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Quinn opened her computer, after sitting down on her couch, and pulled up the obituary for Paul. She stared at the image of a man who was much older than her, and she smiled because, in her visions, those were Paul’s eyes. She could see them so easily, even though her own parents hadn’t even beenthought ofwhen Paul was a little boy on the farm, playing with his toys, listening to adventure stories on the radio, and asking her – no, askingHarriet– questions about his father and Jacob after they hadn’t returned home from war.

She shook her head rapidly and tabbed over to the obit for Deborah Mary Stevens, née Wilson. It was definitely thewoman from the photo, and she’d thought of her as pretty before, but as Quinn stared at her more now, she couldn’t stop thinking about how beautiful she was.

“Oh, stop it,” Deb said and waved Harriet off.

Harriet smiled at her before she splashed water in Deb’s direction, making Paul laugh wildly. She pulled Deb into her, wrapping her up in her arms.

“I’ll never stop telling you how beautiful you are,” Harriet whispered into Deb’s ear.

“Will you show me tonight, after Paul goes to sleep?” Deb whispered back.

“Yes, I will.”

“For fucks sake!” Quinn said to herself loudly, picturing herself holding Deb in the river while they’d all played in the water.

She went to slam her laptop closed to try to get these women out of her mind, when her eyes stopped on the word ‘tornado.’ These women were two of twelve people who had died that night when a big tornado tore through a few of the town’s farms, according to the newspaper article related to the obituary she clicked on. Then, Quinn could see it.

“We’ve got to get to the cellar!” Deb yelled.

“I know! Where’s Paul?!” Harriet yelled back.

The wind had picked up worse than she’d ever seen it. They’d had the windows open, and the storm had hit too quickly for them to make it around the house to close all of them, so it was loud inside as they tried to close them all up to keep the rain that was coming in sideways from doing any more damage.

“Mama!” Paul yelled as he hurried down the stairs.

“Paul! We need to get to the cellar, baby!” Deb yelled.

“Hold on!” Harried yelled. “I’ve got him!” She picked up her son, whom she hadn’t picked up in years, clutching him to her body as tightly as she could. “Leave the windows! It’s too late! We’ve got to go!”

Deb hurried out the door and tried to close it behind all of them.

“Leave it, Deb!”

Deb finally got it to shut. Harriet heard Paul scream in fear. He’d never been through a storm like this before.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you,” she told him as she hurried to the cellar by the house.

“I’ve got the door!” Deb yelled over the sound of the howling wind and rain. “Get inside!”

Harriet made her way down the concrete stairs into the dark and set Paul on the floor before she looked around for the lanterns they had inside the cellar since it didn’t have electricity.

“Paul, sit in the corner for me!” she instructed loudly. She wondered why she still had to yell and looked up. “Deb!”

Harriet rushed back up the stairs and held on to one of the doors while Deb tried to hold on to the other. The wind was so strong; she wasn’t sure how long they’d be able to keep their grip on the doors.

“We’ve got to hold ‘em,” Harriet told her.

“I know. Paul?”

“In the corner,” Harriet replied. “He’s okay.”

“Hold it for him,” Deb said.

“What?” Harriet asked, feeling like she could lose her grip any second.

“If it takes us, it won’t take him,” Deb said. “Paul, stay there! Don’t move until the storm passes!”

Harriet understood her then. She nodded at Deb.