Can't Hardly Breathe. Gena Showalter
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y’all, but keep a raincoat within reach.
This evening, a thunderstorm would roll in, no doubt about it, and it would be the first of many. Tornado season had officially kicked off, and the possibility of a cyclone would only strengthen throughout the week.
The greater the storms, the more time Jazz would spend on TV screens throughout Oklahoma. Resentment flared within her, the urge to punch something—or someone—strong.
No more regrets. Let go of the past and march into the future.
Right. Dorothea drew in a deep breath. As she released it, she straightened. She would adult whether she wanted to or not. She would shower and—whimper—she would interact with other people.
A loud rumble suddenly assaulted her ears, growing in volume, and the inn began to shake. Earthquake! Dust plumed. Her heart galloped into a faster rhythm.
She stumbled but managed to remain upright. A second later, the shaking stopped, but her heartbeat failed to slow. While Strawberry Valley only registered the bigger ones, quakes had become a way of life. Some people blamed fracking. Others blamed a previously undiscovered fault line.
At long last, Dorothea entered the inn. She’d painted her nails red this morning—anger—and now flattened her palm over her tattoo as she studied the interior, searching for any damage. Nothing appeared to be broken and Holly—
Wasn’t behind the counter.
Dorothea gnashed her molars as she phoned Mrs. Hathaway, who’d promised to man the desk until her doctor appointment, to ask if she could come sooner and return sooner, as well. Then she set up the Be Back Soon sign and stalked to her room. After a quick shower, she dressed in a pale green cotton blouse to match her eyes, and a pair of stonewashed jeans she’d cut into shorts when the denim had ripped at the knees. Recycling old clothes was a great penny saver.
She drove to the high school for the parent-teacher conferences. According to her mother, there was no reason to go and a thousand reasons to avoid it, because every teacher she met would complain about Holly, and Dorothea’s blood would boil. But she was determined to grin and bear it. Someone had to keep up with Holly’s life to ensure she wasn’t being bullied for her unique wardrobe choices. Someone had to check her academic progress, offer support and show her just how deeply she was loved.
Unfortunately, the first four meetings rolled out exactly as Carol had predicted. The teachers complained about Holly’s lack of focus.
“I’ll talk to her,” Dorothea vowed to each one.
When anyone mentioned Holly’s terrible attitude, she said, “We’re working on it.”
When her sister’s abysmal grades came up, she said, “I’ll find her a tutor.”
When Holly’s constant threats to drop out and become a streetwise hooker with secret hopes of being rescued by an icy billionaire only she could melt was mentioned, Dorothea said, “It’s good to have goals, yeah?”
Mr. Jonathan Hillcrest, the fifth and final teacher, saved the day. Even though he was a few years older than Dorothea, they’d played in the band together when they were in high school. The popular crowd had considered him a nerd, just like her. Kindred spirits unite!
While Dorothea had retained her supposed “nerdiness,” he’d grown out of his. Tall and lean with sandy-colored hair, he had a construction worker’s tan, and adorable laugh lines around his eyes and mouth. His nose was a little too long, but it worked in his favor, giving him an aristocratic vibe.
She thought she recalled a rumor that he and his girlfriend of two years had broken up a few months ago.
“I have to tell you, Dottie. Holly has so much potential. She’s so smart. She just needs to apply herself.” He sat at his desk, the surface cluttered with papers. “Any tips for how I can reach her?”
She decided not to correct his use of the hated nickname. The meeting wasn’t about her. “Are you kidding me? I need tips.”
He chuckled, and she grinned.
“And please, call me Dorothea.”
Twining his fingers over his middle, he leaned back in his chair. “I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen you smile.”
Her eyes widened. He’d noticed her? Before this?
Then he shocked her further, saying, “It looks good on you.”
What! It did?
“Thank you,” she replied, her tone soft, her cheeks burning. “That’s very kind of you to say.”
“Not kind. Honest.” Now unwilling to meet her gaze, he cleared his throat and stacked a set of papers at the corner of his desk. “Anyway. We were talking about Holly.”
“Right.” Dorothea hooked a lock of hair behind her ear. How to explain she’d been back home for nearly a year, but her sister had yet to forgive her for leaving in the first place?
“I know your family owns the Strawberry Inn, and I wonder if Holly maybe...works too much?” His hesitation lessened the sting of his words. “She rarely turns in her assignments. I’ve offered her numerous extensions, but she always declines, stating she’s far too busy to pencil me into her schedule.”
Guilt pricked at Dorothea. Holly had zero free time, the way Dorothea had once had zero free time. The way she now had zero free time. And she had only perpetuated the problem.
When her sister asked for a day off, she should have given it to her. She remembered the teenage horror of being forced to turn down every after-school invitation. Not that she’d been invited anywhere by anyone other than Ryanne and Lyndie.
Making a split-second decision, she said, “Consider Holly fired, effective immediately.” The theme rooms could wait. Every penny she’d saved could be used to hire a new receptionist. “I want the best for her. Underneath her insults, she has a good heart.”
He nodded as she spoke. “I agree.”
Those two swords fertilized Dorothea’s hopes, helping them grow. If she and Mr. Hillcrest teamed up, surrounding her sister with love and acceptance, Holly would have nowhere to run.
Together, they brainstormed ways to help Holly engage with the class. At one point, he stopped Dorothea to ask for her number. “So I can keep you apprised of my progress.”
How kind. She rattled off the digits.
A harried knock echoed inside the room, and they jolted in unison. The door swung open, an irritated-looking woman stalking into the classroom. She tapped on the screen of her phone. “My meeting was scheduled to begin six minutes ago. I’ve been pacing the hall, waving at you through the glass partition, doing my best to be patient, but I have a job, too, and I can’t be late.”
“I’m so sorry.” Dorothea jumped to her feet. “I lost track of time. I’m sorry,” she repeated. “I’m leaving.” She extended her hand to Mr. Hillcrest. “Thank you again, Mr. Hillcrest. I—”
“Call me Jonathan. Please.”
She inclined her head before darting into the hall. As she left the building and made her way across the parking lot, her gaze lifted to the sky out of habit. Over the past few years, Oklahoma had been dubbed the home of the quakenado. Storms, tornadoes and earthquakes, oh my! She loved to predict what would come next.
The thunderstorm she’d predicted now brewed, a thick wall of cloud stretching as far as the eye could see; the heavy veil of humidity suggested there would, in fact, be tornadic activity, too.
A horn blasted.
She yelped and skidded to a stop. A minivan sped past her. Yikes! She’d been so wrapped up in weather-watching she’d lost track of her surroundings.
“Sorry,” she called.
Heart thudding, she settled behind the wheel of her car. The same car she’d