Page 3 of Catching Dreams

I took notes about the best way to go and thanked the man.

“She’s in my prayers,” the cashier said with genuine concern.

“Thank you.”

I got back into my pickup truck and sighed. I hadn’t thought about my love for art in a long time. There was a time I had wanted to have my own art gallery or be an art teacher to see the passion students had for art. I actually met my amazing wife, Susan, in ceramics class during our senior year in high school. She wasn’t the most creative but had to have something for her fine arts credits and heard it was a fun class. I really got to know her when I would help her at the pottery wheel and show her how to mold the clay. She would always tell me how talented I was. Eventually, she admitted that she signed up for ceramics just to get to know me better. Our families were friends, and they were very excited when we began dating soon after her confession to me.

As I drove north, my hands itched to find a paint brush to replicate the cashier’s tattoo on canvas. Susie would love it and probably hang it somewhere in our house. It had been years since I had picked up a paintbrush. For a long time, I would tell the kids I was in the garage working on cars but was actually painting in the back room of the shop. When the boys got old enough to help me around the shop, I began to paint less and less and would teach them how to work on cars.

I do remember one time Carter found my small art studio. Landon and Tyler were at baseball practice, and Carter had told me he didn’t feel good and didn’t want to play. My youngest son had impressed me by walking up to my canvas and began painting the car we had been working on. I was so proud that one of my kids had my art talent. But, of course, my dad had called that evening to chat, and I made the mistake of mentioning his ten year old grandson loving to paint. He told me if I wanted to have my sons take over the shop someday, I should squash any painting ideas and just concentrate on teaching them to be mechanics.

Something Tyler’s fiancée had been brave enough to say to me kept going through my head. “Families should support each other. Not tear them down and make them feel guilty for living their dreams.”

I was on a high after kissing Susie good night after the winter formal of our senior year. She had convinced me to tell my parents that I didn’t want to continue with the family auto shop business because I wanted to go to art school instead. My dad had laughed at me. Literally laughed in my face and said no Stone man was going to be an artist and that there was no way I could make a career out of it. His dad and grandpa started the mechanic shop, and I was just expected to continue it. Dad said they had no money for art school, and I would be the biggest idiot ever if I gave up a good job that was already established, where I would make money. I told him I could get financial aid and student loans, but he scoffed at me and said I would never be able to repay the loans and that it was too late to get any scholarships.

My mom was silent the whole time my dad yelled at me. Later that night, Mom pulled me aside after he went out to the garage to work on his beloved vehicles. She told me that Susan Pitman was a very nice girl for me to go out with, and if I wanted a future with her, maybe the auto shop was the way to go. Susan already had scholarships to go to nursing school in Nashville, so she wouldn’t be far from us. I could live at home and save up money while Susan was in college. Then, I would have a good amount saved for a down payment on a house and could ask her to marry me. She told me I could always paint as a hobby, but that my father was right, and I would probably lose Susan if I wanted to be a starving artist.

I looked down at the steering wheel where my knuckles were now white from holding on so tight. I saw a flashing sign ahead announcing the road was closed 5 miles ahead. I looked down at my notes and was thankful for the customer because I knew the next exit would take me to Trinity Falls.

As I exited the highway, I saw a lot of tree branches on the road and had to be careful going around them. The further I drove, the more debris there was, and I could start to see storm damage. I really hoped that Tyler’s fiancée and baby were okay. I decided to call to let him know I was going to check on her and tell him how proud of him I was. I needed to let go of my anger at my own dad and myself for not pursuing art. I had a good life, and I loved working at the auto shop with Carter and Alec. I wondered if Carter even liked working as a mechanic with his old man or if he wanted to pursue being a tattoo artist more. When I’m ready, I’m going to ask Carter to give me my first tattoo.

I will also make a point to go watch Landon and Tyler play baseball. I never understood their love for sports or how they were so good at them. Susan had played softball and volleyball in high school, so they must have gotten their athleticism from her. I remember going to her volleyball games in high school to support her, but I also loved the short shorts the players wore. I had to smile at the memories.

As I got Tyler’s voicemail and started to leave him a message, the line went dead. I realized I was at the point where the phone towers had probably been hit by the tornado.

Sweat dripped down my back, and I’m sure I was covered in dirt. It was after 8 p.m. and dark outside, but search and rescue had flashlights for everyone as we continued to dig through the rubble of the town we called home. I shined the flashlight over where the bakery I spent so much time at lay in ruins.

“Any luck?” Hayden asked from close by. “They have to be here somewhere.”

“No,” Ivan said from the other side of me. He began cursing in Spanish as he lifted the red and white awning that had given shade above Molly’s bakery door.

“MOLLY!” I cried out again. “PENELOPE!”

Flashbacks to only a few hours earlier were on repeat in my head. We had been in the weight room when the tornado sirens had gone off. At first, we all thought it was just a prank or a drill, but when the coaches came storming in, they said a twister had been spotted only a few miles away from the stadium, so we all rushed into the locker room. None of us took it too seriously until we heard the howling winds and what sounded like a freight train going over us. We suddenly found ourselves in a crouched position with our hands covering the tops of our heads, the way we had been taught to do in tornado drills during elementary school. We could literally feel the walls of the stadium shaking, and it was the scariest thing I had ever experienced. It seemed to last forever when, in reality, it was probably only a few minutes. Several of the lockers fell, and some of the mirrors broke. Some guys joked that our team was now going to have seven years of bad luck. Most of us figured we were very lucky since everyone on the team walked away, and only a few had some scrapes and bruises. The whole time I found myself thinking about the beautiful fireball manager of the bakery and her best friend, who is my friend’s girl. I was hoping they were both okay.

“Where could they be?” Hayden asked out loud. “They have to be somewhere.”

“Don’t give up hope,” one of the search and rescue guys said. “Sometimes, people are trapped under the rubble and walk away with no problems.”

I saw a white piece of paper sticking out of the rubble, and I saw my new nickname, CJ, written in bright pink crayon on the paper. I quickly picked it up and lost all the breath from my lungs. I bent over and tried to remember how to breathe. I was sure this was a panic attack. I had never had one before, but people I cared about were never missing like this before either.

“Dixon?! Are you okay?” Hayden asked as he was suddenly at my side.

I shook my head and opened up the card in my hands. I asked Hayden to shine the light on the card, and I read out loud,

There was a big pink heart before her name.

I felt tears fall down my cheeks, and I kicked the debris in front of me that was probably one of the cases that held some of my favorite treats. “NO!!! The kids. Penelope’s kids were in the bakery, too. How could I forget that?”

“Sir, please don’t kick the rubble,” a man from the search and rescue team said calmly. “I know it’s frustrating. My name is Joe, and I’m here to help you guys. We’re taking down names of anyone that was in the tornado and names of those who are missing. Can I take all your names down and any names of people that you know are missing?”

We nodded and gave Joe our names. Then, I said, “As for missing people, we can’t find Molly Green, the owner of Cupcake Curveball Bakery, which used to be where we are standing right now. The last time I saw her, her manager and friend Penelope Benton was with her, and so were Pen’s kids. Peyton is, I'm guessing, around four, and Camden is around six or seven.”

Joe nodded and wrote down the names on his clipboard. “Do you know if the kids have the same last name as their mom?”

“It’s Benton,” Hayden answered for me as he pointed to the note still shaking in my hand.

Joe added Penelope’s last name and then looked at us with a tight smile. “Just so you know, you guys may not find them here. Hopefully, they found shelter somewhere else and are looking for you. That’s why we make these lists. Don’t give up hope.”

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