over and moved on. For a few more minutes, they remained where they were, afraid to leave the safety of their sanctuary. Finally, Rowan stood up to peer over the side of the hole. “Holy shit…”
Clint untangled himself from Kyd’s clinging arms. “What do you see?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?” Clint echoed.
While Gillian comforted the others, the two brothers surveyed what lay beyond the quarry. Rowan had been right. Nothing remained. Their neighborhood was completely gone. Where thirty-eight homes stood minutes before, only concrete foundations were left. The very ground surrounding the quarry was stripped of every blade of grass, scoured down to the bare earth. Neither boy uttered a word. The sight rendered them speechless.
Slowly, the family emerged from their shelter and started moving across the muddy field to where their home once stood. Along the way, they passed unbelievable things. Twisted steel beams, utility poles snapped into kindling. Unrecognizable parts of vehicles and other machinery. And worst of all, they passed indistinguishable chunks of meat, like someone had emptied a butcher shop and tossed the contents randomly over the area. “Look up and straight ahead,” Gillian instructed them in a shaky voice. “Don’t look down.” Clint didn’t obey, he couldn’t not look. He only hoped what he was seeing were the remains of the cattle who’d grazed in the nearby fields. Anything else didn’t bear contemplating.
When they entered the subdivision, there were a few other people standing about. Like the Wilder family, they were dazed and stunned at what they’d just endured and what lay before them. With Colleen and Cassidy clinging to her skirt, Gillian turned in a circle, trying to locate exactly where their house had stood. “Was it here? Or over there?”
It didn’t really matter, nothing remained at either place. No house. No car. No furniture. Nothing. Even the asphalt on the streets had been sucked up and scoured clean.
For hours, they remained at the site of their former home as first responders and police came. Everyone felt shocked and helpless. Clint hovered near the firemen and the cops, listening to what they had to say. He learned the tornado had been a slow moving F5 with winds approaching three hundred miles an hour. Twenty-seven people were dead, and the neighborhood was obliterated.
“Where will we go?” Rowan whispered to Clint.
“I don’t know,” he replied. “Mother will figure something out.”
Gillian gathered her children near as they gazed upon the spot where their home once stood. Clint looked down as Colleen tugged on his sleeve. “What?”
“If we leave, how will Daddy find us?”
Her question made Clint’s chest hurt. “He won’t have to. Don’t worry. We’ll find him.”
Jensen at Twelve, Fall 1997
“I can’t wait to see Daddy.” Jensen beamed as she pulled on the hem of her official Rams sweatshirt. “Mistretta. Number 18. Looks good, doesn’t it, Mama?”
“Yes, it does.” Her mother pulled into the fancy Dallas hotel where the team was staying. Since the Rams were playing so close to home, mother and daughter planned to surprise Gable Mistretta with a visit. “Daddy will be so proud.”
After the valet took the car, Laura held Jensen’s hand as they strolled through the lobby to the registration desk. When the clerk looked up, Jensen’s mother asked for the number of Gable Mistretta’s room. “I’m his wife and this is his daughter,” she announced with a smile. “We’d like to surprise him.”
“Of course.” The clerk returned her smile, then turned to check the register. When he didn’t immediately give them the information, Laura leaned over the counter. “Is there something wrong?”
“Uh.” He reached under the counter and came out with a candy cane. “Here, little girl. Would you like to go sit next to the fountain and eat this?”
Jensen glanced at her mother in confusion.
Laura gave her a nod. “It’s okay. Do as the man asked you to do.”
“But I don’t want…” Her protest was quelled by a stern look from her mother. “Yes, ma’am.” She took the candy cane and moved away. Instead of going all the way to the fountain, she stopped at a large planter filled with greenery. From here, she could still listen to the adults talking. Her dad always told her that she’d inherited his good hearing. Of course, he’d always warned her that sometimes she might hear something she didn’t want to hear. No matter, Jensen’s insatiable sense of curiosity always won out.
“What seems to be the matter?” her mother asked the clerk.
The man looked sheepish and leaned forward. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but there’s already