crash and the crackle of breaking branches joined the roar of the wind. The lights flickered, dimmed, and then popped out.
“Mom.”
A loud screech filled the air. No. Not the solar panels.
“Basement. Hurry.”
He could barely make out her words. The near-deafening winds muffled her voice and seemed to bombard the house with more debris than air. The complete darkness disoriented him. He collided with her, and the box flew from his arms. The rustle of books and papers flying followed.
“Oh no. His lecture. Quick.” She climbed to her feet, gathering what papers she could reach in the dark.
He scrambled to throw books back in the box, but it seemed hopeless. There were so many, and it was so dark. His mind raced. The wind thundered.
“Let’s go.” She clutched Dad’s lecture notes to her chest.
They dashed to the basement door. Holding the box in one arm, he tugged it open. The house groaned as though it would fly off its foundation, and the cracks and thumps of more trees falling to the ground filled the air. His head spun.
His mom stopped at the top of the stairs and turned to the dining room. What could she see through the darkness? The wind blew through the broken windows and whipped hair into his eyes.
“This is off the scale.” She froze at the top of the stairs. “Your father—”
What was she waiting for? “Go!” he yelled over the howling winds.
She dashed down the stairs. He followed, slamming the door behind him. He grabbed a rechargeable flashlight from the wall, the box balanced on his hip threatening to fall again. The storm noise grew quieter with the door shut, and he could hear himself think.
He switched on the flashlight. Mom shrieked and disappeared out of the beam of light into the darkness, papers, like ghosts, flying.
He directed the light to the bottom of the stairs, but the figure sprawled on the floor made no sense to him. His eyes adjusted, and he could make out his mother’s form. She groaned, and he flew down the steps, the box weightless under his arms. She didn’t move.
He dropped the box and panned the light over her arms and legs but stopped on her left arm. It was bent, but not at the elbow.