Thunder growled a deep rumbling warning. Lisa pulled a curtain back to examine the sky. Early May was still tornado season in northwest Arkansas, but this storm was forecasted to be only a flash flood threat. In the hilly city of Fayetteville, that was a threat during any heavy rain. Hopefully her family would be in the restaurant now – safe from any flooding on the highway.
She stared into the early darkness of a thick cloud cover. In those last moments when it was too late, she had decided to go with them. Dad was in a hurry to beat the storm, so she had said nothing as the car backed out of the drive. Only Nick noticed her standing in the door. His bright smile with the two missing front teeth faded as he realized they were leaving without her. He pressed his face against the window and managed a forlorn goodbye wave. It was a moment that lay in her stomach like a week-long hunger, regardless of the fact that they had been gone only minutes. A long train whistle sounded several times, adding to the dark mood of the evening.
Lightning stabbed a single brilliant gnarled finger at the earth. A moment later, veins of light threaded through dark low clouds. The first raindrop slammed into the window so hard that she instinctively recoiled. Releasing the curtain, she turned away from the window. A newspaper with Allen’s picture on it lay opened on the coffee table. Two weeks was hardly long enough for the media to forget the arrest of a prominent doctor’s son for selling drugs. She folded the newspaper to shut the accusing eyes. In spite of what Allen thought, no incriminating words had crossed her lips. To an extent she had even been an accomplice. Allen’s frequent exchange of books with other students might not have been noticed by others, but for a person with journalistic ambitions, it was intrigue. To her imaginative and inexperienced mind, it was obvious that he was doing their homework. He was the Robin Hood of Literature, stealing from the education paid for by the rich and giving to the poor who lacked the skills and resources to complete their homework. It was wrong, but somehow noble. Allen was good looking, popular and exciting – at first. Even his ability to find alcohol for a party was adventurous. Sure, they were minors, but if they were old enough to sign up to fight in Iraq, they should be old enough to make their own choice about alcohol.
Gradually the reality of his antics sank in. He wasn’t doing it for anyone but Allen. What was once noble morphed into irresponsible rebellion. The clever journalist shriveled into the recesses of her mind. Even so, she had never suspected the truth – the drugs. Two weeks before the arrest, she dissolved the remainder of their relationship. Allen couldn’t be rejected, so he belittled her intelligence, the close relationship with her family and accused her of cheating on him. Emotional hurt wasn’t satisfying enough. His fist was aimed at her stomach, but she managed to dodge and catch it on her rib cage. Even so, it left a large bruise and sore ribs for a few weeks.
And yet, she had honored her promise to go with him to the party the next night. Allen had been drinking at the party a little more than usual. Uncomfortable about riding in the car with him, she had offered to drive. He had enough alcohol in his veins to believe he could drive, and too much pride to leave the party in the passenger seat. There was no reasoning with him, so she accepted a ride with her best friend, Connie. Howard had insisted on picking up his little sister that night for safety reasons. It was uncanny the way he could anticipate trouble.
The minute Howard had arrived; Allen was in his face, accusing him of stealing his girl. It was as ridiculous as it was embarrassing. Howard was a good ten years older and had far more important things on his mind – like his new position as partner at the law firm. Arguing with Allen was futile, so she simply hopped in the back seat and locked the door. Howard had to pull out slowly and gradually increase his speed before Allen let go of the car. It would have been humiliating if anyone had noticed, but no one seemed to pay much attention – probably because so many others were also drinking. Maybe friends didn’t let friends drive drunk, but how did they stop them when there were so many?
In the week before his arrest, her attention had shifted to her siblings, Nick and Angela. They spent hours together after school at the mall and the park. For a full week she enjoyed the benefits of being big sister. They would all get together and wash her old car, winding up in a gleeful water fight. That car didn’t look like much even when it was clean, but it was reliable.
Then came the arrest, and with it the fear of being questioned by the police. No one in her family ever questioned her innocence. They knew about the break up and maybe they thought she knew about the drugs. Maybe they thought she never knew. Whatever the case, their unquestioning loyalty was comforting.
An iced cake sat on the counter, decorating icing and tips beside it. Jarred from her thoughts, she began filling a tube with blue icing. Apparently time had caught up with Mom before she could finish. It was like Mom not to ask for help. Lisa began with a rope border on the top. Lately she had been so wrapped up in her own problems that she had been a burden on her family. Mom always said lost time couldn’t be replaced. You simply had to make better use of what was left. Starting tonight, she would.
She changed the tip and wrote “Happy Birthday Dad!” on the top of the cake. After adding a bottom border, she changed to the red icing. Obviously Mrs. Anderson had something in mind and it wouldn’t have been hearts or flowers. She pondered a few minutes and then smiled. Of course, the little red truck Dad had been drooling over. She carefully drew the outline of a truck around the words on the top. On the sides of the cake, she drew the Toyota emblem, finishing up with some scrolls.
Back in the living room, she pointed the remote control at the television, jumping through a few channels before giving up. Leaning her head back, she forced the soft chair into a reclining position. It was comfortable – too comfortable. She scrambled out of the chair. Sleep meant one thing – nightmares.
She was stacking bowls on the table for ice cream and cake when lights turned into the drive. The vehicle turned hesitantly and she idly wondered if Dad was letting Angela drive again. As she pulled out the flatware drawer, the doorbell rang. For a moment she stared at the door, her heart racing. Her first thought was Allen. But of course, that wasn’t possible. He was still in jail. She crossed the living room and paused at the door, looking through the peep hole. Her heart skipped a beat and then began to pound in her ears. A police officer! So they did suspect her. She straightened her hair and collected her thoughts before opening the door.
For a moment they stared at each other. Len Quint without a smile was almost unrecognizable. How embarrassing it must be for him.
Another figure emerged from the night to stand beside Len. Howard. So they were going to question her. Two thoughts crossed her mind simultaneously. She was glad Howard was there and that her family wasn’t. It would be so disappointing for them.
“May we come in?” Howard asked, his expression grim.
“Certainly,” she replied as if it were a social visit.
Instinctively her fingers affirmed her hair was in order for the mug shot. The blue skirt and sweater were a little dressy for jail, but they’d no doubt give her some fashionable stripes to wear anyway.
“Miss Anderson,” Len began in a formal tone.
“Oh for heaven’s sake, Len. Don’t be so rigid. You have a job to do so spit it out.”
He looked startled for a moment, and then composed himself. “Connie should be here any minute. We’ll just wait for her.”
“What took you so long?” His voice was sharp.
“Miss Anderson, I’m here to inform you of an accident.”
Len had regained his composure. “I’m sorry. No one survived.”
It wasn’t real, of course. She stood on shaking knees. “My parents are at a restaurant. It’s Dad’s birthday. You must be mistaken. They should be home any minute.” The voice was not hers. It couldn’t be real, and yet . . . she remembered the train whistle and the ghostly voice of Nick. The blood drained from her face and goose bumps covered her arms under the sweater.
“Officer Quint came from the scene of the accident. It happened about twenty minutes ago.” He hesitated a moment. “They didn’t make it to the restaurant. I guess it was storming so bad that they didn’t see or hear the train.”
“Good,” he said, “You’re awake.” His voice was warm and gentle. “We were all getting worried about you.”
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