Tornado Alley by Paul Lewellan

I pulled my VW Syncro onto the shoulder and put on the van’s flashers. The hitchhiker did a run-walk, hurrying before I changed my mind. Thunder followed the lightning flash by two seconds. When I lowered the passenger window, a woman peered in, appraising me.

“Why did we stop?” asked my ninety-one-year-old mother in the back.

“To offer a ride. Too dangerous to be on the road.”

Mother’s finger tapped on the seat. “Hurry up. I don’t like storms. We need to get to the basement….” Raindrops assaulted my windshield.

“Where are you bound?” I asked.

“Vinton, Iowa.”

“We’re going to the Quad Cities.” Lightning struck again, followed immediately by thunder. “I can get you to Vinton.”

The skies opened up and drenched the hitchhiker. She climbed in. I eased into the traffic as she struggled to put on her seatbelt. “I’ve never seen rain like that.”

“Four inches an hour in places. I’m trying to outrun it.”

“Why did you stop?”

“Fifty-mile-an-hour winds, pea-sized hail. Nobody deserves that.” I accelerated, passing a car pulling over to the shoulder. “We can get ahead of it, but the storm’s shaped like a crescent, so it will come back at us.” I pointed to the radar screen on the laptop mounted on my dash.

“That’s not standard equipment.”

“Little in this van is.”

She shivered. An oversized Mankato Mavericks t-shirt was plastered to her chest. No pants.

“Put on some clothes,” Mother said sharply from the back seat.

The hitchhiker turned to her. “I’m wearing the only clothes I have.”

I adjusted the heat and fan, as the windows fogged. Outside debris flew, and hail pelted the roof. The Westphalia Camper conversion was boxy. In the fierce wind, I struggled to retain control.

“We should be in the basement,” Mother insisted. I didn’t disagree.

I slid into the left lane, passing a UPS truck. I watched in the rearview mirror as the truck veered right, then overcompensated left, sliding into the mud of the highway median and tipping. A green highway No Services sign flew by. My passenger exhaled. “That could have taken out your windshield.”

“Hell, the tornado could ….”

“Tornado…?”

I motioned back and to my right. She looked at the thin black funnel cloud moving parallel to us. I gunned the VW and passed three semis. A minute later, the rain stopped. Two minutes after that, the clouds broke, and the pavement was dry. I moved back into the right lane.

My passenger spoke. “My friend used to own a VW bus. Everything on the road passed her.”

“A Porsche mechanic installed a 3.2-litre flat-six from a 911 Carrera; 231 horsepower; top speed one hundred miles per hour. Haven’t tested that; just told it’s possible.”

“You’re not worried about outrunning the storm….”

“More concerned about running out of gas. Porsche engines suck up premium.”

“Fancy car,” Mother said. “My son buys fancy cars.”

I reached behind my seat for a roll of paper towels. “Here.” The hitchhiker dried her face and hair. I leaned forward and pulled out the hoodie I’d been sitting on. “Would have offered it earlier, but….”

“You were busy….” She snapped up the sweatshirt. “Keep your eyes on the road.” She turned to face the passenger window, pulled off the wet shirt, unsnapped her bra, and started drying her chest.

I accelerated past a cement truck.

“Well, that brightened his day…,” she said, looking back at the driver. “Could you dry my back?” She handed me towels. When I finished, she put on the hoodie, dried her bare legs, and refastened her seatbelt. “Thank you.”

Mother announced. “They’ve planted trees along the highway for snow fences.”

“Interesting,” our passenger said politely.

Mother, of course, had no idea what highway this was. She stroked the Russian Blue on her lap. “Have you ever seen clouds that black, Sasha?” Her cat lived with her for almost twenty years before dying. That’s when I bought the stuffed likeness she was now petting. She hadn’t noticed the difference.

“I’m Tyler Whiteside. The woman in back answers to Olive.”

“I’m Carolyn Corrado.”

“What’s in Vinton?”

