Taken by Storm by Angela Morrison Read Free Book Online
Authors: Angela Morrison
free-dive vent cycles to fight it off. My stomach churns into an anguished mass of seawater and crab. The pain in my gut is real. i double over, retch.
“You okay?” Leesie’s quavering voice stops the scene. Her hand is on my shoulder, shaking me, touching me again.
i wipe my mouth, shrug away from her grasp. “i need to go home.” i’m freaked, jittery, but not from the cold. i expect the nightmares by now, but this was vivid. There. For real. Totally transported.
Drops splatter fat on the windshield as Leesie drives up the rough track through the pines. She doesn’t look over at me or try to make small talk. We make the highway before the full storm hits. She pumps the headlights up to bright and leans back into the seat, her arms straight out like a race car driver. Her foot presses heavy on the accelerator. She senses me staring at her. A glance. She’s wearing her Ice Queen face. Our eyes lock and then hers go back to the road. “Feeling better?”
No, but at least i’m dry, and she’s got the heater cranked.
The pickup roars down the highway. My fingers clutch the armrest beside me. Lightning flashes. Thunder rocks the truck, and Isadore starts to blow.
i sneak out of the Dive Festiva ’s dining salon, where the captain tells everyone to be calm and my waitress cries. i race to our cabin, grab the camera and strobe. Then i’m out in the storm.
Darkness edged with a yellow-green glow envelopes the lagoon. Rain falls in sheets driven slantways by the wind. i shelter in the lee, filming chaos, drinking in the power. Palm fronds and broken boards shoot through the air. Sand and gravel pelt the deck, falling like hail. Isadore beats me flat against the bulkhead.
Mom calls from the stairs, “Michael! Get down here.”
No way am i leaving. Mom yells something about taking cover. i inch around the bulkhead and get a face full of muddy grit.
“Michael!” Mom screams. “Michael!”
Isadore twists her voice and blows it away.
The Festiva ’s engines roar. Isadore slams into the boat and keeps right on going. She takes me along for the ride. i figure Mom’s safe back on the Festiva and the storm just got me. She drags me under, and i fight to breathe, get a mouthful of her, choke. My free-dive training takes over, and i hold my breath.
Then rain, cold and fresh, hits my face. i stand by a white pickup. Leesie holds an orange emergency blanket over my head. She hands me a half-full bottle of water. i gulp and spit. Gulp, swallow. “Did i hurl all over?”
She wrinkles up her nose. “You just made nasty sounds.” She pushes me back into the pickup, fishes around under the seat, and finds a plastic grocery bag. “Just in case.”
The engine revs, and we’re hurtling down the country highway through the rain—again.
i think maybe i could tell Leesie about the hurricane dinner, the mounds of crab Dad and i downed, my crying waitress with three kids, tell her about Mom trying to wipe off the butter that dripped down my chin. Tell her how i pulled away. i’m so full of Isadore. The shrink said i should talk.
“So you’re all right now?” Leesie steers the pickup around a wicked curve, one hand on the wheel, one small hand lightly touching my arm.
“Sure.” i ease my arm away from her warm fingertips.
And i don’t tell her a thing.
chapter 10
UNFUDDLED
LEESIE HUNT / CHATSPOT LOG / 10/03 11:14 P.M.
Hey Michael,
You okay this morning? Sorry if I overreacted at the lake. I usually don’t scare that easy. It started out nice. I hope you aren’t sick. Thought you might like to read this—one writer to another. I like it better with your word. Thanks for the inspiration.
Later,
Leesie
SHE COMES TO ME
I lie in darkness,
spent of tears,
tired of sleep,
close to soft memories,
alive in her fuzzy sweater
draped on my chair.
I wrap my heart
in pastel patchwork
pieced by
“You okay?” Leesie’s quavering voice stops the scene. Her hand is on my shoulder, shaking me, touching me again.
i wipe my mouth, shrug away from her grasp. “i need to go home.” i’m freaked, jittery, but not from the cold. i expect the nightmares by now, but this was vivid. There. For real. Totally transported.
Drops splatter fat on the windshield as Leesie drives up the rough track through the pines. She doesn’t look over at me or try to make small talk. We make the highway before the full storm hits. She pumps the headlights up to bright and leans back into the seat, her arms straight out like a race car driver. Her foot presses heavy on the accelerator. She senses me staring at her. A glance. She’s wearing her Ice Queen face. Our eyes lock and then hers go back to the road. “Feeling better?”
No, but at least i’m dry, and she’s got the heater cranked.
The pickup roars down the highway. My fingers clutch the armrest beside me. Lightning flashes. Thunder rocks the truck, and Isadore starts to blow.
i sneak out of the Dive Festiva ’s dining salon, where the captain tells everyone to be calm and my waitress cries. i race to our cabin, grab the camera and strobe. Then i’m out in the storm.
Darkness edged with a yellow-green glow envelopes the lagoon. Rain falls in sheets driven slantways by the wind. i shelter in the lee, filming chaos, drinking in the power. Palm fronds and broken boards shoot through the air. Sand and gravel pelt the deck, falling like hail. Isadore beats me flat against the bulkhead.
Mom calls from the stairs, “Michael! Get down here.”
No way am i leaving. Mom yells something about taking cover. i inch around the bulkhead and get a face full of muddy grit.
“Michael!” Mom screams. “Michael!”
Isadore twists her voice and blows it away.
The Festiva ’s engines roar. Isadore slams into the boat and keeps right on going. She takes me along for the ride. i figure Mom’s safe back on the Festiva and the storm just got me. She drags me under, and i fight to breathe, get a mouthful of her, choke. My free-dive training takes over, and i hold my breath.
Then rain, cold and fresh, hits my face. i stand by a white pickup. Leesie holds an orange emergency blanket over my head. She hands me a half-full bottle of water. i gulp and spit. Gulp, swallow. “Did i hurl all over?”
She wrinkles up her nose. “You just made nasty sounds.” She pushes me back into the pickup, fishes around under the seat, and finds a plastic grocery bag. “Just in case.”
The engine revs, and we’re hurtling down the country highway through the rain—again.
i think maybe i could tell Leesie about the hurricane dinner, the mounds of crab Dad and i downed, my crying waitress with three kids, tell her about Mom trying to wipe off the butter that dripped down my chin. Tell her how i pulled away. i’m so full of Isadore. The shrink said i should talk.
“So you’re all right now?” Leesie steers the pickup around a wicked curve, one hand on the wheel, one small hand lightly touching my arm.
“Sure.” i ease my arm away from her warm fingertips.
And i don’t tell her a thing.
chapter 10
UNFUDDLED
LEESIE HUNT / CHATSPOT LOG / 10/03 11:14 P.M.
Hey Michael,
You okay this morning? Sorry if I overreacted at the lake. I usually don’t scare that easy. It started out nice. I hope you aren’t sick. Thought you might like to read this—one writer to another. I like it better with your word. Thanks for the inspiration.
Later,
Leesie
SHE COMES TO ME
I lie in darkness,
spent of tears,
tired of sleep,
close to soft memories,
alive in her fuzzy sweater
draped on my chair.
I wrap my heart
in pastel patchwork
pieced by
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