Page 64 of Hogging the Hunk
Another bolt of lightning struck nearby and both of us jumped.
“Maybe we ought to move to a different room, though, away from the windows if possible.” I helped Ellie to her feet and took Truffle’s leash from her so she could keep a hold of Aspen, who was wobbling and thrashing more than normal from the stress. “Does this place have a basement?”
“There’s a downstairs storage room, though I don’t know where the key is.”
“How about we go see if we can get down there. Just to be safe?”
“Alright.” Ellie wiped her nose on the sleeve of her jacket.
I let her lead the way. In a small utility room with a mop, the water heater, and the furnace, there was another door opposite the hallway. I jiggled the handle with no luck. Shoot. The door was sturdy and looked like it’d be suitable for a bomb shelter.
Not wanting to worry Ellie, I pretended as though the utility closet was a splendid place to pass a tornado watch. “That’s alright. This room is much better than your father’s office.”
Ellie struggled to keep Aspen still, so I traded her for Truffle, who didn’t appear the least bit bothered. When Ellie slumped onto the ground, Truffle turned a circle and flopped down with a satisfied groan. Finding a mostly empty box, I dumped out the remaining paper towels, ripped off a handful of them to use as padding along the bottom, and settled Aspen inside. It took me several tries to seal the flaps shut. Aspen wasn’t convinced that my idea of keeping her in a box was a good one, and kept sticking her white paws out, desperate to escape.
“There.” I dusted my hands together when I finally trapped her. “She’s calmer already.”
Ellie watched me with big eyes, her arms wrapped around her knees. “Is there going to be a tornado?”
I wished I had the power to control the storm and send it away to spare Ellie the worry of what might happen. Since I couldn’t, I tried to ease her worries with information. “A tornado watch is like a taco bar.”
Her eyebrows pinched together. I sounded like I’d lost my mind. “I don’t get it. How are tornadoes like tacos?”
“Not tornados. Tornado watches. Think of it this way… you have a craving for tacos.”
“Hardshell or softshell?” Ellie asked.
“That’s irrelevant. Imagine whatever kind you like best. So, you want a taco. That’s like when the weather forecasters notice that there’s the possibility of a severe storm coming through our area.”
“Okay…”
“Then, the various ingredients start showing up. The ground beef, shredded cheese, sliced lettuce. Maybe some sour cream, black olives, and salsa.”
“Black olives are gross.”
“Alright, scratch the black olives. All the other ingredients are there, just like a forecaster might see in the weather patterns. They have to watch the temperature, humidity, cold and warm fronts, the air pressure and wind speed. Just because they’re monitoring those conditions doesn’t necessarily mean there’s a taco happening.”
“You mean a tornado?”
“Right. Tornado.” I chuckled at myself, wishing Milo was here to laugh with me. Truth was, I’d feel much safer with his arms around me. He wasn’t, so I continued to spew my ridiculous analogy, to distract myself as much as Ellie.
“Then what’s the difference between that and a tornado warning?” Ellie asked.
“Ah, good question.” Ellie flashed me a small smile, signaling that she was relaxing. I wasn’t completely botching it. “A warning is like when the taco is actively being assembled. All the right ingredients are there and they’re interacting in a specific way. Nobody’s eating the taco yet, but a taco’s being made.”
Ellie giggled, and so did I. We were both nervous, laughing out of stress as much as silliness. “So, when is there actually a tornado?”
“That’s the last step. When the taco’s moving toward your mouth, there’s a tornado actively rotating in the sky. You put the taco in your mouth and bite down. That’s when the tornado touches down.”
My goofy explanation worked momentarily. Ellie and I were in stitches as the wind howled outside. It stopped the second the lights flickered and went out. Instead of laughing, Ellie and I both screamed. She groped in the dark, searching for comfort from me. I hugged her tight and stroked her hair, promising her it’d be alright.
Milo? Where are you?
Both of our phones started blaring a warning tone simultaneously, and there was a loud bang at the front of the clinic. Ellie screamed again, and I would have if I hadn’t clapped a hand over my mouth to keep it inside.
“Ellie! Where are you?”
The desperation and worry in Milo’s voice somehow endeared him even more to me. He’d run through gale-force winds and pelting rain to get back to his daughter.