“Jacobson Funeral Home.”

“A funeral?”

“My mother’s.”

“What time?”

“Seven.”

“We’ll need to hurry. Don’t want to miss it.”

“We?” She glanced back at Mother.

“She’s already wearing black.” I pointed to my shirt. “As am I.”

Carolyn looked at my black aloha shirt with large red and yellow parrots. “I’m not sure that’s any more appropriate than what I’m wearing.”

“I’ve got some running shorts you can cinch up. It won’t be pretty, but it will cover you.”

“Thank you. No time to go home and change….”

I scanned the road for the next threat. “Until recently, I was a white shirt, button-down collar guy, in dark slacks, wing-tip Florsheims, and a striped tie. An assistant superintendent of schools….”

“I hated school.”

“That wasn’t my fault.”

Carolyn laughed. “What happened?”

“I woke up early on a Saturday morning, my first vacation day in over a year. I leaned over to kiss my wife and suggest breakfast out. Maggie curled in a ball and went back to sleep. I put on new chinos and went down to the St. Paul Farmers Market.”

“Living on the wild side?”

“Exactly.”

The rain returned, and the wind picked up. Traffic slowed as the sky darkened.

“When I got there, surrounded by produce stands, food vendors, artisans, and musicians, I didn’t know what to do with myself. It was a foreign land. No meetings, no parent complaints, no school board members demanding my time.”

“I couldn’t live like that….”

“Most people couldn’t.” I saw a sign for Waverly, Iowa. “I bought a tall cup of Guatemalan coffee and mingled. Eventually, I found an artist’s booth where everything was hand-painted. I bought this shirt, and I hurried home to show Maggie.”

“Why?”

“To bring life back to our marriage. To prove I could change.”

“By buying a shirt with hand-painted parrots?”

“It made sense at the time.” The windshield was suddenly awash. The wipers couldn’t keep up. Cars pulled over to the shoulder. I focused on the blips of white line on the flooded pavement. Carolyn leaned into the windshield, looking for obstacles. I motioned to the computer screen. “Check the radar.”

“What am I looking for?”

“If this isn’t going to let up, we should stop. But if we can drive out of it, we might make it to Vinton before the storm catches up.”

An approaching car failed to make the curve and hydroplaned into the ditch. I kept my foot on the accelerator.

She studied the radar. “If you can hold on a few more miles, we should catch a break.”

“We need to get to the basement.”

“The basement sounds good,” Carolyn said. She squeezed my leg. “You’re doing great.”

Ten minutes later, the rain slowed to a drizzle and the sky lightened. Passing through Waverly, the winds died down. By Cedar Falls, the sun was out.

“What happened when you got back from the farmer’s market?”

“Maggie liked the shirt.”

“That’s a start.”

“She also told me the kids were raised, and that her lover for the last decade had bought a Texas Tofu Honey Bar-Bee-Que franchise in Cleveland. She’d decided to join him. Wasn’t much to say after that. Two weeks later, she was gone.”

The pavement ahead was dry. Caroline found the funeral home on the GPS. I looked at the clock and accelerated.

“Julia, my oldest daughter, took it the best. She knew the new man because he’d coached her third-grade girls’ soccer team.”

“This had been going on for years…?”

“I’d been too busy with work to notice.”

I saw an empty stretch of highway, pulled into the left lane, and passed everything in sight. Carolyn melted into the seat.

“My daughter never bonded with her mother. Maggie refused to breastfeed her.”

“I’m sure that was it….”

“Or maybe because she came home early from babysitting and found her mother topless necking with Julia’s boyfriend on the love seat in the den.”

“And your other children?”

“Our younger daughter, Caitlin, joined the circus….” “You’re kidding….”

“No. She’d gone to the Circus Smirkus summer camp to escape my wife’s micromanagement. Eventually, she joined the Big Top. When I phoned about her mother, she said, ‘Now you can come see me perform.’ Maggie was not a circus supporter.”

