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Chapters (98)
  1. Author’s Note
  2. Tuesday
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. Wednesday
  21. 1
  22. 2
  23. 3
  24. 4
  25. 5
  26. 6
  27. 7
  28. 8
  29. 9
  30. 10
  31. 11
  32. 12
  33. 13
  34. 14
  35. 15
  36. Thursday
  37. 1
  38. 2
  39. 3
  40. 4
  41. 5
  42. 6
  43. 7
  44. 8
  45. 9
  46. 10
  47. 11
  48. 12
  49. 13
  50. 14
  51. 15
  52. 16
  53. Friday
  54. 1
  55. 2
  56. 3
  57. 4
  58. 5
  59. 6
  60. 7
  61. 8
  62. 9
  63. 10
  64. 11
  65. 12
  66. Saturday
  67. 1
  68. 2
  69. 3
  70. 4
  71. 5
  72. 6
  73. 7
  74. 8
  75. 9
  76. 10
  77. 11
  78. 12
  79. 13
  80. 14
  81. 15
  82. Sunday
  83. 1
  84. 2
  85. 3
  86. 4
  87. 5
  88. 6
  89. 7
  90. 8
  91. 9
  92. 10
  93. 11
  94. 12
  95. 13
  96. Tuesday
  97. 1
  98. Afterword

And with that…the roaring began to fade. After brushing the thicket, the twister was moving on, probably carving a new channel through the saw grass as it traveled.

Jack rolled away from the tree and lay on his back.

“Thought I was going to lose you there, Dad.”

As his heart regained a normal rhythm, Tom watched Jack lie there with closed eyes as rain pounded his face.

“I thought I was a goner too. Thanks.”

“De nada.”

Nothing? No, it wasn’t nothing. It was something…something very special. He owed his life to Jack.

He couldn’t think of anyone he’d more like to be indebted to.

Tom swallowed the lump in his throat. “Come on. Let’s see if we can find that canoe and get to someplace dry.”

Tuesday

1

“I’ve decided to move back north,” Dad said as Jack packed his duffel bag for the trip home.

Jack studied his face, still bruised from the accident, and weathered from the storm. “You’re sure about that?”

Dad nodded. “Very. I’ll never be able to look at Anya’s house without remembering what…what we saw there…what happened to her. And I can’t see me ever looking out my front door at the Everglades without thinking of the other night…all that blood spilled, especially Carl’s…and that sinkhole and the things that came out of it. And the storm, that tornado…” He shook his head. “We damn near died out there.”

“But we didn’t,” Jack told him. “That’s all that counts.”

It hadn’t been easy getting back. The canoe had been far enough from the twister to come through in one piece, but the subsequent battle through the storm had been an ordeal. With the smaller channels filling up, and no way to judge east or west, Jack had become disoriented and made a few wrong turns. It took nearly two hours of paddling before they arrived at the air-boat dock and gratefully collapsed in the shelter of the car.

Monday had been spent recuperating. Muscles Jack didn’t even know he had protested every time he moved. The groundsmen—sans Carl—were out in force cleaning up the mess left by the storm. They must have seen Anya’s shredded screen door but probably attributed it to the storm.

Late in the afternoon, after the crews had finished for the day and no one was about, Jack and his father buried Anya’s remains in her garden, among the plants she’d loved. Since she kept pretty much to herself, no one had discovered yet that she was missing.

Jack dug a two-foot hole in the wet soil—deeper than any dog or coon would go—and then Dad reverently placed the quarter-folded skin within. He’d chosen not to wrap it in anything. Better to let it decompose quickly and recycle its nutrients back to her plants.