The Teacher

Part 33: The Devastation Wrought

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In the end the tornado had passed them by, though barely, cutting a swathe of destruction through another part of her neighborhood. Courtney never would have guessed as much given the state of her house, which, though still standing, definitely looked like it could have been hit by a tornado. She had either fallen asleep or fainted in Cam's arms after their explosive coupling in the bathtub, gutted by some combination of shock, emotion, and extremely intense orgasm. When she came to she found herself alone in the dark bathtub, curled up on her side, her head resting on a folded up bath towel and another one covering her like a blanket. The light from the little flashlight was gone, plunging her into utter darkness, and an eerie silence had descended upon the world.

"Cam?" she croaked, her voice hoarse from her previous outbursts. Before she had time to panic at his disappearance he was back in the bathroom with his flashlight, reassuring her with his deep, even voice, helping her to her feet, making sure she slipped her sneakers on, and then warning her about what she would find outside, beyond the small but sturdy walls of their makeshift storm shelter.

His words were lost on her, however, until she saw the devastation for herself. It looked like someone had bashed out half her windows with a baseball bat and then climbed inside to push over anything that wasn't bolted down, including a tall, heavy book shelf that would have crushed anyone unlucky enough to have been standing near it.

She gasped when she saw it. Her book collection, her precious book collection, was spread across her living room, many of them battered into a soggy pulp by the wind and rain.

She gripped Cam's upper arm with both her hands and felt a wave of nausea hit her out of nowhere. She began to sink to her knees but he caught her and pulled her back up to her feet.

"The glass," he said, pointing the flashlight at the sparkling shards and splinters scattered around their feet. She tried to say something but instead her voice caught on a choke that became a powerful retching and before she could stop herself she was bending at the waist and heaving up her pathetic dinner of frosted flakes and raisins. Cam held her up with one arm wrapped around her waist while he pulled her hair away from her face and rubbed her back in slow, calming circles.

When she was finished she carefully stood up straight again, and then collapsed against his chest, wrapped her arms around him, and began to sob uncontrollably into his chest. She couldn't bear to check so she could only assume that some of her most valued possessions—books that meant more to her than any one thing—were destroyed. As for the special collector's edition of Shakespeare plays her father had solemnly presented her with upon her graduation from Barnard, though it wasn't actually worth anything—she gasped out a long, drawn out "no," a sound produced by the breaking and twisting of her heart. Her father was dead, and now so was his message to her, inscribed inside its front cover. She couldn't remember what it said.

Was her life to be one long string of losses? What had she ever done to Texas that it would repay her in such a way? She hit Cam's chest with her fist but he only grabbed her wrist and made her stop, and she was left to weep her heartbreak against his naked chest.

She heard footsteps crunching through the glass, and a part of her cringed to think of how they looked, Cam naked except for his boots and boxer briefs, his English teacher fainting in his arms. Most of her, however, didn't care; she felt as though a great rupturing of her life had finally occurred, and all she needed to do was glance around her devastated house to see exactly what that looked like.

Except she refused to look anymore. And now someone was enfolding her within a warm, soft blanket, and then gently unwrapping her arms from around Cam. She tried to object, fearful of losing her balance, fearful of losing hold of this one remaining anchor in her present moment, but she couldn't produce a sound, though she did begin to hiccup loudly.

Suddenly, that same someone was lifting her up in their arms, as though she were a giant, helpless baby, and her eyes grew wide in surprise and now she was simultaneously weeping and hiccupping, and her nose was running to boot.

"Let's get you out of here, nothing more you need to see tonight," the someone murmured, and it was Kyle Walker, and now he was carrying her across what used to be her living room, out her front door, and across her lawn to his truck. He lifted her in through the driver's side door, and somehow Cam was there, in the passenger side, waiting to take her onto his chest again, so she could return to smearing tears and mucus all over him as he smoothed her hair and told her to breathe, breathe Courtney, breathe.

So she did as she was told, forcing herself to inhale and exhale until her head began to clear and her breathing slowed. It was either that or black out again, and both times she had done that today she had woken up alone, once on the banks of the river and once huddled up in a bathtub. Besides, she was too weak with sadness and fear and hopelessness to resist that powerful instinct to obey Cam every time he ordered her around. She did hide her face against him when his father flicked the headlights on, unwilling to see how her house had fared from the outside. Like Kyle had said, she had seen plenty for one night.

***

The three of them drove in silence, Kyle slowing down to avoid the debris that cluttered the roads, until finally he was forced to a stop before a giant fallen tree. Unfazed, he backed up, turned around, and peeled off onto a roughly paved road she never would have noticed in a million years if someone hadn't pointed it out to her. There were more trees and branches barricading their path, but by steering them through a warren of back roads and cow fields—Cam hopping out to unhook gates so they could pull through—they managed to gain the main highway that led out of town and toward their ranch.

Courtney's tears finally dried up, and after another few minutes of ragged hiccups even that stopped, until finally she leaned against Cam, exhausted and spent. She did manage to croak out an emphatic "No country music!" when Cam's father reached for the radio dial, which elicited a burst of laughter from Cam.

"Don't worry," Kyle said, and he switched on an a.m. news station that sounded like it was staffed by guys who hung out at Charley's and who thought it would be fun to go on air and see who could announce the local news with the slowest, thickest drawl imaginable.

"Well now, Rick, see here we have this report coming in from—coming in from—it appears to be coming in from—" There was the rustling of a paper and then, at last, the naming of a place, a town that she had never been to but knew to be on the other side of the county from her.

"And what're they saying about it?" Rick asked.

"They're saying they didn't get anything, not a drop."

"Lucky devils," Rick said, his voice full of wonder. "Lucky, lucky devils."

"Amen to that."

This last exchange was enough to wake her from her stupor.

"Is this for real?" she asked, raising her eyebrows in bewilderment and glancing up at Cam and then over at Kyle. "Am I awake or am I dreaming this? I have to be dreaming now."

Both men were smiling now, and Kyle shook his head.

"You don't appreciate the witty repartee of our local newscasters I take it?" he said.

"There isn't any news," she objected. Her voice was hoarse and scratchy and her body felt like it had been hit by a bus.

Kyle Walker shrugged.

"What's there to tell?" he said. "A twister tore through, did its damage, no one's dead, a bunch of houses are destroyed. People know what they need to know."

She only sighed by way of reply, too tired to argue. Luckily she was also too tired, too spent, too hollowed out to care enough about her current predicament to feel embarrassed. Not a single blush had crept up her face since Cam's father had bundled her into the truck and back into his son's sturdy arms.

Tomorrow, she promised herself. Tomorrow she would feel embarrassed. Tomorrow she would face her home, or what was left of it. Tomorrow she would worry and think about the things Cam had said to her as they came together in the shadows of a violent storm.

But not tonight. Definitely not tonight. And she heaved a smaller sigh of relief at this thought, and allowed herself to close her eyes and sleep at last.