Through the windshield, I saw lightning flashes in the distance as we approached the other end of the storm. “How’d you lose your clothes?”

“I was waitressing at Denny’s, a place I told myself I’d never work. But desperate times…. At 6:30 a.m. I got a call. Mother died three days ago. Tonight was the funeral. I told my boss I had to leave and asked for an advance. He told me that the breakfast crowd was due, and I hadn’t finished filling the salt and pepper shakers. I said my mother’s funeral was more important than condiments. He told me salt and pepper were seasonings, not condiments. I told him where he could put the seasoning. He called me a disgrace to the Denny’s uniform….”

“So you took off the uniform…”

“Not really a uniform. A black Denny’s polo shirt and black slacks. I’d like to have those slacks back right now….” “But actions speak louder than words….”

“Exactly. I stormed out. One of the regulars offered his T-shirt in exchange for a kiss.”

“A fair trade.”

“That’s what I thought. For a second kiss, he took me as far as the interstate. After walking, I began to see the danger in acting impulsively.”

“And that’s when I came along?”

“Actually, you’re the fifth person to give me a ride. I started in Sioux Falls.”

The sky blackened. I steeled myself for the southern end of the storm. She placed a calming hand on my leg. “You can do this.”

The hail started, pea-sized at first, then dime-sized, then nickel-sized. And the rain! Constant lightning. “Watch for fallen limbs and power lines….”

“Stalled car! On your right!” I eased the van into the left lane, avoiding any sudden deceleration or jerk of the wheel because of the standing water on the road.

It took us half an hour to go ten miles. Finally, the storm broke. The roadside marker said Vinton 10 miles.

“When was the last time you were home?”

“Twenty years ago. I was nineteen. I came home from college for my father’s funeral. He had been the foreman at the Coop grain elevator. One night, he got a call that there was a problem with the ventilation system. Instead of dragging an electrician out at midnight, he went to fix it himself. A spark ignited the grain dust, taking out the elevator and my father with it.”

At Exit 47, I turned off I-380 and took County Highway D48 toward Brandon.

“There was a walnut casket donated by the Coop trustees. People whispered that there was little, if any, of my father to fill it. The lid remained closed throughout the visitation.” I pulled into the funeral home. “Nothing has changed but the cars in the lot.”

I gave Carolyn the running shorts from my duffel bag and surveyed the night sky. “We need to hurry.”

I helped Mother out of the back seat. “We’re here.” We walked to the entrance in silence. Carolyn opened the front door and let Mother and me step through.

We were met by soothing strings and a tall, thin man in a well-pressed black suit. He spotted Carolyn, bowed slightly, and intoned, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Who’s paying for this?” she hissed.

“Your mother bought a prepaid package to make sure she got into the ground.”

“Good to know, Bobbie.” She kept moving toward what I realized was a small chapel.

My mother saw the body nestled in a cheap cardboard casket, noted the half-dozen people dressed in black, and heard the refrain of “Old Rugged Cross” coming from a classic 1958 Wurlitzer electronic piano. She relaxed. She knew exactly where she was. She found a good seat near the front and struck up a conversation.

“Mother takes pleasure in any funeral where she is not the guest of honor.” I motioned back to the man who’d greeted us. “You know him?”

“Bobbie Jacobson, ex-All State football halfback, ex-Class Vice-President, and my date to junior prom, who took my virginity. He claimed I’d insisted. I remembered it differently, but I’d been drinking. My mother said not to make a fuss. Bobbie’s father was the mayor at the time and owned the funeral home, a family business Bobbie seems to have inherited. I heard he married my best friend Darcy from 4H.” She motioned to the organist. “That’s his sister Kay.”

The music was interrupted by the wail of a siren. Darcy Jacobson burst into the room. “Tornadoes! A half dozen popping up all around us. We need to take shelter.”

