5. Thunder
Water dripped from the strands of hair flattened against Drew’s face. His jeans were heavy and loosely hung from his frail figure. Low roars crashed outside when he shut the screen door, and Momma was in the kitchen reading from a manual. If only he could get a moment to dry off…
He sneakily made his way towards the staircase, but he wasn’t quiet enough for the gaunt-faced woman in the other room. Rain pattered on the windows while they stared at each other. She put down the thin pamphlet and lit a cigarette.
“Well? Where were you?”
“With Hayward.”
“We’ve been under a tornado alert for thirty minutes. You’re lucky you got home when you did.”
She picked up the manual again.
“That’s it?”
“Yeah. That’s it. Go take a shower and jump in bed.”
Drew didn’t understand. He’d been given a beating for stealing food from the fridge. Sneaking out was a much more serious offense.
“Something’s wrong.”
Momma lowered the manual so her slitted eyes could peer over the top.
“I’m not using the belt today. I’m tired. Go to bed.”
Drew would give anything in the world to climb those steps. Pretty soon the storm would end, and he could wake up the next morning without a care in the world. But Hayward wouldn’t be coming home, and no other person would know what happened but Drew. He would be living this storm for a long time if he didn’t say anything.
“No.”
Momma looked up again with fiery eyes. Her nostrils flared, and Drew could hear each breath.
“No— Momma, Hayward’s missing. Some man came up to us while we was out— and he was wearing real bright clothing— and he took him. He picked up Hayward and walked away without saying nothin’!”
Drew looked up from the floor. Her mouth was wide open now, and her face cracked. She threw down the pamphlet and rose from the table, taking uneven steps towards Drew as though both her knees were broken.
“Gone?” Her head was uneven with her thin shoulders. She looked like a crane or some other lanky bird. She dropped her cigarette on the floor.
“He took Hay! I couldn’t help!”
She stopped just shy of the trembling boy. Water dripped from his chin. His face was fear-stricken.
“Get upstairs. Now.” She spoke slowly. “Go.”
He scrambled up the steps while Momma took the phone from its receiver. A twisted cord dangled about her legs. Drew skipped his shower, and his thick, wet clothes left a moat where they lay. He closed the pillow around his head, like earmuffs, and hummed to drown his mother’s voice, anxiously consoling Hayward’s folks on the other end of the phone. A moment later, Drew heard cars, the police, the ambulance, and Hayward’s folks, rumbling closer to his bedroom like thunder.
