With No Warning (Romance/Inspirational)(Complete)

CHAPTER 12: Home For The Holidays

“Aunt Codi?” Her twelve year old nephew asked, much later that evening. “What’s a tornado like?” He had brought her bags from the car, and set them down in her room as he spoke.

It only took an innocent question to throw her back into the hades of the storm. “Horrible.”

As she contemplated how to explain the horrendous sound, the relentless fury, her ears popping, he asked “What did you do?”

That she could answer easily. “I covered my ears a lot, and prayed until it was over.”

After a few more questions, his curiosity was abated somewhat, and he exited, leaving her alone with her thoughts. The worst part of a tornado, she had learned from the communities in it’s path, was afterward. The long months spent rebuilding, recuperating, or God forbid, learning to live with the loss of a loved one.

In a warm sudsy tub, she tried to soak away some of the stiffness in her limbs, caused by the long drive.

The faces and events of the evening, drifted before her half closed eyelids. The tiled wall, of the tub area, was a projection screen for the memories playing. The tree trimming had been saved for her arrival, and this they had done merrily, with much clowning by her brothers, brothers-in-law, and the children. Her father had sat in his favorite armchair, sipping coffee, and teasing the little ones. She and her sisters had hung a few ornaments, but mostly had sat back as a captive, and sometimes goading, audience. Her mother had taken great delight in the unpacking of the ornaments, as a lot of them had a sentimental history, which she shared, when she could get a word in amidst the childrens’ excitement.

The bath was intended to be a sleep aid, but an hour later, when she was still tossing and turning in the bed of her adolescent years, she gave up, and got up. With the intention of getting a drink from the kitchen, she crept down the dark hallway, and her feet noiselessly descended the stairway.

The refrigerator nightlight was on, and she didn’t bother with the overhead lights. Going directly to the shadowy hulk of cabinets, she pulled the door of the one that had contained glasses for as long as she could remember. The pads of her fingers touched, then closed around a tumbler, but as she slid it from the group, it hit against something else, and a small clatter sounded on the counter top, then lower onto the ceramic tiled floor. Dakota groped for the object to replace it, and found it to be instead two prescription pill containers. Or more.

Wearily, she crossed to the light over the sink, switching it on, so that she would not inadvertently miss one of the bottles, and leave it lying around, a taboo with small children in and out of the house. Gathering them up, four in all, she frowned curiously at the labels in the dim light, before setting them back on the shelf. The patient's name was her father, the drugs names were unrecognizable to her.

“Sis?  Still zombie walking?” Her brother Mart’s voice startled her into dropping, for the second time, the prescription canister.

“For Petesake. Still sneaking up on people?!” As she griped, she pivoted toward him, picking the pill bottle up in one sweep. “What is this stuff? Is dad sick?”

Reaching beyond her onto the shelf, Mart extracted a drinking glass, as she replaced the prescriptions in their orderly row. “Just high blood pressure, nothing scary.” From the fridge, he pulled a cardboard orange juice carton, and twisted the cap.

“Are you sure? Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“Look at the dates.  He just went to the doctor last week. He had been having chest pains, but the doc said it was just hypertension. His blood sugar and his cholesterol is too high, but he is working on that.” After filling his glass halfway, he moved the carton to hers. “Tell me when.”