I move to the window, pulling the curtains back. Light floods in, spilling over the bed, but it doesn’t make anything clearer. I’m struggling to find a way through this. “Look, this isn’t easy. And I haven’t been great at talking about this stuff. But I’m here now. I’m trying. Just tell me what I can do.”
“You always say you’re trying. But you never actually get it. You don’t understand what it’s like to be me. I wish you would just leave me alone.”
I’m completely out of my depth. “Look, I’ll get some breakfast started. There’s no power so probably some PB&Js.”
“Whatever.”
I head down the hallway to the kitchen and get the bread out of the dark fridge, when my phone starts ringing in my pocket. Nora O’Connor’s name flashes on the screen, and I snatch it up, heart hammering—something tells me this isn't a social call.
“Jake, it's Nora,” she blurts out before I can even say hello. “Kelly just took off into the storm. I’ve been trying to call her, but she’s not answering.”
"What? Why? Where did she go?" But I know even as I ask—the festival grounds. I exhale slowly, trying to will away the worry invading my head. “Stay put, Nora. I'll handle it.”
“Be careful,” she says.
I end the call and try Kelly’s number. Nora’s right. It just rings out. I bring up Jenny’s number. She picks up on the second ring, “Hey, I need you to watch Adele for the day.”
“Is everything okay? I told you we just need to give her some time. It’s good the school knows what’s happened.”
“It’s actually something personal that’s come up. Adele is still angry with me, but this has nothing to do with her.”
“Say no more,” Jenny cuts in. “Bring her here to my moms. You better hurry though, this lull isn’t going to last.”
Adele's standing in the doorway when I turn around, her eyes wide.
“Sweetheart, I’ve got to go out for a bit,” I tell her, trying to keep the concern from creeping into my voice. “Mom’s at Granny’s. I need to drop you there.”
“Again?” Adele’s frown deepens, her arms wrapping protectively around herself. “Why can't I just stay home? I’m not a little kid.”
“Because it’s not safe with the storms starting up again.” The truth sits heavy on my tongue. I want to protect Adele, keep her from adult concerns, but maybe this time the truth’s warranted. “Look, Kelly headed out into the storm. She’s upset about the festival installations I’ve been working on getting damaged. I need to help her.”
Surprise flickers across Adele’s features, followed by an unexpected nod. “It’s not a good idea for her to be out there by herself.”
“No, it’s not. But she’d do anything to keep this festival from falling apart. And I’d do anything to keep her safe. Just like I’d do anything to keep you safe. Can you pack a bag? You might be at Granny’s overnight.”
She disappears to her room only to return a few minutes later, Tiger cradled in her arms, a small bag slung over her shoulder.
“Thanks for understanding,” I say, ushering her toward the door.
She follows, quiet as she climbs into the truck with Tiger while I clear the snow. As we pull away, more snow starts to fall, swirling in the growing wind.
“Is Kelly going to be okay?”
“Kelly’s tough,” I reply, but I’m not sure who I'm trying to convince more—her or me. “She’ll be fine.”
“Good,” she says as she traces patterns in the condensation. “I hope so.”
We reach her grandmother's house, and there’s smoke coming from the chimney. Heat spills out from the open door as Jenny lets her in. Adele pauses to look back at me.
“Be safe, Dad,” she says, and something about the way she says it, so grown-up, so full of care, makes my heart twist.
“Always am, kiddo.” I pull her into a hug, fierce and quick.
“Tell Kelly I said hi,” she adds, managing a wobbly smile before turning to head inside.
Then I’m alone, driving through the snow, my mind on Kelly and the next storm that’s bearing down on us. She’s out there because she’s carrying too much on her own. She puts so much pressure on herself, the weight of every project, every detail—and she’s always been like that. Even when we were kids, she’d push herself to breaking point, and no one could tell her to ease up. Not even me.
She needs more than what I’m giving her. And the thought terrifies me, makes my stomach churn as I press the gas a little harder.
