Page 61

“Okay, Mama!”

“We love you, baby! Your mamas love you!”

“I love you, too!” he yelled back.

“I love you,” Deb said to her then. “I love you,” she repeated.

“I love you,” Harriet replied, feeling the door begin to give. “I will find you.”

“Not if I find you first,” Deb replied and gave Harriet a smile that Harriet knew was filled with fear.

She returned it, hoping she was able to show as little fear as possible. When she knew for sure that she couldn’t hold on to the door any longer, she let go with one of her hands and reached for Deb. Deb took her hand in her own. Harriet leaned in and pressed her lips to Deb’s. Then, the wind took them both.

Quinn saw the whole thing. Shefeltthe strength of the wind and her own strength giving out. She felt her love and concern for their son, who was about to lose his parents and would be on his own. She knew her brothers and sisters-in-law would take him in or that Delilah Lansing would. He’d be taken care of. But the pain of losing everyone wouldn’t be something that he’d easily be able to deal with.

“He’s a sensitive boy,” Quinn said to herself, recalling Deb saying that exact thing to Harriet one night when he’d cried because someone at his school had picked on him.

She could feel the love Harriet had for Deb; the fact that they were both willing to die for their son, holding on to that door for as long as they could to keep him safe while the tornado passed above them. Probably only another thirty seconds or so, and they would’ve been fine had they’d been able to hold on. Thirty seconds, and it would’ve been gone. They could’ve picked Paul up, gone back into the house and cleaned it up, gone to bed together, and after all that, they could’ve grown old and gray together.

Quinn didn’t feel her eyes well with tears. She only recognized that she was crying when she saw one drip down to her chin and fall to her shirt. But then, she had a vision of someone else entirely. It was a woman with dark hair, wearing one of those poofy skirts she remembered seeing in movies about the 50s and 60s. She wiped her cheeks and closed her eyes, watching the woman with brown hair walk away from her on a sidewalk, smiling, laughing, and reaching back to take Quinn’s hand. She knew that it wasn’t reallyher.

“It was whoever I became after I was Harriet,” she said to herself, opening her eyes.

She smiled then. Harriet and Deb were gone, yes, but whoever Quinn was envisioning now was a new version of Deb, and she was reaching back for her version of Harriet. They were teenagers again, too, and to her, that woman was Abby. Quinn closed her eyes again and allowed the vision to carry her away. The film behind her eyes was a silent one,and she let herself be pulled into the backyard of a house, through a thicket of bushes, and into an open field that never seemed to end.

“Sunflowers,” she said to herself.

Then, the film was no longer silent.

“Let’s just sit out here all night,” the girl said to her.

“We can’t sit out here all night. You know that,” she replied.

“Then, for a few minutes, at least.”

“We can’t get caught.”

“I know. But I had to go all week without kissing you.” The new Deb sat down in between two rows of flowers. “I’d like to kiss you now, please.” She smiled up at her.

She, or the new version of Harriet, sat down next to her, reached for her chin, and connected their lips.

Quinn smiled softly. Deb and Harriet had perished, but these two, whoever they were, had lived, and they’d been in love.

She stood up and decided that while she’d still respect Abby’s need for space, that wouldn’t stop her from taking a walk around her own neighborhood. And if she happened to see Abby outside her house, she could tell her what had just happened, what she’d discovered, and maybe even what it all meant. She put on her shoes, grabbed her keys and phone, and pulled open her front door.

“You’ve been crying,” Abby said the moment Quinn took one step outside.

“What are you doing here?” Quinn asked.

“I’ve never had blackberry pie,” Abby said. “But now, I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“So, you came here to steal a piece of my pie?”

“You’ve been crying, Quinn,” Abby repeated.

She was standing on the path from Quinn’s driveway to her front door, and she took a step toward Quinn.

“Technically, it wasn’t me.”