Bobbie stepped up. “We’ll be safe in the basement.” He led the way. “Center room. No windows. Reinforced ceiling because it’s under the coffin showroom.”

“I’ll grab blankets!” Kay called out.

Mother’s new friend helped her up and escorted her to the door.

As the storm raged, a dozen of us awkwardly situated ourselves in the basement. Kay tracked the storm on her iPad; Darcy tuned to the weather radio. Bobbie got a call.

“That was the pastor,” he said. “He’s at the church, but won’t make it. The stained glass windows on the sanctuary’s west side blew out, as well as part of the roof.” The announcement was met with silence.

I took charge. “I can lead the service.” I looked around. No one objected. “But let’s do it now. When the All Clear sounds, you’ll want to see if you still have cars and homes.”

“Piss on that.” A woman stepped forward. “We don’t want to hear kind words from someone who’s never spent three minutes with the bitch.” She motioned broadly to the other townsfolk. “Everyone is here for the same reason I am.”

“And why is that?”

“To make sure she’s dead.” People nodded in agreement. “I’m Violet England. I was her neighbor for thirty years. She was the most despicable person I’ve ever known.”

Violet turned to Carolyn. “You knew her better than any of us, but you came to her funeral anyway. You did what a daughter should do, but Sweetheart, get the hell out of here as soon as this is over. Trust Bobbie to put her in the ground. That’s what he’s paid for.”

When the All Clear sounded, Bobbie was first up the stairs, followed by Carolyn, then me. We went to the front, threw open the two ornate doors, and stepped out. To the east, the town was dark and quiet; the cars in the lot were covered with leaves and branches, soaked, but otherwise untouched. My Synchro stood solid, waiting for my return.

We turned to the west and saw blocks upon blocks of debris, uprooted old oaks, crumped vehicles. No building left standing.

Bobbie shook his head in disbelief. “Half the town is gone.”

“That was my mother’s house.” Carolyn pointed to a brick chimney left standing beside a basement crater. “That was my inheritance.”

“Maybe she had insurance?”

“You didn’t know my mother.”

“What will you do?”

“Like Violet said, get the hell out. There’s nothing here.”

Bobbie seemed disappointed. He disappeared back into the funeral home.

“Come with me. We’ll drop Mother off at my sister’s in Davenport.”

“Then what? I’m grateful for the ride. But I’m not having sex with you.”

“That’s good because my cardiologist says I need to avoid strenuous exercise.”

Carolyn studied my face carefully. “And why is that?”

“I have an inoperable thoracic aortic aneurysm.”

“Sucks to be you.”

“Not many people know what that is.”

“Not many people are nine hours away from a nursing degree. Denny’s was my day job.” I processed the information. “Why can’t they operate?”

“Heavy aorta calcification. The doc describes my aorta as ‘crunchy’. If they try to clamp it in surgery or stick a cannula in it, it’ll crack and scatter calcium crumbs everywhere.”

“Kidney failure, stroke, etc.”

“Exactly.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

“You’re looking at it. I bought a tricked-out van. After I drop Mother off at my sister’s, I’m going on a road trip. I plan to live each day as if it were my last because it might be.”

“And what would be my role? You want a nurse?”

“Don’t need a nurse. One day, it will rupture, and I will be dead. Kick me out of the van and drive away. I’ll give you the title in advance and gas money.”

“And what do I do in exchange?”

“Share the driving. Navigate. Keep me from dying of boredom.” She considered it. “Say your goodbyes while I pack up, Mother. There’s a Walmart in Cedar Rapids where you can get a change of clothes. Then it’s another 90 minutes to the Quad Cities. After I drop Mother off, we can grab a couple of rooms at the Garden Inn. Jimmi’s Pancake House opens for breakfast at 6:00.”

“And after breakfast….”

“You pick a destination, then I pick the next one.”

“I’ve never seen Niagara Falls.”

“Done. I want to see the circus in Maine.”

She considered that prospect. “Maybe they have an opening…. We could be clowns.”