Page 73 of Takes Two to Tango

Almost there.

Rain still fell and the wind gave periodic gusts, but overall the fury of the storm had fled east toward Louisiana. The music on the radio rattled her nerves but she didn't switch it off in case there were reports from the radio station about the weather. Finally, after Blondie crooned an angsty love song, the local news came on. ''There have been reports of two tornadoes touching down in OakStand. We've been in touch with the police chief Adam Bent, who told us one ripped through the center of town doing damage to several businesses in the area. The other touched down outside of the town and the amount of damage there is undetermined."

"No," Rayne said, hitting the steering wheel so hard her horn sounded, making her jump. "Please let him be okay, God. Please."

She swiped at the dampness in her eyes. She wouldn't cry. Henry was okay. He had to be. And Brent, too. There wasn't an alternative.

And suddenly as the gray landscape rushed past her, all the things she thought so important weren't. Her career, her fears, her hesitation in life. Did she need a hit cooking show on television? For that matter, did she need a successful restaurant? None of those things were more important than her family. None were more important than Henry. Or Brent. How had she ever thought fame and fortune the only path for her? Somehowshe’d lost sight of the true meaning of life and let the passion she felt for cooking become the determinant for who she was.

Did she love her work? Of course.

Did she love it more than a sleepy hug from her eight-year-old? More than a sexy kiss from Brent?

No.

"I'm an idiot,” she said to the interior of the car.

She had to get to Oak Stand so she could make everything right again.

About five miles from the city limits of the town, she saw the first signs of the twister. A swath of trees lay broken in half as if an angry child had snapped them out of spite. A piece of tin roof lay in the middle of the lane and she swerved around it, uttering yet another prayer to a God she'd spent so little time conversing with she wondered if He could remember her name.

She hoped He hadn't forgotten her because the damage scared her silly.

A mile from town she saw more debris, limbs strewn like broken toys, a patio umbrella, and outdoor furniture cushions. A tree had fallen across one portion of the road and it was passable only if she took her small SUV on the side of oncoming traffic. She plowed ahead, chanting a mantra of “please, please," under her breath.

She drove past the city limits sign without seeing much damage, giving her momentary relief. But when she passed the Westside Baptist Church and hooked a left, the direction the storm had taken was plainly evident. Broken boards, clothing, and shattered glass littered the town square. The roof to the Curlique had torn clear off. Windows were blown out. It looked like …a tornado had hit.

Holy cow.

She rounded the square, proceeding cautiously around the brick streets, swerving around fallen branches and peoplestanding in the road staring slack-jawed at the smashed window fronts of the businesses. Several signs hung drunkenly, many more lay tossed aside, broken.

The rain and wind had stopped and the small town was absolutely still.

And very much devastated.

Rayne felt her heart contract with apprehension. She didn't know when she'd ever been so scared. Not even when Phillip had died and she'd awakened the next morning to a sobbing five-year-old and the reality of life without her husband. That had been horrible; this was sheer terror. What if something had happened at the school? She remembered a school in Alabama that had its roof blown off, killing several students. Surely, something of that nature hadn't happened in this small Texas town.

"Oh, no," she moaned as she spotted a car crushed by the auto body shop's sign. The steeple was missing from the Oak Stand United Methodist Church. It lay upside down on the newly planted Hope Garden funded by the Ladies' Auxiliary.

She wanted to close her eyes. Pretend the devastation in front of her was a bad dream. How could she have gone from sitting in first class drinking tomato juice three hours ago, to now staring at the raw potency of an angry Mother Nature? Rayne clutched the steering wheel tighter as she turned on Crabtree Street and saw an electrical line lying over the sidewalk. She was only one street from her aunt's. She hesitated for a moment before passing the entrance and veering toward Oak Stand Elementary. As she traveled through the neighborhood that harbored the recently constructed school, she noted thankfully that the damage sustained in this area looked moderate. She drove the puddle-strewn streets dotted with leaves and the occasional limb.

She pulled in front of the school and put the car into Park. The outside of the school was hopping. Parents, clutching the hands of children, hurried away toward idling cars. A few children sat in rows against the brick walls of the school, minded by vigilant teachers milling around looking purposeful. The principal stood outside with a handheld radio. She simultaneously waved through cars blocking the bus loop and gave directions to the security officer who also had a handheld radio.

"Mrs. Trimble," Rayne called, knowing she interrupted the principal's conversation with a harried-looking bus driver. At this point, she didn't care. She needed to see Henry. Needed to be assured he was completely whole and unharmed. "Henry? Is he okay? Did he get on the bus? Or did Aunt Fran-"

The principal held up one hand, halting Rayne's rambling questions. She pointed the driver toward her bus and spun around. "Deep breath, Mrs. Albright. All of the children are fine. A little shook up, but fine."

Rayne nearly hugged the spare woman. "Henry?"

"Your aunt picked him up about twenty-five minutes ago. He's fine."

Rayne didn't wait. She turned and sprinted toward her car. She did manage to call a "thanks" over her shoulder. She'd apologize for her rudeness by baking the woman a cake or two. Better yet, she'd make brownies for the whole staff. But right now, she needed to feel her son in her arms.

She fumbled with the keys, nearly dropping them into a puddle, before unlocking the car and turning the ignition. She made a U-turn in the middle of the street, bypassing a news van from Shreveport. Word traveled fast.

She backtracked her route and swung onto the street where her aunt's home had sat for thirty-three years. She pulled into the drive and released the pent-up breath she'd held all the waydown the street. The house had not sustained damage. Small limbs were scattered across the yard and dogwood petals dotted the grass like confetti tossed haphazardly, but the structure was sound. She shut off the car and opened the car door. The world that met her was damp and raw.

Aunt Frances bolted out the door. "Rayne! Oh, thanks be!”

---