Stan was pacing the floor, watching the sky and listening to radio reports. The eye of the storm had passed Council Grove and was bearing down on High Plains at forty miles an hour. The wind was already blowing so hard it was starting to strip tender, green leaves from the cottonwood trees and whip the smaller branches wildly. Trash was blowing around as refuse cans were knocked over. This didn’t look good.
He checked his watch. The bank would soon close. Perhaps Bethany would stop by the fire station on her way home. Chances were she had walked to work, meaning she wouldn’t have the protection of a car if hail started to fall while she was en route.
Making a snap decision, he leafed through the phone book for the bank number, then quickly dialed.
“Let me speak to Bethany Brown,” he said as soon as the operator answered.
“I’m sorry. Our teller stations are closed for the day,” the woman said pleasantly. “Would you like to leave a message?”
“No. I want to talk to Bethany and I want to do it now,” he said forcefully. “This isn’t bank business. This is the fire department calling.”
“Oh, dear. Is there a problem at her apartment building?”
“No. Just put her on the line, will you? She is still in the building, isn’t she?”
“Yes, sir. One moment, please.”
He heard the breathlessness in Bethany’s voice as she picked up an extension. “Hello?”
“It’s me. Stan,” he said. “I think you should stay right where you are till the storm passes. It’s getting awfully close and you don’t want to get caught outside if it starts to hail the way I think it’s going to.”
“What have you heard?”
“Council Grove got hammered with nickel- and quarter-size hail even though the main part of the storm missed them. We could have it much worse.”
“Are you sure?”
“Nobody can be positive. I’d just feel better if you promised to stay there a little longer. You don’t have your car, do you?”
“No. It was beautiful this morning. I always walk on pretty days.”
“Must be the butterfly in you that craves the sunshine,” Stan said, hoping to distract her by mentioning their earlier conversation.
“Must be.” She paused, then continued, “How long do you think we should stay inside? I want to be able to tell the others and let them make educated decisions about whether or not to head for home.”
“We should be through the worst of it in less than an hour,” Stan said soberly. “I’m not trying to be an alarmist. I just know from experience how bad some of these storms can be. I was caught in a dandy when I was a kid. Remember?”
“Vaguely. I was too little to take anything seriously back then. Maybe that’s why you’re so uptight about the weather now.”
“Maybe. Or maybe I’m just more prudent than some folks.” He glanced through the window at the street. “Looks like traffic is about the same as always. People are acting way too nonchalant. I hope they’re not sorry.”
“So do I,” Bethany replied. “Okay. I’ll stay here for another hour or so, but after that, I’m going home. The probability of High Plains being hit by hail or a tornado should have been resolved by then.”
“Call me before you go outside? Promise?” He gave her his private cell number and was relieved when she took the time to jot it down and repeat it back to him. “And, Bethany?”
“Yes?”
Stan hesitated. “Never mind. We’ll talk later. Good bye.”
He’d been going to express his tender feelings, maybe even tell her that he loved her, but something had stopped him. It was one thing to think about it and quite another to actually say the words. Besides, that kind of confession should be made face-to-face. That way, if she didn’t take it well, he’d recognize the truth and know whether or not she returned his love.
The possibility that she might not gave him actual, physical pain.
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